Page 8 of Saffron and Secrets

I didn't even get her last name yesterday, and if I text her now, she’ll think I’m weird and she’s already freaked out.

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I open her text from yesterday, and I can’t help but smile.

Ruby: Home. Safe. Thanks again. :)

Dropping my phone back down on the desk, I refocus on my task at hand, but frustration gets the better of me.

She rattles my brain to not even get her last name.

I keep tapping my finger on the desk, when an idea strikes me. Her social media handles. Surely her last name will come up there. Then I can see if anything is abnormal for someone to be leaving her a note and giving her this unsettled feeling.

Like an ex…

I bring up Facebook and type in Ruby, but it’s a popular name, and after spending an hour clicking on every profile listed, I almost give up. None of them matches the woman I’m looking for. She’s hard to forget, after all.

Those pouty, kissable lips. That long beautiful hair…I want to run my hands through as I kiss her.

Yeah, I know I would have seen her.

Her beauty would have stood out on the screen in front of me.

Disappointed, I sigh.

Dead end after dead fucking end.

Her full name is important for me, so I can eliminate whoever’s making her feel unsafe. Terrorized.

I don't see her as crazy. I believe her.

I don't want to see that scared, paled face ever again. She should walk the streets comfortably.

Definitely not her. I don’t want her scared. I'll do anything I can to protect her.

After finishing my typing, I sip my coffee, still holding on to the hope I’ll find an answer. My phone rings, and when I see who it is, I sigh. James.

“I need you to take me over to Browns,” he says after I answer.

“Right now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“I'm coming,” I say and shut down my computer. It’s not like I have anything to go off, so this is a welcomed distraction.

But as I’m about to hang up, James asks, “What's up?”

Not wanting to discuss it right now, I say, “I'll tell you when I see you.”

“Okay. See you soon.” He hangs up, and I stuff my phone in my pocket and go downstairs.

A couple of minutes later, I’m waiting in the car when James opens the door and slides across the backseat, typing away on his phone, so I wait until he finishes and puts his seatbelt on and looks up at me before I drive away.

“What’s going on?” he asks with a puzzled expression.

“Every Friday, whenever I go to the florist to pick up your arrangement for Abby, there has been this woman.”

James's eyebrow lifts at the word woman.

“Interesting,” James murmurs.

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