Page 247 of Love Me Stalk Me
IZZY
There are cops everywhere.
Flashing lights, voices on radios, officers moving in and out of the warehouse. It's a scene straight out of a crime drama, only this time, I'm in it. The brisk night air nips at my exposed skin, carrying the scent of the nearby Hudson River mingled with diesel from the police vehicles.
I sit on the back of an ambulance, a scratchy wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders—Amanda's doing. She practically threw it at me before marching off to argue with a cop about jurisdiction, purely for the sake of making herself a nuisance. The blanket smells faintly of antiseptic and feels heavy against my shoulders, but I welcome its warmth.
I glance over at Cal. He suggested we leave since he'd already spoken to the officers and given them his statement. We were just waiting for Evan to be led out in handcuffs. He told me I didn't need to see that, but I insisted I did. Cal nodded like he understood my need for closure, so now we're sitting here, waiting beneath the harsh glow of the emergency lights.
He's next to me, sitting still, his hands clasped together, knuckles scraped and bruised, fingers curled tight against his palms. His shirt is spattered with dark stains I try not to think about too much.
But his hands are shaking slightly.
I thread my fingers through his, feeling the textured strength of his hand, his heat seeping into my cold skin.
His head turns toward me immediately. His hands instantly go still.
I squeeze gently.
"Thank you," I whisper.
I can see the guilt in his eyes as he exhales through his nose, before looking away. "I should have seen it sooner," he mutters. "Shouldn't havegotten distracted. I let you get taken. I told you I'd always be watching and I wasn't."
I shake my head softly, my hair brushing against the wool blanket. "But you got here. That's what matters."
He stares at me for a long second, clearly wanting to argue. There's a fire in his eyes that makes my heart flutter, even with exhaustion dragging at my limbs.
Finally, he exhales, rubbing his thumb against the inside of my wrist. The gentle circular motion of his thumb sends a wave of comfort through my body.
My other hand drifts absently to his dog tags still hanging beneath my shirt. I twist the chain around my fingers.
His eyes notice the movement. “You’re wearing them?”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “Every day.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then shifts slightly, reaching into his jacket pocket. When he pulls his hand out, there’s a flash of familiar blue glass between his fingers.
“Been carrying it around like a lunatic.”
An officer starts walking toward us, notebook in hand, but Amanda intercepts immediately—hands on her hips, already launching into a rapid-fire speech about proper procedure and victim rights. The poor guy doesn't stand a chance.
Cal and I watch for a moment before I shake my head.
"Who the hell is Amanda?" I mutter, my lips curving into a small smile.
He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have no idea."
I exhale, leaning into him, sinking into the warmth of his side and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. My body molds naturally against his larger frame. The adrenaline fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and profound relief that makes my muscles feel like liquid.
Then I lift my head, curiosity getting the better of me. My hair falls across my face, and I tuck it behind my ear.
"How did you know where I was?"
He tenses immediately, muscles going rigid beneath my touch. I half-expect him not to answer.
"I had access to your phone," he admits finally, voice rough, like saying it is almost painful. "I hacked into it my first day at the store. Huge violation of trust. I shouldn't have?—"
I press my fingers to his lips, stopping him. His lips are surprisingly softagainst my fingertips.
