Page 35 of Perfect Stalker

For a long moment, he’s silent, and I fear I’ve pushed too far, but then he reaches out, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. “You know it’s more than that,” he says softly. “You’re just not ready to face it yet.”

My heart races as I lean into his touch, torn between the desire to close the distance between us and the nagging voice of caution in the back of my mind. “I don’t know if I can trust this.” I hate how vulnerable I sound. “Trust you.”

“I will assure you. Day by day, if that’s what it takes.”

I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. All I see is sincerity, and something else—a longing that mirrors my own. “Okay,” I whisper, nodding slightly.

His shoulders relax slightly. He doesn’t move to kiss me and doesn’t try to push for more. Instead, he simply pulls me into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around me like a protective shield.

As I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, I realize that maybe I’m ready to let my walls down. To give this—whatever it is between us—a real chance.

A few hours later,dressed nicely and with my wool winter coat unearthed in a different guest room closet, I stand in the living room, fidgeting with the strap of my purse while I watch Ivan move about the space. His presence fills the room, commanding and intense as always.

Straightening my shoulders, I prepare for battle. When I speak, I tell him what I’m doing, not ask for permission.No weakness.“I’m heading out to visit my parents,” I say firmly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

Ivan turns to face me, studying me intently. “Of course,” he says after a hesitation. “Family is important.”

I nod, surprised by his easy acquiescence. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He crosses the room in long strides, closing the distance between us. I expect him to be trying to confine me, so I stiffen and take a step back. He arches a brow but ignores that. From a pocket inside his tailored jacket, he produces a small, ornate box. “Before you go, I have something for you.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise as he opens the box, revealing an antique locket nestled on velvet. The gold gleams in the afternoon light, intricate filigree work adorning its surface. “It’s beautiful,” I say, reaching out to touch it. I don’t think it’s particularly expensive, but it looks old and well-cared-for, and I suspect there’s something special about it. “Was it Lena’s?”

He shakes his head as he lifts the locket from its resting place, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he fastens it around myneck. “It contains a hidden tracking device,” he says matter-of-factly. “For your safety.”

I freeze, still resting my fingers on the cool metal at my throat. It suddenly feels heavier, more significant, and with more strings. “A tracking device?”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “I need to know you’re safe. At all times. Andre and Daniil would die to protect you, but I must have a way to find you if the worst happens.”

I scowl. “I’m not a pet to be tagged.”

Ivan’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t want to wear the locket, injecting you with a chip is an option.” He sounds annoyed, but underneath it, he also sounds…hurt. Have I offended him by objecting to the gift?

Myriad emotions swirls within me—gratitude for his concern, unease at the implications, and a touch of warmth at his protectiveness. “Thank you,” I say softly, unsure how else to respond. “The locket is lovely. It’s the tracking device that concerns me.”

“I understand, but your safety is paramount.” He must decide that’s the end of it—and I decide it is too, at least for now—because he kisses my forehead before stepping back slightly. His hand lingers on my shoulder, and his touch is both comforting and possessive. “Enjoy your visit,” he says. “Andre and Daniil will be nearby if you need anything, but I assume you’ll not want your parents to see them?”

I nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “That could be awkward.” They know about Stephen’s attack last year, but I haven’t told them he’d continued to harass me via text messages and distorted images for the past several months, at least untilIvan stepped in. “Thanks.” Impulsively, I kiss his cheek before starting to turn away.

He stops me by taking my wrist. “Wait. You’re too vulnerable on public transportation, and I doubt you’ll want to take my Aston Martin and open yourself to more questions, so take the housekeeper’s car. The key chain is labeled in the kitchen, and the car is in Space P-4 of the parking garage. It’s the red Volvo.”

“I…okay.” When he doesn’t say anything else, I hurry to the elevator, still half-afraid he’ll change his mind and try to stop me from going. I have an insane urge to invite him to come along, but I have no idea how I’d explain that to my parents without some preparation, so I bite it back.

It’s easy enough to find the red Volvo beside two SUVs—one which already has Andre and Daniil waiting for me—and the Aston Martin. The bodyguards nod to me, and I take the lead.

The drive to my parents’ house is familiar, yet surreal. The Volvo drives like a dream, much better than the old Honda I used to have before selling it when I moved into my current apartment building. I’m hyper-aware of the SUV following at a discreet distance—Ivan’s men, always watching. The locket rests against my skin, a constant reminder of Ivan’s presence in my life, and how he can find me anywhere. I shudder, not sure if I’m glad or scared about that. Maybe both.

My mother, Mabel, greets me at the door with a warm hug and the scent of cinnamon and apples. “Jenny, sweetheart, come in. Your father’s just setting the table.” She looks over my shoulder. “Nice car. You must have gotten it with your promotion.”

“Test drive,” I blurt out before clearing my throat. “I mean, I’m borrowing…renting…borrowing it for a bit to see if I want to buy one.”

She flashes me a look of concern at my word salad but just nods. “Come on in, honey.”

I follow her into the house, the familiar sights and smells washing over me. For a moment, I can almost pretend everything is normal—that I’m just a daughter visiting her parents, not a woman caught in a web of secrets and danger, who is living with my stalker/protector, and sleeping with him.

Dinner is a comforting affair—my father’s famous pot roast followed by my mother’s apple pie for dessert. We chat about mundane things—Dad’s latest history lecture, and Mom’s adventures with a young pediatrician new to the hospital, who is driving her crazy by not trusting her with the simplest tasks despite Mom’s forty-plus years as an R.N. It’s only when we move to the living room that the conversation turns more serious.

“How are things with your new job, honey?” she asks, settling into her favorite armchair. “You’ve been so busy lately, we’ve hardly heard from you.”

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