When the second letter arrived and Mitchell swore up and down it wasn’t from him, the first tendrils of fear curled through me. I got the third note a week after that, my stomach spasming when I saw the same cream envelope in the mailbox.
I saw you with that moron yesterday. He didn’t try to protect your body from the stares of other men when the wind caught your skirt and flipped it up. I’ll treat you like gold, Alaina. I’ll never let you out of my sight.
Anyone who looks at you, I’ll slash their throats.
I’m coming to take you, Alaina. So very soon.
I took that note to the police. The police officer listened to me, his brow wrinkled in concern, noted everything in his report but pointed out that I hadn’t actually been threatened. As if I’ll take you isn’t a threat. After I made it obvious that I wasn’t happy being dismissed, he promised to investigate.
I never heard back.
Mitchell told me the notes would stop on their own.
They didn’t.
After the seventh note, I went down to the police station again and spoke to a different officer. Same procedure. Same non-result.
The notes kept coming. Fourteen of them, and they started to get explicit. I went again to the station and spoke to a female officer. I begged her to believe me, sobbing into my paper cup of water as she jotted down everything and read the notes. Mitchell thought I was making it up for attention. Mom pretended she didn’t hear me when I mentioned it on the phone and kept talking about her sketchy new boyfriend. I felt nauseated as I remembered the parade of drug dealers through my house when I was growing up. It was awful enough when Dad was at home instead of in prison, as I was sick with anxiety waiting for him to be arrested again, but at least he didn’t grope me in the kitchen when Mom wasn’t looking.
The police officer swore that she’d follow up on it and that I’d hear from her the very next day.
But I heard nothing. It was as if the police reports were disappearing into a black hole.
I stare at the fifteenth note, on the cusp of a full-fledged panic attack. I snatch up my phone, unlock it with a shaking hand, and call Mitchell. The first call goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial again.
Finally, he answers. “What?”
“Hey,” I whisper, closing my eyes and trying to sound like I’m not on the edge of a breakdown. “How—how are you?”
No response.
“I got another note.”
He sighs, like he’s very, very tired. “We’ve been through this. They’re just letters. I don’t understand why you can’t just ignore them.”
“You haven’t even asked what it says.”
“What does it say?” he asks, but I can hear him shuffling papers around on his desk. He’s a lawyer, and he claims he can work and listen to me at the same time, but I hate it when he does that.
I consider lying and telling him that my perverted pen pal has threatened to put my head on a stick. Maybe then he’d take this as seriously as I know it is.
“I don’t want to look at it again. Can you come over? Please? I’m so scared.” We’ve never lived together because he left for college when I was fourteen. He’s the most intelligent man I know and his job keeps him insanely busy. I do my best to be understanding and I’m so proud of him, but I can’t wait until his current case is over so he can take some time off and help me move in with him.
“Are you for real, Alaina? You know I can’t do that. I’ve already told you, if the police say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”
“They haven’t said it’s nothing, they haven’t said anyth—
“I have to go.”
“Hello? Mitchell?”
I stare at the screen. He hung up. Tears threaten to overwhelm me. I’ve got nowhere to turn. No one to help me.
A face flits across my mind. A craggy face with startling blue eyes and a permanent scowl. Detective Rhys Thorn, a huge man at six feet four. He’s five years older than me and he lived just down the street in Rhode Island. Whenever I was scared or upset, I would run to him. He made me feel safe just by being close to him. If I was out after dark because no one cared if I wasn’t home, Rhys would always find me and take me back. Kiss my forehead and tuck me into bed. Stay with me until I was asleep. He was just a kid, too, but he was so protective of me. Even overprotective.
I chew on my lower lip so hard I taste blood. I can’t call him. He’s a Philly homicide detective now, a man who has put away dozens of murderers. He’s way too important to deal with my stalker, and besides, he’s probably not speaking to me.
My whole life he treated me like his little sister, until one day, he got so angry with me that he left without a word. I know he’d take these letters seriously. He can be as angry with me as he likes as long as he does something.
With a sob, I reach for my handbag and keys and order a car to take me to the police station. It’s late, but I don’t know what else to do. I need Rhys right now more than anyone.
Chapter Two
Rhys
“Who the fuck is here to see me at ten fucking o’clock at night?” I pinch my gritty eyes and glare at the police officer at the front desk. I’m into my sixth hour of overtime today. There are three unsolved murder cases on my desk, and knowing this
