The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(43)

“Sure. Let me just grab something.” She left and went to the office to get her drawing.

“You could have warned me about Kate before I met her.” Kate paused in the hallway on her way back at Jake’s comment.

“Warn you about what?” Michael asked. She could just imagine Michael rolling his eyes.

“She’s an incredible looking woman. And with no make-up on . . . she looks like that? Tell me you’re not screwing her. Tell me she’s available.”

“Jake, you’re a good friend, but if you even think about making a move on her . . .”

A small pebble of hope bounced around her stomach.

She must have made some small sound because Michael looked up and found her standing still in the doorframe of the hall. “Kate.”

Kate glanced at Michael as she made her way to Jake. “Ugh. Here,” she said, handing her drawing to Jake, playing off the weird tension in the room by offering a forced but tightlipped smile. “I can’t draw well, but that’s the best I could do. I saw this guy a few times. I don’t know for sure if he’s the one following me.” She sat down in a nearby armchair.

“This will help. Thank you,” Jake replied. “So, tell me what’s been going on.” He focused his attention on Kate, ignoring the glower that Michael was shooting his way. Fanning the flames a bit more, he added, “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s no great surprise that you might have a stalker.”

She studied Jake as she thought about what to say. He had short, dirty blonde hair. He was tall and muscular, but a little leaner than Michael and his warm brown eyes seemed to smile whenever he flashed his dimples at her. Like Connor, he was handsome. Did Michael only have good looking friends?

“Show him your phone,” Michael said, almost as if he were impatient with Kate.

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to her phone, which sat on the coffee table just in front of Jake.

Jake nodded and grabbed it. “Michael said your stalker started off by sending text messages, right? I assume they’re from the blocked number in here.” He scrolled through the images. “What else do you have?” He put the phone back down and looked at Michael, and then to Kate.

The red envelope was sitting on the end table by the armchair, alongside the dozen or so pictures that had been on the bed at the hotel. She reached for them, noticing her fingers trembling slightly. “Here,” she said, trying to steady her hand.

Jake flipped through the photos and opened the envelope. If he was worried at all, his face didn’t show it. In fact, she couldn’t gauge any type of reaction from him whatsoever. He was an FBI agent, she had to remind herself, and her situation probably didn’t even rank on the weird meter to him.

He set the photos and envelope on the table next to her phone and leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. “Stalkers generally send messages and photos for one of a few reasons. Sometimes the stalker actually believes that he or she loves the person that they’re following, and the messages are meant to serve as a token of appreciation and love. Sometimes a stalker sends messages because they get off on the fear. They like seeing your face when you receive the message and the person enjoys your reaction.”

Kate pulled the side of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before realizing it. She shifted her focus to Michael, who rose to his feet and walked to the wall of windows. The cloudy sky was growing darker, matching their somber mood.

“But it may not be either of those reasons,” Jake announced.

Her shoulders slumped as her brows lifted. “What else could it be?”

“The person might not be obsessed with you in an infatuation sort of way, but rather just wants you to think that he is. Considering that your stalker demanded you go back to New York suggests that the motive of the texts and photos was to frighten you out of the city.”

“But why?” she asked, her voice cracking a little as she spoke.

He sunk back into the couch and clasped his hands together. “I have two theories. Your stalker wants you back in New York for whatever reason, maybe to do you harm there. Or, there’s also a chance that this is somehow connected to your mother’s murder.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she snapped.

Michael turned away from the window, zoning in on Jake as though he had a grenade in hand.

“I did some research on you after Michael called me yesterday. Sorry,” Jake said.

“Apparently, your research sucks because my mom wasn’t murdered.” She closed her mouth and pushed to her feet, walking to the fireplace, where she stared down at the fake, gray logs.

“Kate, I’m sorry. But what do you know about your mom’s death?” Jake asked.

She turned around and looked at Michael. He was beholding her with the same worry that rippled through her own body.

There was no way she could deal with this right now. No way. “She was eight months pregnant and went into labor early. They had to do an emergency C-section. There was a lot of bleeding. Her blood pressure spiked. She died.”

“Shit, I didn’t expect to be the one to tell you this. I assumed your father—or, at least someone would have told you the truth.” Jake reached into the duffel bag by his foot and retrieved a folder.

“Your mom was murdered in her parents’ home on Lake Norman, in your grandfather’s office. She was shot in the chest.”