Page 52 of Hunt for You

I found myself driving miles without registering any of the passing time or space, because my mind kept returning to those moments in the forest with him. In no time at all it seemed I was back at my house—and there was another Amazon package on the front step.

My pulse, which had only just dipped back into normal ranges, raced away again and as I pulled into the driveway and waited for my garage door, I looked in every direction, and in all the mirrors, trying to see where Cain might be hiding.

I didn’t make a dummy phone call this time, just dove out of the car and out of the garage and up to the front door to grab the package and turn on my heel, half-expecting to see Cain explode from behind the bushes, or leap out from hedge. But there was nothing. Just a normal, mostly-sunny afternoon, with the rush of cars rolling past on the street, the occasional door slamming or dog barking in the distance.

My body refused to believe that he wasn’t there, watching me. But after a little while standing on my own front step, staring like a moron, I started down the path to the garage again, still looking over my shoulders and eyeing bushes, just in case he could somehow fold himself into one of those little shadows in daylight. But… nothing.

As I stepped into the garage, I turned and started walking backwards towards the internal access door to watch for him to dart in as the roller-door slowly lowered.

But a minute later, I was standing inside my dim garage as the final inches of the garage door clanked into place, and then the mechanism stopped humming and… soon the interior light clicked off too.

Nothing.

Was he in the house somehow?

That itch started again between my shoulder blades as I marched into the house gripping that Amazon box and searched every room and closet, even checking behind the obscured glass in the shower, just case he’d found a way to blend in with my tile.

Nothing. Nothing.Nothing.

Finally, when I was forced to accept that either he hadn’t followed me home, or if he was watching, he wasn’t hunting anymore, I took the box into the kitchen to get a penknife to slice through the thick tape and cracked open the cardboard box, holding my breath, to find a bubble-wrapped block.

I reached tentatively into the box like something might close on my fingers, but tearing the plastic off revealed that it was just my phone, bubble-wrapped and charged and clean—so clean, it looked brand new and untouched, though Iknewthat wasn’t the case.

I dug through the box looking for a note, or anything, but underneath that ball of bubblewrap was a round tin holding… a dozen cinnamon rolls?

I gaped at the puffy, delicious-smelling pastries, confused and delighted.

What the actual fuck?Cinnamon rolls?

How the hell had he known?

I pulled one of the rolls out, mentally noting the perfect stretch of the soft bread, and the sweet, rich sugar-smell wafting up from them.

One bite told me they weren’t just any cinnamon rolls, either. These had either been homemade or baked by a chef. They were just too bouncy and fresh, the frosting too perfectly cream-cheesed and the buttery cinnamon sugar too intense to be from a supermarket bakery.

Licking the fingers of my free hand after pulling a roll free from its brothers, I turned my phone on and took a bite of the delicious pastry as I walked towards my office, my eyes still darting left and right, ears still perked for any unexpected sign of a hot, talented, strongman who’d hidden himself inside my house.

But deep down, I knew the truth. He wasn’t here.

My heart was returning to its normal, slow thud. And the adrenaline rush was dissolving faster than the sugar on my tongue.

Determined to hold onto that precious exhilaration as long as I could, I trotted into the office and put my slowly-booting phone next to the keyboard as I got my computer going andtapped my way, one-handed, through the VPN and masking until finally I was in the forum… and there was no message waiting for me. And no little green circle underneath his profile picture to say he was online waiting for me.

Damn.

I typed out a quick message.

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DeadGirlWalking:Cinnamon rolls? Who told you my secrets?

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I didn’t mention the phone that had clearly been wiped for prints and any other evidence he might have left behind. Not because I was going to get it tested, but because I knew it would bug him, wondering why I didn’t mention it.

But then I was just sitting there, staring at his profile, willing him to come online, chewing a sweet treat that made me feel warm. Which was good, because there was nothing else to do but wait. And since he’d warned me that I couldn’t tempt him to chase me again, that meant I was utterly at the mercy of his whims.

And that thought made me itch.

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