Page 124 of The Love Destroyers

If it was a false alarm, I’ll explain myself when they come.

But it may take them a long while to come. Smith House is just outside of Marshall, enough of a distance that it’ll take them several minutes if not longer to get here. Plus, my mother has been known to call 9-1-1 for the occasional non-emergency, like when a raccoon got caught in the detached garage.

I minimize the call and draw up a text window. A text from Nicole is first on the list, followed by one from my brother, but I scroll down to Seamus’s name. Right now, with danger possibly at my door, I want him. I trust him to protect me. I want him here, with me, because I’m afraid.

But I don’t have time to write anything, because I hear footsteps approaching the room. I prime my arm, ready to throw the paperweight.

“Who’s there?” I call out.

The phone slips from my grip when Jeffrey steps into the doorway to the parlor. My breath leaves my lungs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since that last day at his office. He’s not dressed in one of his usual work suits, but khakis and a white button down that makes his tan look orange. His brown eyes look black in the dim room, and the smile on his face has no joy or humor in it.

Anger and fear flood me at the same time. I tighten my hand around the paperweight.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.

He lifts his eyebrows, glancing around dismissively. “You had a key. I copied it.”

Blood pounds in my ears. “Why?”

His gaze settles on me, his lips forming a self-satisfied smile. “Imadeyou, Emma. Just because you decide to throw something away doesn’t mean it’s not still yours. Without me, you’d be nothing.”

The anger in my chest overpowers the fear, even as he strolls into the room like it’s his, moving across it and toward me.

“Like hell.”

He pauses, watching me.

“Are you planning to throw that at me?”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, my tone seething.

“You think I don’t know you snuck into Ellie’s room the other night?” His smile broadens, sending a chill down my spine, because he can only be here with the intent to harm me. Why else would a man like him take the risk? He thinks he can hurt me and get away with it, and my experience over the last few months suggests he might be right.

My best move is to keep him talking. The 9-1-1 operator will hear, and then they’ll send someone. I need to buy them time to get here.

“You were hiding under the bed in that room, Emma.” He steps closer. I stand my ground, flexing my fingers around the paperweight. I’m iffy about my aim, so my best bet might be to wait until he’s closer.

I might be able to outrun him, but if I try and fail, he’ll have the advantage of grabbing me from behind. I cannot let him do that.

“I smelled your perfume. And the song choices….sloppy for someone wanting to hide. How’d you know we were coming to town? Have you been watching me?”

“You’re demented,” I say, finally moving. I walk over to the bar, tucked into the side of the room, as if I’m going to offer us both a drink. The alcohol bottles could be projectiles too, if I need them to be. Or I can splash grain alcohol in his eyes.

“You were there that night. You know, you already smell like a bar, Emma. I can smell it all the way over here. Is this rock bottom for you? Soaked in beer, wearing a sweatsuit, and living in your mother’s house? I wondered what it would look like. You’ve always had such a superior-than-thou attitude, but without me, this is all you’ve ever been. All you’ll ever be.”

Chills spread across my skin, because this man is a fuckingsociopath. I’d assumed as much, but it’s different to see him acting and talking like this in my mother’s house.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you. Nice of you to check in. Now, you can leave. Or Iwillthrow this at you.”

He steps closer, and I continue on toward the bar. Not running. Not losing sight of him.

“I won’t be going anywhere,” he says. “I know you met with Ellie. She texted me to say she was leaving Asheville. She gave the information to you, didn’t she? Do you have it here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I keep the tremble out of my voice form sheer force of will, but he’s reached the place where I dropped my phone, the spot where I was standing when he entered the room.

I need to make him leave, or I need to incapacitate him.

He glances down at it, his brow flattening as he lifts it up. His eyes fill with hot rage, and for a second I think he’s going to charge toward me. If he tackles me, I’ll go down. He has the weight advantage, the height advantage…

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