And just like that, Sebastian blows through my inner calm with his sarcastic use of my name. “If you must know, I chased down a lead.”
He lowers his arm, his brow creasing. “What lead?”
Brushing past him, I wait until I’m a few feet away before I call over my shoulder, “I went to Tommy’s old apartment to speak to the building manager.”
“You what?”
I wince at the anger in his voice, but I keep on walking. He’s by my side, fuming with fury by the time I insert the keycard in my door. “I told you I had backup.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, he steps into my personal space and inhales next to my neck. Standing straight, his eyes shift to a darker blue as he glares down at me. “I’m your fucking security, Talia. You should never have gone there without me.”
I shrug. “You’d already dismissed the fact that Tommy didn’t have any more relatives. So I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” he snaps.
I sigh and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Once I use the facilities, Sebastian calls through the door, “Did you learn anything helpful?”
I start to answer him, then pause and open the door. I’m not having a whole conversation through a piece of wood. Sebastian’s gaze is expectant, eyebrows raised when I step into the room.
“I learned that Tommy’s mother had a boyfriend.” I unbutton my jacket and slide it off. Draping it across the back of the desk chair, I continue, “He stopped coming around several years ago.”
Sebastian grunts and folds his arms. “Did the boyfriend have a name?”
I shake my head. “No. The manager didn’t know it. He just said that the guy was a heavy walker. That’s it.”
“You risked going to the Lower East Side for that?” he says, incredulous.
I shrug and walk past him, entering the bathroom. “I wouldn’t have known for sure unless I went, Sebastian. I’m back safe and sound. No worries.”
As I pick up my hairbrush, he settles his shoulder against the doorjamb, disapproval clearly stamped on his face. “Who went with you?”
“A friend took me.”
“How many fucking boyfriends do you have?” he rumbles in a low growl.
I snap my gaze to his. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve been too busy working. Did you learn where the latest threatening letter was printed?”
He holds my gaze for a long second, then unbuttons his jacket to tuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Not the person who sent it. My guy’s trying to track the one lead we have to find the source.”
“Looks like we both struck out,” I say while trying to smooth my hair with my brush. When it becomes apparent that the unruly waves aren’t going to cooperate, I dig through my makeup bag for some bobby pins.
Just as I start to lift my hair up into a French twist, Sebastian pulls my hand free of my hair. As the twist falls and the waves bounce around my shoulders once more, he says in a quiet tone, “It’s what you are on the inside that matters, Talia.”
Hearing him say my name the way he did six months ago—with a lover’s intonation—turns me inside out. I hold his steady gaze in the mirror, and as my heart races, it hits me how foolish I was to dream about sharing any of my ugly past with him. When he looks at me, he sees a good person. I want to be worthy. I don’t ever want to see his belief in me dim in his eyes. All I can do is strive to be deserving of his respect going forward.
Nodding, I run my fingers through my hair, then add some mousse to smooth the frizz. Once I’m done, I snicker at the crazy waves. “I guess I may as well enjoy what only nature can create. Fluffing my hair once more, I step out of the bathroom, then slide my suit jacket back on. “This is called the ‘standing in sleet’ wavy look. What do you think?”
As I button my jacket, Sebastian steps close and tilts my chin up, his gaze scanning over my hair. “It reminds me of you standing on the boat in Martha’s Vineyard, the sea air turning your hair wavy. You looked carefree.”
For that brief time with him, I felt carefree. I’d let myself forget about my past. He does that to me—makes all that darkness feel like remnants of a fading nightmare. But I know when the light shines the brightest, that’s when the shadows grow bigger and longer. No matter where I turn, they’re always there, waiting to swallow me up.
As I stare at him, I tilt my head and study his jawline. “Where’d you get that bruise?” When he waves like its nothing, I frown. “Seriously, what happen—”
His kiss cuts me off, but unlike Jared’s kiss that stunned me into immobility, Sebastian’s lips claiming mine devastate me. As I inhale his arousing masculine smell, I want nothing more than to yank him close and fully absorb the heat of his mouth pressing against mine. But I know what a bad idea that would be. When I flatten my palm on his chest to push him back, Sebastian’s hand slides through my hair. As if he knows I’m ready to bolt, his fingers curl around the back of my head to hold me in place, while his tongue teases the seam of my mouth, demanding entrance.
A mewl of fierce desire claws in my chest, racing to my brain and telling me to accept his kiss. My breasts swell and my center aches with want. I can’t let this happen. He will crush my heart.
