Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(41)
Joe closed his eyes for a moment. The back and forth between them was torture. Complete and utter torture. He wasn’t sure if he was a dumbass or a chicken shit for not just telling her how he felt and putting it out there, confessing what was becoming harder and harder to suppress. And considering how he’d been reliving their kiss over and over again throughout the day only to have to divert his thoughts to keep Little Joe from popping up with an ill-timed “Hi, how are ya!” he was inclined to add pathetic loser as an option…
CHAPTER 3
Sadie poured another glass of Chardonnay, hoping it would help her wash down the chicken that was sticking in her throat like ash. She glanced up at Joe where he sat across the table, eating in awkward silence. He’d showered after getting home from his shift and changed into low-slung jeans and a loose-fitting Army T-shirt, looking far too hot for his own good. As usual.
The rock band Snow Patrol was playing on the stereo in her living room, the soothing music the only thing filling the silence. The tension between them had never been this heavy. In fact, there’d been a time when sitting in companionable silence was comfortable, welcome. Back when they were in high school, they’d just lie on a blanket in the meadow behind their houses, staring up at the clouds and dreaming about what the future might hold. There’d been no need for words then. They’d known each other so well. There was no mystery in a glance, a sigh. Not like now. With everything going on, she’d never longed for those days as badly as she did at that moment.
She had to admit to having a bit of a panic attack when he told her he’d be staying at her house for a couple of days in an effort to make it look like they were together, show the stalker that she had a male presence in the house. It also would give him the chance to give her parents’ old house the once-over and make sure it was safe for her to be there on her own when he couldn’t be with her. Had his father still been living in one of the only other houses on the secluded street, he would’ve felt a lot better, but Mac Dawson had sold the home after the death of his wife, and the current owners were veritable strangers, rarely home.
Sadie hadn’t realized just how little she knew about her neighbors until Joe had quizzed her on their names and daily habits. When they were growing up, it had always been a tightly knit rural community where neighborhood kids could stay out after dark catching fireflies without their parents worrying about where they were or if they were safe. She’d taken for granted that it still was that way. She’d certainly never worried about her own safety before now.
Oh, sure, she’d considered having an alarm system installed on the old house after her parents retired to Charleston, but she’d quickly dismissed the idea. This was a community where people left their doors unlocked at night, their keys in their cars. She’d never imagined she might actually have reason to worry. But recent events—and Joe’s litany of questions—made her realize just how wrong she’d been.
That said, it’d been a week now and nothing had happened. Nothing. At. All. Not with her stalker and not with Joe. And him sleeping in the guest room just down the hall every night made her want to scream in frustration. To have him right there, so close, with nothing but a wall and an antiquated promise to remain friends separating them, had become a special kind of torture. Not to mention seeing how worried he was for her safety didn’t do much to calm her nerves.
It was the PTSD. That’s what she kept telling herself. She’d read in all the books that soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress could exaggerate threats to those they cared about, would be hypersensitive to the safety of their family and friends. That had to be it. Because, jealous or not, that sicko who’d been stalking her wouldn’t really get to the point of trying to do her harm. Would he? Not when she’d taken every possible precaution she could think of and now a sheriff’s car was parked out front. Right?
She cleared her throat, no longer able to stand the silence. If Joe was going to be there all night, they’d have to talk at some point. “So,” she began, clearing her throat again when the word stuck. “Have you found anything in the file that we might’ve missed?”
Joe took a swig of his beer before answering. “No. Nothing.”
She studied him for a moment, knowing that frown well. “And that worries you.”
He nodded. “I’ve gone over everything a dozen times. Tom was right—the guy’s meticulous, not a single piece of evidence. He hasn’t called or emailed or anything traceable. There’re no fingerprints to work with. And I checked with the local florists—they don’t have any deliveries on record for you. And the roses were just generic flowers you could find at any gas station or grocery store. There was nothing unusual about them at all. Nothing to tell us where he got them.”
“He’s thought of everything,” Sadie said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “God, Joe, what the hell are we going to do? I saw how you looked at that rabbit the other morning. This is more than just some obsessed secret admirer, isn’t it?”
Joe set aside his fork and got to his feet, coming around to her side of the table. Without a word, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet…and into his arms. She slipped her arms around his waist just above where she could feel the bulge of the weapon concealed at the small of his back and rested her head on his chest. For several moments, they just stood there, holding on to each other. But then she felt him take a deep breath and let it out slowly and knew the perfect moment of peace was about to end.