Chapter 6

Reb

Reb had heard more than his share of fake hysterics in his life. If it was a sport, his ex would’ve medaled in it. The wheezing, panicked sounds coming from Emily weren’t an act. They were real enough to make him take action. He caught her before she passed out.

Emily didn’t even give a token protest. She’d covered her gorgeous face with her hands and those panting gasps were the only sounds she made.

The floor was littered with the dead flowers Reb had dropped to grab her. He crushed them beneath his boot heel as he took the few steps to her door. Jostling her in his arms, Reb freed a hand to dig in his front jeans pocket for the keys one of the prospects had run to his place after checking out Emily’s car.

Her shitty car fell way down on the list of things he was gonna bitch her out about later. What the fuck was going on? Instead of wasting time now interrogating her, he wanted to get her back to her normal, feisty self. Not this shell of a woman he held in his arms.

Sliding the key into the lock, he opened the door to her apartment. What he found didn’t make him feel any better.

The place was tidy. She wasn’t a slob like his ex. Her place was just…run-down. She was obviously not spending any more of her money on furnishings than on her car. He crossed the worn carpet and set her down on the threadbare couch against the far wall in the living room. The smashed cushions didn’t even give with her weight.

Like her car did last night, the sight filled him with anger. And the fucking flowers outside didn’t help, either. What the hell was going on?

Leaving her on the couch, he walked back to the door and picked up the dead flowers in the hallway. The decaying mess contrasted with the cheery colors of her welcome mat. His rage building with every gathered dead bud, he paused when he found a florist card at the bottom of the rank pile. Finally, some answers. He flipped the card over but the writing didn’t leave a clue to the sender’s identity. The blood-red ink scratched out five letters in a nasty message: WHORE.

The note made him even more fucking pissed off.

“Fucking dickbag!” Reb crossed the hall and dumped the dead flowers and worms over the handrail into the parking lot. He couldn’t give a fuck about who found them later. After folding the vicious card in half, he stuffed it in his back pocket. It might not tell him the identity of the twisted fuck who’d sent the warped bouquet, but once he found out who the asshole was, it might come in handy.

Entering the apartment again, he crossed the room to the still-wheezing Emily. And he didn’t have a fucking clue what he should do. Get her a glass of water? A paper bag? Did that old wives’ tale even work? His ex, Rhonda, was big with the drama, but she’d never had an actual panic attack. Reb knelt on the ground next to the couch and brushed Emily’s hair off her face. “Hey, sunshine. You with me?”

“I-I-I-I’m…” She took a second, another deep breath, then sighed. “Yeah. I’m here. I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, at least you’re not giving me the ‘Where am I?’ bullshit.”

Emily laughed slightly, but it was the saddest fucking sound he’d ever heard. “No, really. I’m fine. See?” She sat up and gave him a brave but fake smile. “You should get on with your Thursday. Move on. Nothing to see here.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to see, sunshine. But first you’re gonna tell me all.”

“It’s fine. Probably low blood sugar. I just need to eat something and I’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit. I was married, I know what ‘fine’ means. And I fed you pancakes less than an hour ago. Next excuse?”

She closed her eyes briefly, then took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “It’s my drama. My problem. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need a man to save me.”

“You can think whatever you like, sunshine. But you sure as hell needed a man to save you from a concussion when you almost passed out due to lack of oxygen. You needed a man to carry you inside. And I have a feeling you need a man like me to take care of whatever sick fuck sent you that screwed-up bouquet.”

Emily sighed and sank back into the couch, then winced and sat up, rubbing her lower back. “There’s nothing to take care of. Somehow he knows how to send me just enough to scare me, but not enough to satisfy the cops and send him to jail. He never signs the cards. What did it say this time?”

“Who never signs the cards?” Reb asked, deflecting her question.

“Michael. My ex.”

“So we both have crazy exes, huh? Ought to make things pretty lively.”

Emily snorted, then covered her face with her hands. “I did not just snort. Oh God!”

Reb felt a small smile curve his lips. She was pretty damn cute without even trying. “When did you and Michael break up?”

“High school.”

“And he’s still sending you fucked-up packages? After how long?”

“Eight years. Give or take.” Emily got up and crossed to the kitchen. Turning on the tap, she washed her hands with frenzy. “I haven’t gotten one in almost a year. I thought he’d finally given up on me. Guess I was wrong.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Too long.”

Reb nodded sagely and watched as she continued to scrub her hands like he did after an especially dirty job—mechanic or club job, take your pick. Both could get…messy.

“He wasn’t always a screwed-up jackass. It was good for a while. At the beginning he was the most romantic guy I’d ever been with—have ever been with—but then it got bad. He started to get jealous, questioning me over everything I did when we weren’t together. And then it got worse…”

Reb didn’t need her to fill in the blanks. He knew what she’d meant by “worse.” How any guy could look at this sweet, giving woman and raise a hand to her, he’d never understand. But he’d seen enough of Michael’s type to last him a lifetime. Sometimes at night he could still hear his mother’s broken sobs.

He couldn’t go back and help his mom, but he sure as fuck could help Emily.

Reb crossed the room and grabbed a dish towel. Taking Emily’s red hands out from under the faucet, he gently wrapped them in the towel. “And what did you say his last name was–I mean is?”

Emily’s brow wrinkled, and she looked at him for a long moment. “I didn’t.”

“His name, sunshine. I need his full name.”

“No. It’s my problem, Reb. I can handle it.”

“You can’t handle it like I can. Give me his name, and he won’t be your problem ever again.”

“He’s not a problem now. He hasn’t sent a package in over a year, and I haven’t seen him in, like, six months before that. At least as far as I know…”

Reb froze. “What the fuck does that mean—as far as you know?”

“Some of the things he’d left me before made me think he was following me.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Pictures, receipts. So I’d know he’d been where I was.”

And he’d just started sending shit to her again? Out of the blue? Fuck, that wasn’t good. Sounded like he needed a lesson.

“The last time he sent me a bouquet, the cops talked to him and put the fear of God in him. I haven’t heard a peep since.”

“Until now.”

“Yeah, but he’s got a pattern, and today I’ve got evidence. They can compare this bouquet and card to the last one, so if you’ll leave, I can call the cops and get it all taken care of. Thanks for the ride home. I got it from here.”

“About that evidence…”

“What do you mean ‘about that evidence’?”

“I got rid of it.” Reb shrugged philosophically. “Didn’t want you to see it again so I threw it away. Looks like I’ll have to take care of Michael, instead of the cops.” Not that they would’ve taken care of shit. If she’d been going through this for years, the system obviously wasn’t working. Fucking worthless pigs. Emily deserved better. Deserved to have the problem out of her life.

Permanently.

“His name?”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Emily shoved a hand through her blond hair. “What am I supposed to show the cops now? Did you at least save the card?”

“His name, sunshine. Don’t make me turn on a fucking computer and search the public records for something you can tell me here and now.”

Emily glared at him. “Duvall. Michael Duvall.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Thank you.” Reb bent and gave her a harsh kiss, then broke away and gave her his no-bullshit look. “I’m calling your girl Jessica. I don’t want you to be alone right now. Keep your phone on you. I’ll call you later.” He gave her ass one last pat, then turned and made for the door. At her shout, he stopped and looked back at her.

“Reb!” She jogged the short distance between them and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Just please don’t do anything…crazy. I don’t need you going to jail for something you did for me.”

Reb’s mouth curved. “The kind of shit I do doesn’t leave witnesses. Later, sunshine.”

A minute later he was on his bike, heading toward the clubhouse. He had some new business to take care of.