Just when my palm applies pressure against his chest, his other hand grips my hip and he yanks me closer, growling low in his throat. It’s a primal “don’t fucking deny me” warning, and yet the frustration I feel in his hold tears right through my defenses.
My lips part on their own and just as my fingers begin to curl against his jacket, Sebastian lifts his head and holds my gaze.
I blink in confusion at his smirk, then push on his chest and take a step back. “What the hell was that?”
“Your good luck kiss.”
“I didn’t ask for one,” I say, flinging my hands out to my side in exasperation.
His eyes narrow, all amusement gone. “You didn’t ask your non-boyfriend for one either. And since you’ve made it clear you and I are nothing more than colleagues, then you should have the best fucking, non-boyfriend good luck kiss possible. Never say I don’t take my job seeing to your well-being seriously.”
The fact he kissed me to prove some kind of point about my relationship with Jared sends angry heat shooting across my cheeks. I pick up my purse and meet his bold, unapologetic gaze. “Your job also includes an addendum you signed, restricting you from fraternizing. I know for a fact you’re a man of your word. You would never go against what you agreed upon, right?”
He stiffens, looking insulted. I turn and start to walk out, but his stern command makes me pause in the doorway. “Don’t ever leave me again, Talia.”
With my back to him, I close my eyes for a brief second and fantasize that he means more than me taking off earlier today.
“We’re not done.” His voice, low and on edge, is directly behind me. “There’s still the matter of you defying me. That sweet ass of yours is begging for a good tanning.”
My eyes snap open and my chest aches that my fantasy was just that. I lift my chin and square my shoulders. “The last place you’ll see me is across your knees,” I say breezily before I head down the hall for the elevator.
Sebastian joins me in the elevator and pushes the down button. As the doors sweep shut, he says in an even tone, “We will talk about this. You owe me that much.”
I meet his hard, unyielding gaze. He doesn’t know that I was well protected. I need to set his mind at ease without disclosing whom I was with, so I nod. “I wasn’t trying to make your job harder. I just had to see for myself—”
“You will do what I say, when I say it. Are we clear?” His body might appear calm, but the tense set of his jaw says differently.
I want to yell at him for being so infuriatingly overbearing, but he doesn’t have all the facts, and since I promised Mr. Blake I wouldn’t discuss our meeting, I just nod.
He shakes his head once in a fast jerk. “Say it. Then I’ll know you’ll keep your word.”
God, he’s hitting my stubborn meter big time. “Okay.”
He narrows his piercing blue gaze. “The words.”
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I bow slightly. “I will do what you say, when you say it, Master Black.”
His jaw muscle jumps, but my answer seems to placate him, because he grunts and looks away the second the doors slide open.
“Miss Lone, right this way.” Kayla leads me past rows of chairs starting to fill up with media and news people to the front of the ballroom.
Once I step behind the podium with her, I try not to think about how goofy my hair is going to look on camera. Sebastian had me so wound up, I didn’t have time to dwell on it much while I was in my room. Normally I’m not so insecure about my looks, but seeing all the men standing in the back of the room with their big news cameras resting on their shoulders or on tripods, I can’t help but feel like my face being displayed in Hi-Definition would never be good enough, no matter what my hair looks like. The last time I was interviewed on TV it was for one local channel. This time around, I’m pretty sure every news channel in town is here.
Not that any of the men or women in this room care about my looks or my book for that matter. The real “story” is about the fact a serial killer has been stopped.
I wince when Kayla adjusts the mic at the podium a certain way and the feedback shrills throughout the room.
“Sorry,” she whispers, then turns the mic off while she lifts it up to my height.
As my nerves continue to wind tight, I find myself seeking Sebastian’s location. He’s standing ten feet away to my right, his back against the wall. His expression remains neutral, while his blue eyes slowly scan the crowd filling the room.
The critical evaluation in his stare and the taut readiness of his stance drills his reason for being here home far more effectively than anything he’d said to me before now. Apparently six months isn’t enough time for me to separate my emotions from rational thought when it comes to Sebastian. Looking at him in his element, it’s obvious that his bossy dominance is an extension of his defender instincts. As reassuring as that is from a protection standpoint, it’s also a kick in the gut. A part of me secretly hoped he’d been acting so extreme the past couple of days because I meant more to him than a convenient piece of ass.
