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By sheer force of will, I didn’t wince as I said the words. One look at his face told me that he didn’t believe it for one second.
Continuing, I said, “Seriously? How the hell could I have tracked you more than halfway across the country? I didn’t have your phone number or address. Shit, I don’t even know your name.” A wave of shame slid over me, but what was done was done.
His eyes were still full of suspicion. It was almost like he was paranoida very far cry from the suave, confident man I’d met in New York that night.
“Lady, I don’t know why you’re here, but I need to make one thing clear. What we had that night was just that.
One night. No replays, no extra fun. I don’t need you getting any ideas about us. If you’re looking for round two, you’re out of luck.”
The man—
Christ, I still didn’t know his fucking name
—was pretty full of himself. “You really think I moved all the way across the country with my girls to stalk down some man? Just to ride his cock one more time? I’m a little offended you would even think that, honestly.”
He sighed. “You aren’t the first woman to stalk me, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” He chuckled humorlessly. “This really is a bit much to hook up one more time.”
That did it. I was no longer surprised, shocked, or confused. I was pissed. He hadn’t been spiteful or mean when he said it. It was very matter-of-fact and straightforward, like it was obvious that was what I wanted.
“Listen, prick, you need to watch how you talk to me. My daughters could hear you.”
We both turned to look at the house and saw the girls peeking through the curtains by the door. Catching sight of us, they ducked away. He laughed, and it was actually a good-natured chuckle, but the look of happiness vanished quickly. Instead of pushing things, he started backing away.
“I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine.”
He spun on his heel and walked back to his house. I watched him go, and my hand swept across my belly unconsciously. Well, after that, there was no way I was going to tell him about the baby. The decision was made. He was mad enough to think I wanted another roll in the hay. I couldn’t imagine what he’d say if I tried to convince him he may have gotten me pregnant.
THREE
TATE
It took all my control not to slam the front door as I went inside, leaving my mower in the yard. I stomped back and forth across the living room. Every few paces, I glanced out the window at the house across the street. What the fuck was happening? This was absolutely crazy. Batshit crazy, to be exact.
I went to the kitchen and yanked a beer out of the fridge, downing it in three fast gulps before I grabbed a second and flopped down on the couch. All I wanted was to get my mind off it, but that wasn’t possible. I actually had to think harder on it, especially considering the information Miles had given us about the missing shifters. Was this woman involved? Was she a hunter? That sounded crazy, but maybe. Could she have marked me as a target in New York? Followed me all the way here? But what about the kids? They were too young to be hunters.
Sipping at the beer, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Maybe Miles had been able to dig up that info on her. I dialed and took another drink as it rang.
“Tate?” Miles answered.
“Yeah, hey… did you get a chance to look into my new neighbor?” I didn’t go into the fact that I’d fucked her seven or eight weeks before. No need to muddy the waters.
“Actually, I did. I’ve been compiling all the information into a file. I can email it over in five or ten minutes.”
“That would be great.” Unable to control myself, I added, “Did… anything seem weird?”
A pause, then he replied, “Not really. Pretty standard stuff. I’ll send it as soon as I get all the files into one folder.”
“Okay, cool. Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
Five minutes later, my laptop chirped with an email notification. Almost spilling my beer in my haste, I yanked it across the coffee table and pulled up the message. Eagerly scanning the information, the first thing I noticed was her name. Harley King, maiden name Stone.
I leaned back and groaned, putting my face in my hands. A married woman? That was not cool. I cringed at the idea of some poor guy sitting at home wondering where his wife was while I was banging her brains out. My moral code when it came to sex was no clients and no married or taken women. It was a simple but fucking iron-clad rule. I’d broken that rule once or twice, but by complete accident—women who had lied about being in relationships. I’d always felt like absolute shit when it happened, so I tried everything I could to prevent it.
I leaned forward, shaking my head. It was done, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. Scanning the document, I saw that I actually had no reason to be upset. Harley was a widow. That surprised me. She was awfully young to be widowed. Something tragic must have caused that. I found a couple of news articles as well as an obituary for a Samuel King. He’d been an officer with the NYPD and had been killed in the line of duty three years ago.
“That fucking sucks,” I whispered to myself.
I didn’t want the lady living next door, but I wasn’t a total asshole. It was tough to imagine raising two young kids after
your husband was killed. I could empathize with that. The kids were Mariah King, aged sixteen, and Jordyn King, aged fourteen. There were scanned pictures from a yearbook. I didn’t know how Miles had acquired those. Thankfully, their pictures matched the girls next door. No stolen identities here.
Miles had been beyond thorough. There was a copy of Harley’s marriage certificate, scans of the girls’ report cards, even a few hyperlinks to websites Harley had designed. I’d casually clicked them and was impressed with the job she’d done. She was good. It was also a job she could do remotely, which gave her the means to get out of the city and still remain employed. That’s what I wanted to figure out next. Why the hell was she here?
A possible reason appeared in one of the last files I opened. There was a copy of a restraining order she’d filed against a Luis Ortiz a couple of weeks before she moved to Lilly Valley. A black-and-white scan of a driver’s license picture popped up. He was a good-looking dude, but something about his picture put me on edgelike there was something under the surface ready to snap. I didn’t like him.
The order stated that he’d begun stalking and threatening Harley and her daughters. There were a few examples, and they weren’t the worst things I’d ever seen or heard about, but it had the scent of escalation. Had she not gotten out, things would probably have continued to get more and more out of hand. I had to admit, it was probably a good plan to move away from the city.