Page 8 of The Chief
How the fuck did Keir get my actual number? He only had my burner number before. My skin prickled with awareness as I glanced around, sensing he could be close. If he was, that would be disastrous.
I’d thought about running after I’d dropped the bullet into the cup holder of the Rover, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I had my nursing course, which I was only a year away from finishing, and I wasn’t willing to risk everything I’d worked toward. Doing what Grady wanted shouldn’t have exploded my life. I’d held up my end of the bargain. Was it too much to want to be left alone after being blackmailed into delivering a warning?
Knowing Keir had eyes on me only made my blood heat a notch.
My phone vibrated again.
Unknown number: Run, because if I catch you, you’re mine
“JesusfeckingChrist.” My words were a harsh whisper.
What the hell had I gotten myself into? Keir was like the fucking Terminator hunting me down. Hastily looking around, I dumped my coffee and muffin into the nearest dustbin and ran toward the center of campus, my messenger bag banging against my hip as my feet hit the sidewalk. The faces I passed blurred, as my mind focused on getting to the safety of the buildings, although even that hadn’t stopped Grady from terrorizing me.
Once my foot hit the giant stone steps at the front of the library, I forced myself to slow and not draw unnecessary attention to myself. I immediately darted to the right, seeking the stairs to the upper levels. It was perfect, nobody ever went up there. Climbing the treads—my lungs burning with the effort—I promised myself I’d do more cardio if I got out of this alive.
After three flights, I step cautiously onto the quiet floor, which held stacks of periodicals on everything from the basics of palliative care to the best practices for infection control in NICU. I hurried over the carpet, my footsteps muffled as I moved between the rows, trying to find cover near the end. The sound of footsteps slapping on the stone floor of the stairs echoed in time with my racing pulse.
In the pocket of my hoodie, my phone buzzed.
I tried to quiet my rushed breathing, as my anxiety caused bile to burn the back of my throat. Then I put my big girl panties on and pulled out my phone.
Unknown number: Books can’t save you. Not when I’m on your tail.
Chapter 4
Keir
Ihad her. I fuckinghadher.
The refrain played through my head as I stalked through the stacks. This level of the library was quiet, but if she’d thought the solitude would save her, Jynx was in for a surprise. The old carpet dampened the sound of my footsteps, obscuring my location. She was hidden here. So close I could practically smell her. Inhaling slowly, I caught a hint of citrus and…
I breathed in deep.
She smelled of desperation. It perfumed the air, luring me closer.
I’d done my research and knew everything there was to know about Jynx.
What size clothes she wore, her shoe size, how much money was in her bank account. Hell, I even knew the make and model of the last dildo she bought. Though why did thinking about her dildo make me want to show her what a real man could do?
Who was I kidding, she wouldn’t be interested in going for round two.Ishouldn’t want to go for round two, but someone needed to tell that to my fucking dick. The chase combined with thoughts of the ways I could torture information out of her had my cock feeling like a steel rod behind the zipper of my jeans.
Turning my head, I peered down each of the stacks as I stalked the wide aisle between them, my heart rate settling into a slow, steady rhythm. It had always done that when I was on the hunt, and today was no different.
Pulling out my phone, I sent her another text message, messing with her head.
I can hear you breathing.
Can smell your fear, too.
I waited, my head tilted to the side, as I listened for the buzz of the notification. She wouldn’t have been stupid enough to have the sound on. Surely, she would’ve silenced the device as soon as I’d sent the first message. Or maybe she was the type of woman who always had it on silent because she was that fucking courteous. Yeah, I bet that was it. Though she wasn’t courteous enough not to leave a fucking declaration of war in my cup holder.
Advancing a few more steps, I continued to sweep the yards of ancient carpet, metal stacks, and books. There were only three ways out of here. The stairs she ascended at the front, down the emergency stairs at the back, or being dragged out of here by her hair. My dick twitched at the thought of wrapping my hand around that luscious blue-black hair and tugging until tears sprung into the corners of her cunning eyes.
There. On my right.
A rustle of clothing. A sharp inhale of breath.
Now I knew exactly where she was.
