Page 96 of Concealed

So, either itwasGabe and he’s working with Rebecca to surprise me, or…

“You’re acting, weird, man,” the deputy says. “It was just your friend, Matt.”

I smash the steering wheel with both hands, wishing the fucking truck could fly. If Matt fucking touched her…

“How close are you to my place?” I’m basically screaming, and there’s fear in the deputy’s voice when he answers.

“About thirty minutes. We just finished a call at–”

But I don’t wait to find out about the issue my colleague just dealt with. I disconnect the call and drive as fast as possible on the shoulder of the road, hoping with everything in me that it’s not too late.

Rebecca wasn’t imagining being followed.

She wasn’t imagining being watched.

Matt found her, and he was just waiting for his chance.

I never, ever should have left her alone.

Chapter 22

Rebecca

“Hi,Rebecca.”

I forgot the wine when I went grocery shopping this morning, and I’m juggling the bottle and my purse. I just managed to get the front door of the townhouse open, and now I must be hallucinating Matt’s serene and quiet voice.

But when my head turns like a magnet, my gaze locks on my ex’s looming figure leaning against the breakfast bar like he owns it.

The bottle falls from my hands, the perfect pairing for the elaborate feast I was planning to make for Wyatt tonight, crashing onto the floor.

I don’t even have time to think, just react, and magically my body doesn’t freeze.

The prospect of certain death does that to a person.

Spinning on my heels so fast I nearly fall over, I start to run through the open door. I need to do something – anything – other than letting Matt put his hands on me again.

I’ve come too far to go backward.

He’s on me in an instant, so fast and agile that I barely take two steps before his big sweaty hand traps the scream in my mouth and locks my body in place against his chest. My feet frantically scrape the ground and try desperately to bring me to safety.

But I’m stuck.

Shit!

He drops his hand from my mouth to my throat, a clear warning about what will happen if I try to scream.

Like I don’t already know.

“This is a cop’s house,” I whisper.

“You think I give a fuck?” Matt asks, through a laugh.

He doesn’t.

Of course, he doesn’t.

No one can touch Matt.

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