Page 73 of From Hell

“Quinn can pull a rabbit from her ass if I need one.”

“Okay.” I reel off the license plate, and a few seconds later, Nola sends me a location on a map. It’s in the wealthier part of town, close to where Henry lived. I drive to Cash’s to pick up the stun gun and then to where the location is with my heart racing, and my nerves shot, slowing to a crawl outside a house on the edge of Bishopsgate.

The sleek black Maybach is in the driveway with the lights on. They switch off, and a man gets out talking on the phone. He’s in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hoodie jacket unzipped. As he turns to shut the car door, the security lights flood the driveway.

I see his face clear as day.

Jaxon Clémont.

27

LAINE

My palms are sweaty, and my head feels light as I exit my car. I’m close to throwing up. Nausea claws at my throat. It’s also raining, the heavens ripping open, just like my world has.

Jaxon is my stalker.

Is he also the Ripper?

He’s the one who followed me to the cemetery, dug up the body I buried, and broke into my house. He cleaned the murder weapon and took my blood-stained clothes. Did he also leave the letters? Did he try to kill me a decade ago?

That’s all I want to know now.

It’s what Ineedto know.

He sees me as soon as I appear in his driveway. Unlike me, his hood is up, so he’s sheltered from the rain. I’m still in my pajama top even though I managed to slip on a pair of jeans. My bunny slippers soaked through. I don’t care. It’s keeping me from burning up because knowing has given me a fever. I feel faint, sick, close to collapsing. The gun is in my pocket, my hand is closed around it for protection.

“If you’re thinking of stabbing me again, I’d advise against it.”

“Don’t choke me again, and I’ll consider not shooting you,” I say through gritted teeth.

A smile twists on his face like he knows why I’m here, holding up his hands. “Go for it if it makes you feel better, but I thought you didn’t know how to shoot.”

It’s tempting. Anger twists in my gut, giving me the strength to stride toward him, gun aimed and ready.

Just in case.

I glare up at him, and he stares down at me. “You were in my house.”

His mouth twitches, but his eyes aren’t soulless like they were at Henry’s. His eyes are mini winter storms, the gray swirling around a black hole. “I knew you’d find out sooner than later.”

I scowl at him, the rain slicing through my clothes like cold fingers. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Come inside. We can talk.”

“Fuck, no.” I’m not going anywhere with him.

“You prefer to stand in the rain?” He raises a brow, unimpressed with my glare. “Because I’d rather not catch a cold.”

I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to be anywhere near him, but my legs move without me asking them to, and I follow him in. He casts a glance at the pool of water gathering at my feet.

“Wait here. I’ll get us something to dry off with.” I stand there dripping as he disappears into the shadows and returns with two gray, fluffy towels. He hands me one. It’s fresh from the laundry and smells clean and faintly masculine. I refuse to relish his scent, so I use it sparingly, drying my hair, face, and hands.

Jaxon has taken his hoodie off and is toweling off the excess water, his thin black t-shirt lifting to reveal his hard and toned body beneath. I avert my gaze, taking in the rest of his house. Sterile, much like a hospital—cold granite floors, smooth concrete walls, and glossy black surfaces offer little comfort once the door is closed. No clutter, photos, or anything personal is on display. It looks like he just moved in. It looks like an ad for the ultimate bachelor pad.

I’m not surprised this is where he lives. Everything about Jaxon is so neat and orderly, I was convinced he had OCD back at university.

Unease pricks up my spine, slicing every nerve as I turn around to find him watching me. The familiar burn of anger has quieted within me now we’re alone.