Page 34 of The Twins
“We should go, make sure she’s okay,” I said to Cillian.
“Yeah, come on.”
“You won’t find her there,” Mitch said.
“Oh no? Why not?”
“We took her to her friend’s house, Grantchester Apartments, number eighteen, I think.”
“And her friend’s name?”
“Amy.” Mitch paused. “Energetic little thing, pixie-like.” He smiled, which was rare since his bitter divorce. “Say hi to her for me.”
“Sure thing, Mitch. But who is this prick?” I stepped toward the door. “Who’s stalking her?”
“Yeah, he needs gutting,” Cillian added. “Just for scaring her.”
“No idea,” Mitch said, “and she doesn’t know either.”
“She doesn’t have an inkling?” Andrew chipped in. “She must have.”
“A few past clients,” Mitch went on, “disgruntled that she didn’t get them off their charges. That’s her best theory.”
“Ah yes, could well be.” Andrew jerked his head at me. “Go check your woman, and then let us know if you need help sorting this stalking bastard out.”
Chapter Eight
Rebecca
I stepped out of the shower and dried. Amy had left me a purple tracksuit, and I squeezed into it. I was curvier than her, and it hugged my ass, hips, and boobs. I’d have to brave going home soon.
“Jeez, woman, you are a vision of holy hotness.” Amy looked up as I stepped into the living area and grinned. “I’ve made coffee and I popped out for croissants.”
“Perfect.” I smiled and sat on the sofa I’d tried to sleep on the night before. But sleep had been hard to find. My mind had been whirring and adrenaline still circulating. Who the heck had been in my house? And what were they planning next?
“You really okay, Becca?” she asked.
“I guess.” I shrugged. “I’m just worried, this is escalating. It’s gone from notes to flowers to breaking and entering.”
“Yeah, you need to get to the police and fill them in.” She paused. “Have you any idea who it is?”
“A couple of thoughts. The police will be able to help me, hopefully.”
“And they can go and have a word. You can get a restraining order.”
My guts told me a restraining order wasn’t likely to be obeyed. Not if it was someone who was willing to stalk with this degree of determination. Not if it was someone who’d called prison home.
A ring sounded. The intercom system.
I jumped, my nerves still on edge. “You expecting anyone?”
“No.” Amy stood and went to the door. She peered at the screen then pressed the button. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here for Rebecca.”
The Irish twang had my body responding, a tremble, a quiver, and thrill I hadn’t expected.
“She’s not here.” Amy scowled at the speaker.
