I flinch. I’d forgotten how loud and dominating Rhys could be. “But I knew you were…” I can feel my throat closing up in panic. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. I’ll be smarter, I promise.”
“I’m angry with building management, not you. I thought it would be more secure here.”
I thought it was, too. I close and lock the front door, horror sweeping over me. If it was my stalker and not Rhys at the door, I could have been assaulted by now, or even killed.
I watch in silence as Rhys walks from the living room into the kitchen, then down to the bedroom, poking his head into the bathroom. There isn’t much to see. This tiny apartment is all I can afford on my meager freelance design income.
Rhys points to the dining table, indicating he wants us both to sit down, and we do.
“Who else have you told about your stalker?” he asks.
“A few friends back home, but there’s not much they can do but tell me to go to the police. I work from home as a designer so haven’t really made friends in the city yet. And I’ve told Mitchell, of course.”
“Your parents?”
I shrug. “Mom pretended she didn’t hear me. Dad’s in prison again. You know.”
Rhys’ lips press together in understanding. Dad was in and out of prison throughout my entire childhood. I remember begging him when I was eight to please, please never break the law again. He promised he wouldn’t. Then he was arrested again a few weeks later.
I guess I’m not worth trying for.
“I need you to tell me everything about Mitchell,” Rhys says.
“Mitchell hasn’t got anything to do with this.” I get that the police always think that the boyfriend did it, but in this case, that’s just stupid. “He doesn’t even—” Think this is real. I swallow those words down. Rhys doesn’t need another reason to despise Mitchell.
“Where do you two go together?”
I shrug. “Mostly work functions. The lawyers at his firm throw a lot of parties and dinners, and the partners are always included.” At first I was excited to go to glamorous parties with Mitchell, but I can’t keep up with their high-powered conversations. I always end up standing on the periphery with a strained smile, being ignored by everyone.
“How’s your sex life?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m sorry?”
Rhys sits forward and clasps his hands together, looking deep into my eyes. “This is important, Alaina. I need you to tell me for the sake of the investigation.”
“You think it’s him, don’t you?”
“Nine times out of ten, the boyfriend did it.”
I shake my head. “Well, this is one of those times when it’s not the boyfriend.”
“I’m the one who rules Mitchell out. Not you.” Rhys picks up the letters and sorts through them, scanning them as he goes, until I see the one he stops to read.
I squeeze my fingers sometimes, imagining it’s your sweet little pussy squeezing them. I know she’s so tight from all the yoga you do. Next time you finish your workout, get out that fat dildo and think about me pushing you face down over the table, yanking your yoga pants off, and pounding into you so hard as a reward for working up a sweat.
“Does Mitchell ever want anything like that?” Rhys asks.
My face flames red and I turn away. “No.”
“How many times a week? What positions? Does he have any weird kinks or ask you to do things that you don’t like?” When I don’t answer, he adds, “I’m a detective, Alaina. I promise you’re not going to tell me anything I haven’t heard before.”
I twist my hands in my lap. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Why? What does he make you do?” Rhys suddenly looks angry enough to leap up from the table and slam it against the wall.
“No, I mean… Mitchell doesn’t have much of a libido. It’s the medication he’s on for his allergies.”
Rhys’s shoulders relax. “And yours?”
“My—my what?”
“How’s your libido?”
Jesus. Does he really need to ask that? “It’s fine.”
I manage my needs with the three vibrators and two dildos that are in my bedside drawer. I got used to doing that for myself during the years of our long-distance relationship when Mitchell was at college and then working in Philly. We would only see each other a few times a year. When we were teenagers, Mitchell was insatiable for me. Well, when I was a teenager. I was fifteen and he was twenty when we started having sex, though he taught me how to blow him not long after we started going out. I was thirteen and he was a senior, as well as the best-looking guy in school.
I was over the moon that he was interested in me. Mitchell had this shine about him. He drove an amazing car and wore expensive clothes. A lot of people would call that shine money, but I knew it was love; his parents loved him so much they gave him the best of everything, and they were always there for him. I craved to know what that felt like, even second-hand. When I was with him, I basked in that glow of love for the first time in my life. Whenever Mitchell can’t make as much time for me as I’d like, I remember that glow, and I feel better.
There’s a heavy silence as Rhys watches me. Is that pity in his eyes?
“It’s not Mitchell. I can tell you that for sure because he isn’t that obsessed with me.” I force a laugh, so Rhys knows it’s a joke, but he doesn’t smile.
I look away and glare at the curtains. How dare
