Page 38 of Castaway Whirlwind
With Elliott here, I’m relaxed enough to let Layla out of the hall so she can pull her robe on—after, of course, asking everyone to turn around, even Cooke, to which they oblige. Then begins the tedious but necessary step of going through all my security footage, during which time Elliott disappears without a word. Since no one has been out to my place, whoever did this wasn’t familiar enough with the layout to avoid most of the cameras as the suspect did at BT.
“Different person this time, I think,” Sheriff says, zooming in on a still image. We can’t see much of their face below their baseball cap, but their build is different, slightly larger. “Look like anyone you know?”
Layla shifts in her seat at the kitchen table beside me on my left, my arm across her lap, my hand gripping her upper thigh. It’s not the first time I’ve held her there, but it is the first time while she’s awake, and I love that she doesn’t stop me.
“Hmm,” Allen taps his fingers on the table top while he’s thinking, squinting at the footage. “Maybe Joel?”
Tension tightens my shoulders. Joel is an older guy, one of Steven’s friends from BT I thought he’d lost. If it turns out to be him, then I was wrong. It had crossed my mind that the vandal who slashed our tires could have been employed at BT, either past or present, which means I potentially have two employees I need to root out.
Although we’re assured that Steven is still incarcerated and his recorded calls have been investigated, it’s not out of the question that he’s somehow communicating with his old buddies using code words or through someone else. That, or his friends have taken it upon themselves to get back at us. Whether or not it’s me or Layla who is the primary target, it’s clear we’re both involved, and Trace is the one who is collateral.
While I make phone calls to have Layla’s car towed so her windshield can be replaced and to have a contractor replace our broken door after the officers leave, Layla sets about cleaning up the broken glass. I stand as a shield between her and the open air, though I have an inkling Elliott is out walking my property, looking for any clues the officers may have missed.
Layla puts the broom away, covering a yawn with the back of her hand. “I hate to ask you this, but can you take me home?”
“I want you here with me,” I answer. Sensing her reluctance, I add, “We can stay upstairs, and you can have your own room.”Though I’ll be sleeping outside your door. “Or we can stay at your apartment. I’d…I’d feel better if I could keep an eye on you.”Every day and every night from now until the day I die.
Chapter 12
Layla
Russell leaves me in the truck while he checks my apartment to make sure it’s safe, even after an officer had already been sent to do so before we left, though I’d told them it wasn’t necessary since I went through my doorbell camera and saw no one come to my door. With only one window to worry about and being closer to town and neighbors, I feel safer than I did after the attack at the house.
Russell fixes up a meal while I take a shower, waiting until the very end to clean the cum he left between my thighs, wondering where our relationship—if I truly am his woman and what we haveisn’ttransactional—will go from here. I have a choice to make when I finish drying my hair and push it back from my face with a fuzzy panda ear headband: put on one of my old nightgowns or the new one he gave me? I pick the new one, which is softer and sexier than anything I own. I don’t have much to feel giddy about in life, especially after what happened earlier, but this nightgown…The fact that Russell even had it in the first place to give to me with the tags still attached, no doubt having thought about me wearing it…Giddyis the right word. Special. Considered.Desired.
He has a few more calls to make after we eat, staring at my breasts the whole time, so I busy myself cleaning up since he cooked. I ignore him when he puts his hand over his phone, muting it to tell me twice, “Leave it. I’ll take care of it.”
Though the sun is just starting to set, I’m worn out and ready for bed. A full-sized mattress is more than what I need, but Russell is so big that I don’t know if it’ll comfortably hold both of us—if he does indeed want to sleep next to me instead of staying up all night, guarding the door, which he might since he brought his shotgun. But if he does sleep with me, it’ll probably be a tight fit. He might have to scooch in real close. Maybe spoon me so he has enough room.
I blush all over when I turn down the comforter and sit on the bed with my back to the headboard. My smile grows when Russell comes out of my bathroom dressed in a fresh white T-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. He’s so handsome no matter what he wears, but the soft material molded to his large body stirs up more heat in my belly. My smile wilts, though, when he drags his chair closer to the front door and lays his gun sideways on his lap.
“Are you going to stay up all night guarding the door?” I ask.
“Yes.” I haven’t pulled my comforter up over my body yet, and he stares at my bare feet, my ankles crossed over each other. “I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
“Oh.” I try not to sound disappointed when I say, “Thank you.” A long, awkward pause follows. I don’t have a TV, and Russell rarely uses his phone for anything more than calling and texting, so it’s going to be a long night if he has nothing to do. I scoot down the bed so I can lie back, and I point to thebookshelf pushed up against the wall in the corner next to the window. “If you get bored, you can borrow one of my books.”
He doesn’t follow my finger, his gaze skimming higher up my legs. “The book Davis returned to you…Do you still have that one?”
Ok, big mistake. My face flames. “Yes.”
“Think I’d like to read that one.”
“Oh, you, uh, you wouldn’t like it.”
He points to my nightstand. “What about that one?”
Dangit!I accidentally left the book in question next to my bed within reach instead of hiding it in my closet while he was in the bathroom. I grab it and shove it under my pillow. “You wouldn’t like it. I promise.”
“How do you know?”
I don’t have a good answer for that, so I simply ignore it and reach for my teddy bear, clutch it to my chest when I roll onto my side, and pull the comforter up to my waist. Normally, when I bury my nose in the teddy bear’s fur, it brings up special memories of my dad. But after my conversation with Russell last week, those memories are tainted around the edges, old ones trying to push their way forward. I ignore those, too.
Since being vulnerable in front of people is something I usually actively work against, it takes a while for me to open my mouth and tell Russell in a sleepy voice, “Thank you for staying with me and…and watching over me.” The day he brought me home and sat watching me until I woke up so he could take me to work was a real eye-opener, andDaddywasn’t the only kink I researched afterward. “It makes me feel safe.”And so much more.
“I’ll always watch you,” he says, his voice thick. “Sleep well, darlin’.”
And though I fight to keep my eyes open, wanting towatch him watch me, the sleep that I never get enough of pulls me under faster than I’d like.