The general murmur building in the room draws my attention to the reporters who are currently filling the seats in front of the podium, waiting to ask me questions. With news cameras rolling, this event will really paint a big fat bulls-eye on me. Someone has threatened to hurt me for telling the truth. Could that person be among the men and women staring at me right now?
Kayla turns the mic on and as she picks it up, the mic’s echo sounding through the room makes my palms suddenly tingle with thousands of tiny pinpricks. I fold my fingers inward and scrape my nails across my palms, trying to scrub away the tension ebbing through me.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Midtown Central would like to thank you all for coming out in the frigid weather for this exclusive interview. I’d like to introduce bestselling author, T.A. Lone, who’s here today to discuss her book Blindside with you. And now I’ll hand this over to Miss Lone to answer your questions during this Q&A session.”
Stepping away from me, Kayla pours a cup of water from the carafe on the table next to the podium, then moves over to Sebastian’s side. When she touches his arm and bats her lashes while quietly offering it to him, I turn away as he bends down to hear what she’s saying. Grinding my back teeth, I focus my attention on the thin guy with a smoker’s voice asking a question from the front row.
“Miss Lone, I’m Mitchel Riker from The Sun News. What was it like being stalked by a serial killer?”
“Actually…” I pause when my voice booms and pull back from the mic. “I didn’t know I was being stalked until it was almost too late. Facing down someone as unbalanced as Tommy Slawson was beyond scary. He had me trapped, so all I could do was keep him talking.”
“Sandra Hale from The Globe,” a woman in a sharp suit says as she stands. “But then he attacked you, right?”
Phantom aches twinge in my hip and thigh as the memory of Tommy hitting me with his belt streams through my mind. I blink while the cameras’ flashes temporarily blind me and grip the podium to ground myself in the here and now. “Yes, before he physically hit me. Thankfully, I was rescued before he could inflict too much damage.” To my body. I still have nightmares about that day, but at least they’re happening less often now.
“How does it feel being responsible for helping bring down one of the most notorious serial killers New York has ever encountered?” the same woman talks over someone else trying to ask a question.
I shake my head. “I was investigating a completely different case that happened to be tied to Tommy’s due to his obsession with me. I wasn’t actively investigating the serial killer who’d killed all those women. That was Aaron White’s role.”
“Hailey Jones from The Sentinel. Are we going to get to meet the real Aaron White during your tour this week?” a blonde woman in the front row asks, her bright eyes alive with interest.
“Yeah, the pilot at the Martha’s Vineyard resort, Trevor, claims he’s not your Aaron White,” a raspy voice in the back corner of the room asks.
When I meet the grizzled older man’s gaze, he belatedly says, “Jim Meecham from Midtown News.”
So he figured out which resort I stayed at. I’d changed the name of the resort to protect Hawthorne’s reputation, but with the Internet, finding the news about Tommy’s death would only be a few clicks away. I know I can trust Mr. Hawthorne’s people not to reveal Sebastian’s identity. And I’m really glad the details of this case aren’t a matter of public record. “That’s correct, Mr. Meecham. That pilot is not Aaron White.”
Hailey huffs as if disappointed, then throws out another question. “We know Blindside is considered a standalone book due to its true-facts origin, but the storyline was very compelling. Do you plan to write more books in that vein?”
I breathe out a low chuckle. “I certainly don’t want to be stalked anymore just for story material, that’s for sure.”
While the group laughs, the first blonde, Sandra, follows up. “What about Sophia and Aaron? They had great chemistry while working together in your story. How much of that was real?”
I can tell by her expression she asked just to see my reaction. I hold her curious gaze and answer with a light tone. “The imagination a fictional story elicits is always better than real life.”
As the crowd rumbles in amusement, agreeing with my quipped response, Jim’s raspy voice pierces through. “You mentioned you weren’t actively trying to catch a serial killer, but you don’t just write mysteries, you investigate real life mysteries, too, through your job at the Tribune. That was a nice piece you wrote on helping bring down that trafficking ring run out of the Sly Fox club.”
The man’s praise surprises me. He seems the kind to pick apart every little nugget in a story. Just as I start to thank him, he continues, “So, how hard will it be for you to focus on this book tour while someone’s threatening your life over it?”
At the sudden silence in the room, a smug smile spreads across his weathered face. “At least that’s the rumor. And if it’s true, I’m sure you’re itching to discover who’s behind the threats.”
Jared was supposedly keeping the threats in-house. I wish I knew who at Midtown Central blabbed. “I guess that’s—” The power goes out, and voices rise at once in the darkness.