Page 12 of Hayden's Stalker

“Yes, I am. I’m licensed to concealed carry and very adept at using a gun. I prefer not to use it, so in the situation where I subdue the person, I wouldn’t even take it out.”

I blink at her. She seems to know perfectly well when she would and wouldn’t take it out. She’s also confident enough that she wouldn’trelyon her gun if she doesn’t need to. It’s astounding. She’s dodged my questions about her skills and experience, but she wouldn’t come so highly recommended without good reason.

I watch her very carefully as I ask, “Have you ever killed someone?”

Her face becomes completely impassive, the same way it did when I asked about her background. She is purposely giving no clues, but in doing that, I draw a conclusion as to the answer.

Tatiana confirms it for me when she tilts her head to the side and asks, “Do you actually want to know the answer to that question?”

My heart thumps in my chest. She’s killed someone. More than one person? Who? When? Why? I stare at her, unable to reconcile this information with the beautiful, seemingly kind person in front of me. She can’t be a killer.

She gives me a smile, but it seems forced, as though she’s trying to make me forget what I just realized. “The important thing is, Hayden, you won’t be dead in any of these scenarios. You’re the only thing I care about.”

My heart beats even faster at these words, even though I know she’s talking about me as a client. Even though I knowshe’s killed someone, maybe people. I still like hearing her say I’m the only thing she cares about.

“My sole focus is your safety, and I will always do whatever is necessary to ensure that safety.”

I look away from her and stare at my home city. My bedroom looks out over Lake Michigan, and I watch the boats on the water as I think over what she said. I’m sure she’s a good person, and she’s here to keep me safe.

If someone dies in this situation, I’d rather it wasn’t me. I don’t want anyone killed, but I do still feel safe with Tatiana, even if I feel weird about what I’ve learned.

I force a smile onto my face and tell her, “That makes sense. I guess I should just be glad that you’re here to protect me.”

She smiles back and asks, “Did you want to do anything? You don’t have to stay in your room.”

“I’m fine reading here, unless you have something you want to do?”

She shakes her head. “No. I am a bit hungry, though, so dinner in an hour or so would be good.”

“We can certainly do that.”

I give her a genuine smile this time because I have some fish in the fridge that I can cook for us, and it’s one of my favorite dishes to cook.

I’m disappointed when she stands and walks to the door. I watch her, curious why she wouldn’t stay next to me and also enjoying the view of her ass a little too much. When she reaches the entrance, she seemingly relaxes against the doorframe, but her entire body is still tense despite that. She seems coiled like a spring, always ready for action.

She looks back at me, and our gazes meet. I’m horrified to be caught gawking at her, so I smile casually and turn to pick up my book from the coffee table. I pull my phone out of my pocket and set a timer for one hour before I start reading. I know I’llnever stop at an hour if I don’t, and I’d feel bad if I didn’t because Tatiana said she was hungry.

I’m really getting into my book, but I’m interrupted when the riff from “Sweet Child O' Mine” rings out from my phone. Sebastian set that as the timer sound about four years ago, and I’ve never changed it, even when I’ve upgraded my phone.

I’m self-conscious about it for some reason, so I stop it quickly and smile at Tatiana. “Time’s up.” I’m right near the end of this chapter, and the policeman is about to get his hands on the video tapes. So I check how long I have left, then ask, “Can I finish this chapter? I only have three pages left.”

She gives that musical laugh and says, “Sure, I’m not about to die of starvation.”

I finish the chapter, then put my bookmark in the book and set it aside, even though I’m desperately curious to know what is on the tapes. I follow Tatiana to the kitchen, then open the fridge and realize she might not even eat seafood, so I turn to look at her.

“Do you eat fish?”

She stares at me, looking surprised. “You’re planning to cook?”

I can’t stop myself from bursting into laughter. It’s weird, in general, the way people treat me now that I’m famous, but it never fails to amuse me when people assume I’m basically not a normal person who still needs to cook dinner on a daily basis.

“Well, yeah. Did you think I was too good to cook for you?”

“Hey, in my defense, I can count on one hand the number of clients who have cooked for me. Most either order in food or have staff that does it for them.”

I shake my head as I pull vegetables out of the fridge. “Well, my mamá and abuela taught me better than that. I don’t usually eat out unless I’m with the guys.”

I pull a pot out to boil some water, and Tatiana slides onto one of the stools at my kitchen bench. For someone who has literally performed for tens of thousands of people and in shows streamed live worldwide for millions of people to watch, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more “on display” than I do right now.

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