Sweet Temptation (Sweet #4)(38)

He’d tucked her in with an admonishment to holler if she needed anything, and then he’d disappeared from her bedroom. And she’d slept, dreaming of being in his bed, in his arms.

The police had questioned her and had promised to do what they could, but she’d seen the looks that passed between Officer Daniels and the others. It would be nearly impossible to find out what had happened unless the waitress could provide information.

She swallowed, wincing at the discomfort. Her mouth was dry like she’d eaten cotton, and thirst drove her to get out of bed.

She traveled through the living room, curious as to whether Micah was still there. A needle of disappointment pricked her when she didn’t see him. When she got to the kitchen, she filled a glass with tap water and drained it in several gulps. As she set it back down on the counter, she noticed the piece of paper lying several inches away.

Angel,

Gone back to my apartment, but I’ll be back in a little while to check on you. I’ll bring you something to eat.

Micah

Warmth crept up her body, and she smiled at the knowledge that he’d be returning.

She leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest when a chill raised goose bumps on her skin. Friday night hovered around her in bits and pieces. She remembered nothing of the time between her leaving the bathroom and waking into the emergency room.

Though she’d been assured that nothing had happened to her, a thread of panic still lingered on the periphery of her mind.

She swallowed back the knot of fear. It was a fluke. An act of random maliciousness. She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and some sick f**k had thought she’d be an easy conquest.

She felt a grim satisfaction at having thwarted whoever the hell it was.

Lead still traveled sluggishly in her veins, and it took effort to stay upright. A day in bed sounded like heaven. She wanted to lie down and wait for Micah to come back.

She walked out of the kitchen and glanced down the foyer to the front door. She saw another piece of paper on the floor and stopped in her tracks.

Someone had slipped a note under her door.

Probably Micah.

A little hesitantly, she went over to pick it up. Maybe something had come up and he wasn’t coming back after all. She opened the note to scan the contents and froze.

Nausea welled in her stomach and exploded into her throat. She swayed on suddenly weak legs.

Oh God.

Next time you won’t escape me.

The note drifted to the floor, and she clutched her stomach in an effort to prevent the overwhelming urge to vomit.

He was here. In Houston. How had he found her? Why had he found her?

An anguished moan escaped her stiff lips. She wanted to scream. Panic assaulted her and she rushed to the door, checking the locks. She fastened the chain and leaned heavily against the door as if she could keep the world out.

Oh God. What was she going to do?

It was the same handwriting. She knew it well. The creep had been sending her letters for a year.

He’d drugged her. He’d followed her to the club, and he’d drugged her, planning to take her then. That he’d been so close to her, that he knew where she lived ... Fear paralyzed her.

She stared down at the note that she’d touched. Stupid. It was evidence and she’d put her fingerprints all over it. But how was she to have known that he’d followed her here? How could he have known where she went?

Micah. She had to get to Micah. But she didn’t want to leave her apartment. He had been here. Right outside her door. He could be there now, waiting and watching.

Now she damned her decision to wait to get a phone until she’d saved enough money for the deposit. She had no way to reach out to anyone without leaving the apartment.

Wait. She could just wait. Micah said he’d be back. But what if he was too late?

Forcing herself to move, she stumbled into the kitchen and got a large plastic bag. Using a pair of tongs, she carefully picked up the note and slid it inside the plastic.

She had to get to Micah’s apartment. It was just a simple walk down the sidewalk. The next building over. Thirty seconds tops.

A weapon. She’d be stupid to step outside her door without a weapon.

She yanked open the drawer where the knives were kept and selected the biggest and sharpest one she could find.

Feeling marginally better about her chances of making it past a possible assailant, she collected the bag, shoved it inside her shirt and walked back to the door.

Rising up on tiptoe, she looked out the peephole, but all she saw was dimmed sunlight and a fuzzy view of the parking lot.

Her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she removed the chain and unbolted the lock. She opened the door a crack and peered out, blinking at the sudden wash of sunshine.

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage around her. With a mental count to three, she bolted out of the apartment, her bare feet hitting the warm cement of the walkway that would take her to Micah’s building.

Micah checked his watch again and tried to control the frustration simmering through his veins. He was impatient to get back to Angelina—he didn’t want her to wake up alone in her apartment—but when Gray had called wanting to come over to discuss Angelina’s drugging, Micah hadn’t wanted to chance Angelina overhearing and it upsetting her again. So he’d gone back to his apartment to wait. Only Gray hadn’t shown up alone. Connor had come with him, and despite the fact that he considered Connor one of his best friends, right now he just wanted Connor removed from the situation with Angelina.