Page 24 of In Her Shadow

“I was just asking.” He holds his hands up.

“I’ll be fine,” I whisper, suddenly feeling as if I have the weight of the whole world on my shoulders.

“You know I’m never far away, right?” he assures me, almost like he can sense that’s what I need to hear.

Am I being paranoid?

“I know.” I nod back, assuring myself that he can’t possibly know what happened. Even if he’d followed me home from work last night, all he would have seen is me getting into a cab.

“So, tonight, are we hanging out at yours or do you wann–”

“Ren, I like you a lot.” I want to hang out at mine more than anything, but I also need to put the brakes on this. I don’t want to become dependent on him; I’ve worked so hard on myself. I like where this could be heading, and I’m scared that if we go too fast, we’ll crash. “Don’t you think this is moving a little too quickly? Maybe we should slow things down just a little.” I can tell from the look on his face that he’s upset by what I’m saying, but I can’t carry on the way I am. I’m already putting myself in danger, relying on him far too much. I barely know this guy; he shares nothing about himself with me, and despite all that, he expects me to call myself his girlfriend.

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs, making out it’s not a big deal, but I can see that it is, and I hate how it feels to hurt him.

“Maybe we could catch a movie at the weekend, or I could come over to your place?” I suggest, desperate not to lose him. I like the way I feel when I’m around him, I like the confidence he gives me, but after what happened last night, I have to be wary of it.

“You have a good day, Kitten.” He kisses me the same way he did yesterday, only this time he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip and gives me just enough discomfort to remind me of how much I like his pain. It relieves the nerves in my stomach and makes me feel a little more powerful. Ren pulls back and nods at me, as if he knows that I need that extra courage to step through the doors.

“You too.” I turn my back on him and head inside, hoping that I haven’t ruined things between us, and dreading what has to come next.

The office is way more hectic than it usually is when the elevator pings open. Yvette on the front desk is crying dramatically, and Mary-Ann sprints the length of the corridor to reach me before anyone else does.

“Eloise, have you heard?” She grips my arm so tight, I stare down at her hand.

“Heard what?” I’m still stunned by all the chaos.

“The police are here.” She gestures her head toward Mr. Connor’s office, and I freeze when I see a guy in a full forensic suit packing Mr Connor’s laptop into a see-through plastic bag.

“What are they doing here?” I look across the room toward a man who I assume is one of the detectives. He’s holding a notepad but isn’t writing anything down, and although he’s making it look like he’s listening to Harvey Gilbert, he’s much more interested in taking in everything around him.

Suddenly, his eyes lock with mine, and the way he looks at me causes all those knots in my stomach to twist up again.

“It’s Mr. Connor, he’s dead,” Mary-Ann informs me when I turn back to look at her.

“Dead? But he was…” I glance back toward his office, where the guy in the white suit is still putting his things into evidence bags.

“Apparently, his cleaner found him at his house early this morning. I don’t know if the rumors are true, but they think he was murdered,” she whispers.

“Murdered?!” I blurt out far too loudly.

Holy shit, can you kill someone with a knee to the balls?

Someone clears their throat from behind us, and when I realize the detective has moved his way over to us, I quickly raise my lips into a smile.

“Miss Meadows.” He doesn’t seem to be asking if that's who I am; he knows.

“Yes, that's me.” Suddenly, I feel like I’m under a spotlight, my palms are sweating, and my skin feels as if it’s on fire.

“I’m DCI Harris, could I have a moment of your time? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure.” I smile at him nervously, allowing him to guide me into one of the senior editor's offices for some privacy.

“Miss Meadows.” He takes a seat behind the desk.

“Eloise, you can call me Eloise,” I tell him, thinking that Miss Meadows is far too formal. We’re just talking, I’m answering a few questions to help with his inquiries. This isn’t an official interview; if it were, surely he’d tell me to lawyer up. I don’t know any lawyers. I can’t afford one…I feel sick.

“We believe you stayed behind last night after office hours,” he continues.

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