Page 15 of Shadowed Obsession

She toes down the stairs hesitantly, closing the distance between us whilemaintaining eye contact, and stops a few feet in front of me. This is the closest we’ve ever physically been, and she holds the power to end it all at point-blank. She’s rattled, and the trembling hands on the trigger have my heart pounding in my ears. I’ve been in life-threatening situations before, but none like this.

She parts her full lips to speak, but nothing comes out. Still, I anticipate her next words. The deadly weapon creates a barrier between us as I take her in. She lives up to her nickname, her body quaking as she zeroes in with a gaze full of ire.

I wonder if she knows that her eyes can ruin a man’s resolve.

If death looks this fucking beautiful, I may reconsider.

Usually, I wouldn’t mind saying that out loud, but this barrel I’m currently staring down is an incentive to bite my tongue for once. There’s no excuse that would suffice for why I’m standing in her home in the middle of the night or why I’ve been following her. Anything I say that’s truthful will get me killed.

I understand that now, shaking my head in disappointment because I cannot say I don’t know better.

Protocol is once I am seen, I must remove myself from the case and pass it over, but I don’t like the thought of anyone else watching her but me.

Six weeks I’ve gathered intel and surveilled her, only for someone else to come in take my fucking payday? Fuck that. What my clients don’t know won’t hurt them.

Why am I even doing this shit? My life is currently in the hands of an unpredictable woman who has every right to drop me where I stand.

Guns aren’t something I fear, though having one pointed directly at me is an unfamiliar experience. Haven’t been one to plead for mercy and won’t start now. I’m man enough to accept whatever consequences I’m entitled to, but my heart hurts for my family, should I not make it out of here alive.

“Do you plan to kill me?” She squeaks her question like she’s trying to gauge whether she has to kill me or not.

This is not how I expected our first conversation to go, and I’ve blown it if that’s what she thinks of me. A murderer? Absolutely not. Now, her on the other hand? The jury is still out on that one. My head tilts as I eye her from head to toe.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You have a weapon pointed atme, but have the audacity to ask if I’m going to hurtyou.”

She stammers, “I—I’m defending my home from athreat.”

Me? A threat?

My eyebrows lift in shock, and before I know it I’m speaking. Biting my tongue wasn’t going to last very long. It’s impulsive around her, and shealwayshas a comeback.

“Lions love the chase, isn’t that what you said?” I ask, and she backs up, careful not to trip. “Look, I’m an intentional man. If I wanted to harm you, I would have.” My feet drag me closer, entering her orbit, and she surprisingly lowers the weapon to her side, a silent invitation that my foolish ass accepts. Her tart cherry scent fills my nose, and I crave more of it. “And if you wanted to kill me,youwould’ve done it. Instead, you destroyed your couch over there,” I tease, pointing my thumb toward the wreckage in her living room.

She grimaces, and it’s kinda cute.

“You think you know me?” she huffs.

Duh.

“I know plenty, but you still manage to keep me on my toes,” I tell her, wagging my index finger in her direction. “I know about your upbringing, passcodes, how you like your eggs, and that you have a tattoo inside your lip, Doe,” I taunt, reaching to touch her chin. She understandably swats my hand away. Though I don’t miss how her breath hitches at my proximity.

Too soon for niceties. Understood.

Backing away to resume my spot, I place enough distance between us and continue. “Now, it’s my turn to ask questions. First, can we have a civilized conversation without weapons?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who broke intomyfucking house.”

“I did not break in. I have akey. If anything, I’m a guest here. Is this how you treat houseguests, Deirdre?” I stupidly add, lifting the balaclava up to rest on my nose.

It’s fucking hot in this thing, but I can’t let her see my whole face.

“The hell you are,” she barks, her free hand balling into a fist.

My jaw drops, and I rub my chest as if she wounded me. This is the first time her mask has slipped, revealing the anger that boils beneath the surface.

“What happened to southern hospitality?”

“I ain’t fucking southern,” she quips, adjusting her grip on her gun.

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