Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2) by Charlotte Raine Read Free Book Online Page A

we figured that one out a while ago.”
    “I have a plan,” I say.
    He stares at me for a few seconds before groaning. “I’m going to hate this plan, aren’t I?”
    “You’re going to despise it,” I say, clapping my hand against his shoulder. “But if you don’t do it, I’ll find a way to do it on my own, so you may as well help me. First, I need you to start a new blog post.”

    * * *
    I nsomniac Writes & Retreats: A blog by John Zimmer

    I have wrestled with many things in my life: depression, fear, anxiety, anger, a man who thought I was flirting with his wife at a banquet. But this—this is a different struggle. It’s a struggle that is in the hands of happiness, but with fear clinging to its body.
    I am afraid to confess my love because once everyone knows where my heart is, my heart becomes an exhibit. People can judge my love, my intentions, her intentions, her love, how well we may or may not stand together. Love is strong—it endures wars, famine, disease, and tragedy—but it can become distorted if the people within the relationship aren’t strong and I must confess that I’m weak. Still, I cannot hold back my feelings anymore because they have started to dominate my life and this joy feels like it needs to be spread. It’s a kind of joy that could cause my whole body to explode and all of my atoms to float up into the atmosphere, seeping joy into the air.
    I’m getting mushy now. I promised myself I wouldn’t get mushy.
    I am absolutely, irrevocably, uncontrollably, immeasurably, and miraculously in love with a woman named Mira Solano.
    Mira and I met after the tragedy of Victoria Glassman’s death, and her presence has been a light in my life that has been as monumental to me as the first flicker of light for mankind. The moment she walked into my office, everything in my life changed, so I felt that I owed it to my readers to tell you about her.
    I hope all of you either have the love I’ve found or find the love that I’ve found because this love is the first thing I couldn’t even vaguely put into words.
    Good night.
    I read John’s blog post twice before leaning back into his computer chair.
    “It sounds genuine enough,” I say. “A bit hyperbolic at times, but you’re a writer and it sounds like you. You think the killer will take the bait?”
    He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know who the killer is. We’re making a huge assumption that this will lure him or her out. Maybe the killer has been trying to trick us into thinking I’m involved. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe they just enjoy killing.”
    “You said yourself that your blog suddenly began getting a dozen views a week a few years ago, when you used to get a few views a month and that fact is even more suspicious when you only update your blog two or three times a year,” I say. “Someone is obsessed with you. They’ll see this post and it will piss them off.”
    “Somebody could have just posted my blog on social media and there could be different people looking at it every day,” he says. “We never know.”
    “Well, we’re going to find out,” I say. “If nothing happens…then we’re just another day closer to the police finding me.”
    “So, how many days should we wait until the next blog post?”
    “We’ll do it in a couple days. The day after tomorrow,” I say. “We don’t have time to wait around. You’ll say that I’m going somewhere and I’ll be there alone. The killer will come after me.”
    “You hope,” he says. “While I hope that the killer isn’t even paying attention to my blog.”
    “It’s the only way,” I say. “And I already told you that you could come too—you just have to get there early and stay out of sight.”
    “What are you going to do when you find out who the killer is?” he asks. “Are you going to retaliate for Andre’s death?”
    “I can’t be sure that this killer is responsible for Andre’s death. It could have been Alex who killed