Only with him.
Oh, dear hell. I was truly a goner. And for a guy who was bossy and egocentric and arrogant and impossible—but also gentle and caring and protective and generous. There were so many facets to him—and incredibly, magically, I loved all of those sides. Yes, even the side that had me walking out of our lovemaking session with a bandage on my skin…after he took me to the most pleasurable heights I’d ever experienced.
Yeah—I especially loved that side of him.
My car didn’t have a fancy remote key, an alarm system, or even navigation. But Sally and I had a special bond, and after Mac came into our lives—and loved us both precisely for the girls we were—I felt even closer to her. Was it odd to be in a relationship with a vehicle? Not according to my favorite neurosurgeon—or Stephen King—but they probably shouldn’t be mentioned in the same conversation.
I waited for the engine to warm up a bit before pulling out, giving me time to look at my messages again. If any of the messages were new, I predicted most would be from Mac. He had an odd habit of leaving me multiple short messages instead of one long one, but it made me smile because it was an honest reflection of the way his brilliant mind worked. Short bursts of inspiration, supernovas of emotion or concern, all relayed the exact moment he felt them. No protective shells for him.
Yet another reason why the man was so damn good for me.
More than I wanted to admit—at least on this front.
I’d been trying, though. Like crazy. Working to gain confidence and celebrate the independence I’d achieved. Since the most recent “Save Janet” episode, I’d formed a new habit of always checking my caller ID first and had started letting her calls go to voicemail. Of course, I was still a Class A codependent, so I immediately listened to the message to make sure she wasn’t in danger. Still, it seemed like a step in the right direction. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
But really? Sixteen messages? And now I could see they were all from the same phone number. And it wasn’t Mac’s, unless he’d gotten a new line and had neglected to tell me before or after flying me to the orgasmic stars. The digits weren’t identified as belonging to any police or fire department either, so with half a relieved breath, I dismissed any crisis involving Janet.
Half a breath.
I hit the arrow to play the first message, putting my phone on speaker so I could safely start backing out—
And slammed the brakes at once.
Sally and I both lurched forward on the recoil from the abrupt stop. I was beyond caring, as a pleasant and friendly voice drifted through the car—and sent shivers down the middle of my back.
And not the good kind.
“Hey, beautiful. It’s John. I hope you don’t mind me calling. I got your number off your paperwork. I figured you wouldn’t mind, since we’re friends and all.”
“Excuse me?” I totally minded. It was such a breach of privacy, I could barely make my trembling body get the car back into motion to clear the way for the waiting car behind me.
“Anyway…” His voice trailed off for a few seconds, and then he seemed to remember he was still recording a message. “Oh, sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for our lunch date today and tell you I really had a great time. I hope we can do it again sometime. Uh, okay, bye.”
The message itself seemed harmless, despite how my nerves discernibly frayed at his use of “lunch date,” but I massaged the steering wheel in a focused attempt to chill.
Before launching in on listening to the fifteen messages that still waited. All from John’s number.
Screw chill. I went ahead and let my stomach turn.
This was definitely not good.
Not. Good.
I had been explicit with the guy. I’d said, over and over, that I wasn’t interested in anything other than friendship with him.
Maybe they were butt dials?
Heartened, I pressed play again. The message was basically the same nonsense for the next two, all said in different ways. He had a great time at lunch. He was glad we were still friends. Blah blah blah. Now I was getting annoyed.
Then I played the fifth one.
And it was different.
Back to the painful stomach twist. And everything else in my body along with it.
There was a shift in his voice. Something that made my skin prickle, my blood freeze, and my limbs go numb. Something about his tone and the general vibe of his message. He’d changed, and it was eerie.
“Taylor, it’s John again. Listen, I know you’re just playing hard to get. I know you have feelings for me. Why else would you have gone out to lunch with me today? I know you said you aren’t with Dr. Stone anymore, and that’s good. It would be a shame if something happened to him and you had to mourn his loss. But I’d be there for you. You could count on me. You can always count on me, Taylor. I’m always right here. Waiting for you. Have a good night, my love. I’ll see you soon.”
I was waiting at a light, which gave me ample opportunity for a gawk of sheer shock. “My love?”
The word I always gave Mac such shit for was suddenly an ice pick in my gut. Holy shit. When had John decided to chug his crazy train into my fucking station? And honestly, why?
I dreaded listening to the other eleven messages, but morbid curiosity got the better of me. By the time I played the last of the guy’s voicemails, I had to pull off to the shoulder of the 163 just to regain my composure. My hands were trembling too hard to drive safely.
“Taylor, my love. I must say before you lay your beautiful head down tonight, I hope you dream of me. Your lover. Dream of me showing your mind, your body, your very soul how much I adore you, how I’ll care for you, cherish you. I can’t wait to finally feel you around me in the most intimate ways. Sweetest dreams, my love.”
I lowered my head to the steering wheel, though I contemplated dropping it all the way between my knees. Nausea clawed at me and swirled with terror welling in my throat. While John hadn’t directly threatened me, his off-the-rails rambling and his veiled threat at Mac were enough to churn my gut and fire my rage. I’d known plenty of frustrated fury in my life, but John had just jabbed at depths I never knew existed. Worse, I felt helpless to do anything about them.
That was wrong.
There was plenty I could do.
And would.
I just couldn’t decide what to do first. Go to the police station? Call Mac? Dial one of the girls? The somewhat normal human I’d lunched with had become a stage-five stalker in the span of sixteen phone calls. I checked the call log and did some quick math. John had left all sixteen messages within the two hours I had been with Mac in his office.
Two beautiful hours—getting my brains fucked out by the actual man I loved, not this loser. True as that was, and as desperately as I yearned to, Mac couldn’t be my first phone call. The man was going to lose his mind when I told him what was going on, and I didn’t want the man I loved being tossed in the slammer for murder.
I needed to calm down. Then I needed to decide the best course of action. That would only happen by calling in some backup.
I put my earbuds in and dialed Margaux’s cell phone. I checked the passing traffic and eased back onto the freeway while her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mary Stone. How’s your day?”
A heavy huff through the line. “Don’t think I don’t realize you only call me that when I can’t physically harm you.”