Page 12 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Guilt squeezed my insides.

After all my determination to leave things alone, I’d…done something.

Something that could get me into a lot of trouble.

Last night, after I’d come home from the hospital, I’d tried to do exactly what Colin told me to do. I ran on my treadmill to exhaust my body even though my mind kept racing. I had the hottest shower followed by the coldest, shocking my nervous system to reset. I even watched a show I didn’t care about, hoping it would act like a sedative.

Yet at five a.m., I found myself sneaking out my back door, and trespassing onto someone else’s property.

I broke the law.

Me! The guy who’d followed every rule and regulation and was proud of a lifetime of conscientious, appropriate morality had used her spare key and sneaked his way through every room. Melody’s ghost followed me as I used my phone torch to check the house and ensure it was as neat and safe as possible.

But then I saw the blood.

Not much.

A few streaks on the kitchen bench.

A couple of droplets on the dining room floor.

I hadn’t been prepared for the rush of fury; the crippling wash ofsavagery.

For the first time in my life, I understood what drove other men to murder. Good men. Men who gladly went to prison for executing their wives’ offenders. Men who wouldn’t touch a fly yet suddenly became experts in torture.

And so, I’d done the only logical thing.

I’d raided the cleaning products under the sink and scrubbed every surface and floor until I was sure Sailor’s blood no longer tainted any of it.

I’d replaced the key as the sun shone on my illegal activities, then fallen into bed and crashed into nonsense dreams full of black clouds, blood, and powerlessness.

Colin had woken me at four in the afternoon by pressing an icy-cold, dew-dripping beer bottle against the back of my neck where I lay sprawled on my stomach, still in my black track pants and hoodie.

He’d laughed his ass off as I jolted upright, ordered me to get out of bed, then gone to start the barbecue while I took another shower, trying to rinse away the fog of bad sleep and the knowledge that I’d overstepped.

If Sailor knew I’d been in her house.

If she knew another man had trespassed when she already didn’t feel safe.

Fuck.

“Thought I’d find you up here.” Colin appeared on the threshold of my bedroom, nursing another beer. His baby-blue baseball cap, white t-shirt, and black jeans made him seem as if he was still in college and not a renowned doctor.

Tearing my gaze from Sailor, where she sat strangling her book, I forced a smile. “Just came to grab my spare prescription sunglasses. No idea what I did with the pair that lives downstairs.”

Padding barefoot toward me, he ignored my messily made bed, black bedside tables, chest of drawers, and towers of medical texts and books. I’d renovated this room years ago, hiring two women who did local interior design to hang wallpaper that looked like concrete slabs and install wooden black-out blinds to take it from floral fifties to an industrial loft feel.

“I saw your glasses by the toaster.” He smirked. “You should know by now you can’t lie to me.”

Slouching, I tossed back the rest of my beer. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a royal pain in the ass?”

“You do.” He clinked his bottle against my empty one. “Daily.” Looking down into my neighbour’s messy garden, he studied Sailor for a moment too long. Finally, he said with kindness instead of scorn, “She’s not looking so good.”

I stiffened as I allowed myself to stare at her again.

She’d given up pretending to read and sat with her face buried in her hands. Her bandaged wrist bulky and awkward, her head bowed as if she was exhausted.

My heart fisted into a knot.

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