Deadly Obsession by Jaycee Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

our lives hell? But don’t worry, you can rest your little mind. I have a cop.
    A full minute passed before she got a reply on that one.
    Oldshopkeeper: A cop?
    He knew. She would bet her condo he knew.
    Broadway_Babe: Morris. Remember him? He lives a few doors down.
    She thought for a moment. What the hell.
    Broadway_Babe: Gabe’s been really helpful.
    Oldshopkeeper: Gabe? Helpful? What the hell does that mean?
    She could all but see the bite in his words. If he’d asked the question aloud, his voice would deepen and gruff over words when something got to him more than he was willing to admit.
    Broadway_Babe: Just that he’s helpful.
    Someone knocked at her door downstairs. She glanced at the clock and saw it was almost three. Who the hell would be knocking this time of night? A chill danced down her spine. He knew where she lived.
    Oldshopkeeper: And that means what?
    Again thumping echoed from downstairs. Should she answer it? No. No, definitely not.
    Thump. Thump. Thump.
    The sound reverberated through the quiet night. At this rate whoever was knocking would wake the entire complex. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not going to let the man reduce her to hiding under the covers.
    Broadway_Babe: Brb. Knock on door.
    She noted he was typing as she stood and hurried downstairs, leaving the lights off.
    Another small yet looming nightly war. Lights or no lights? Lights allowed her to see if anyone were in her condo. After all, she could hardly see in the dark. But lights also allowed those outside to see in.
    Carefully, she looked through the peephole.
    No one.
    "Who’s there?" she called.

    Silence.
    Gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip, she stared out the distorted view of the night, then dropped back down onto her heels, staring at the door. Christian drummed her fingers against her thigh. Who knocked? She was tempted to fling the door open to prove to herself she was only letting him get to her.
    Reason won out. She might be paranoid, but that didn’t mean someone might not be out there.
    Carefully, she looked out the side window beside the door. The sheers really didn’t do much in way of blocking her view, but still she shoved them to the side. She saw no one.
    Goose bumps pricked her skin.
    It was nothing and no one. Probably just some kid out knocking on doors.
    Sighing, she turned and headed back upstairs.
    Thump. Thump. Thump.
    She jumped, almost losing her balance on the steps. A glance out the side window showed her a blur moving quickly past.
    "Who’s there?" she yelled.
    Licking her lips, she thought about what to do. If she opened the door, what? What would happen? And if she didn’t, would he continue to knock?
    He?
    Who was he? Was it him?
    Stop it. Stop it!
    She took a deep breath and walked to the door. This time she hit the outside light. Nothing happened.
    Had her bulb burned out?
    Grumbling about her fate in general, she craned a look out the window again. And saw the package sitting at her door.
    Her chest tightened. No. No. No. She was not going to let him do this to her. Damn him. Closing her eyes, she counted, concentrated on her breathing. She could win this, she could.
    Sighing, she sat on the floor and stared out the window. It was a big package. What had he sent her this time?
    Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Enough! Blowing out her tension, or what she could of it, on a huff, she grabbed the door handle and pulled herself up.
    The man was not going to reduce her to the terrified girl he’d controlled years ago. She’d gotten away from that once; there was no way she was going to let him drag her back. He wanted her afraid and she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

    If she didn’t open the door, she let him win.
    Cool metal rested against her palm as she cupped the doorknob. With her other hand, she flicked her lights on. If her porch light didn’t work, she’d illuminate the stoop with what she had.
    On