Deadly Obsession by Jaycee Clark Read Free Book Online

them, and if we don’t, He rarely sends them again."
    "Mom, sometimes you talk like a damn fortune cookie."
    She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We mothers are wise souls." She caught his grin as she walked to the door. There she saw he’d picked up his laptop and was grinning at it.
    "I’m not the only one up," he said to her.

    So her other heartsick one was up as well.
    "Tell Christian I said hello. And to make certain she gets enough rest and a good breakfast."
    He nodded. "Yes, Mom."
    She shut the door and walked to her room. Inside, their apartments, her husband sat leaning against the headboard, his white hair standing in disarray. "You bring me anything?"
    "No, I thought you were asleep."
    "As long as we’ve been married and making love, you’d think you’d know by now I like a snack after loving my wife."
    She grinned and handed him a cookie from her robe pocket.
    "What took you so long?" he asked, pulling her down into the crook of his arm.
    "Nothing. Brayden’s up."
    He humphed. "You wouldn’t be meddling now, would you?"
    Kaitlyn decided not to answer.

     
    * * * *
     
    Christian rubbed her eyes. She’d typed up her latest acquisition reports for several clients and still needed to do the bid proposals for the North Carolina estate being sold next week. She’d gotten behind since her theater class started rehearsals.
    She didn’t exactly have the time, but theater was a love she just couldn’t seem to let go of. Though this particular play, about a stalked woman who comes back as a ghost, stirred up old memories she thought she’d finally put the past in the past. But that was before the notes, the photos and the midnight calls.
    How the man got her number she would never know. She was unlisted, but still he called. There were hang-ups on her machine, breathy whispers in the dead of night and always that stupid opera in the background. A shiver danced down her back.
    If she believed in fate or karma she’d think she was just royally screwed.
    His Angel.
    Something popped against her window and she jumped. Her hand flew to her chest as chills raced down her spine.
    Damn her nerves. Before long she’d be on Prozac or Xanax. Either one would be fine with her. That’d be good. She could smile when she found the next batch of photos, and who knows, she might actually get some sleep. Or at least do some day-to-day things without feeling like a cold hand hovered just above the back of her neck.
    God she was tired, but in sleep, the past mixed with the present and the nightmares were as exhausting as staying up all night. She signed onto her messenger.
    Oldshopkeeper popped up with a message.
    A soft sigh escaped and she grinned.
    Brayden.
    Clicking on the message, she answered.
    Broadway_Babe: What are you doing up at this hour?
    Oldshopkeeper: I asked you first.
    Truth or lie? Better yet neither. Simple.
    Broadway_Babe: Couldn’t sleep.
    Oldshopkeeper: Obviously.
    For several seconds she looked at his message and could imagine him sitting in his bed, the notebook propped on his lap. What she wouldn’t give to be there at Seneca with him, sitting in his room talking about anything, everything, or nothing at all.
    Those days were over. If Brayden hadn’t pushed her away before, she’d be pushing him away now.
    She had to.
    He had found her. Her phantom to his angel, like in Leroux’s classic. And when he was around, those close to her died.
    But God, she missed Brayden, the way his voice soothed even though it was roughened and gruff. How his eyes could cut a person in half with just a look. She missed that smile that totally transformed his serious face into a charming rascal.
    She missed him, Tori, everyone. Kaitlyn came by yesterday and pounded her with questions. Why wasn’t she eating? Was she not sleeping? And Kaitlyn had seen the inhaler. That launched a lecture and a dozen questions on stress and health and overall well-being. Christian missed her family. Now more than ever.
    This I’ll