Page 52 of From Hell

Anger surges, waking me up.

How. Dare. He.

Shaking, I grip the gun and run downstairs. Filled with rage, I’m still too afraid to open the door; my body won’t let me, so I stand behind it, breathing hard, teeth bared, working up the courage to shoot the bastard through the wood. Even though my palms are sweaty, and Nola’s gun hangs uselessly in my hands.

I should at least look through the peephole.

One. Two. Three.

Standing on tiptoes, I put my eye to the hole. The image is distorted like a fish lens, but someone is standing on my porch. I jump out of my skin when that person pounds on the door like there’s a fire happening, and the gun slips from my sweaty hands, landing on my big toe.

“Fucking hell!” I fall against the wall, clutching it.

“Laine, are you okay?” a muffled voice calls through the door. It’s a man’s voice—Jaxon.

Shit. What is he doing here?

It was Jaxon standing outside. Not my stalker. Not the Ripper.

Although they could be the one and the same.

I have seconds to decide if I’m going to open the door while my heart returns to its usual pace, and fear melts away into spiky annoyance as he bangs on the door again. Instinctively, I haul it open, glaring at him, blaming him for everything that just happened.

In a pristine, tailored overcoat that envelopes him like a second skin, its deep, midnight hue complimenting the suit of obsidian black beneath it, Jaxon looks…like he just walked out of a magazine. My heart does a little flip. But then he takes one glance at me, in my ratty pajamas that I shrugged on last night, the gun on the floor at my feet, and frowns.

“Is now a good time?” He holds up a tray of coffee from the expensive Italian deli down the road. “I brought you breakfast.”

Ignoring how my chest squeezes with warmth, I scowl at him, wrapping my arms around me for warmth. As daylight threatens to spill over the horizon, it seems stupid to be scared over a handful of rose petals. “It’s not. I was…having a bath.”

His gaze flits to the gun on the floor and then connects with mine. “You always take a gun into the bath with you?” he drawls, brow raised, pushing his way inside.

The barest breath of his clothing brushes past me, making my skin tingle where the thin material of my pajamas rides up. Suppressing the whisper of anger in my gut and the rush of heat at his touch, I slam the door, retrieve the gun, and pace after him.

He strolls into my kitchen as though he does it daily and dumps the coffee and bag of what smells like bacon and cream cheese bagels on my table. I walk over to the empty bread bin and pop the gun inside it. It’s the only place I can think of.

Jaxon’s brow raises. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“Yes. My dad’s a cop.” The lie slips out.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and his eyes narrow. After a pause, “Good. If you have a stalker, you should have protection.”

Huffing, I look right into his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you since you said you have a stalker.” His eyes narrow as he takes out the wrapped bagel and offers it to me. I stare at it, and then my gaze lands on the coffee. Cautiously, I accept both. “Don’t hold back on my account. You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in days. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

I shoot him a dark look, like he knows I didn’t, and then regret it. Jaxon is being nice. He isn’t the Ripper. He’s not my stalker. He wouldn’t break in here and put rose petals in my bath and then run down the road to get me coffee and bagels, would he?

Honestly, I don’t know if he would. He confuses me. Sweet one minute, but other times, he looks like he wants to kill me. I’m so paranoid that I will believe anything. Jaxon’s just being a gentleman, coming to check on me. He’s not hiding a depraved slasher under those killer cheekbones.

I’m the one full of secrets.

I eat the bagel like I’m at a Michelin-star restaurant, As much as I want to rip it apart with my teeth, Jaxon is watching intently. Like a lion watching a gazelle nibble grass.

Liquid warmth slides over my skin from his stare. My face heats, making me almost lose my appetite.

Almost.

“I told you before,” he drawls, languishing his lean body on my kitchen stool. A lion sunning itself. “When you lie, the tone of voice goes up, and your lower lip trembles.”