Page 82 of Rastor

Fuck.

Standing there like a dumb-ass, I tried to tell myself it was something different. Maybe he'd just stopped by. Maybe he was selling something. Maybe he hadn't been inside the house at all.

Yeah, and maybe she just happened to answer the front door in not much more than her underpants.

I watched as the guy strolled back to his vehicle. Even his car pissed me off. It was some flashy red sports car. A mid-life crisis car. A car for picking up girls half his age.

The guy climbed inside, smiling like he'd just gotten a nice taste of something sweet. I knew that look. When Chloe stayed over, I'd seen that same look in the damn mirror.

Shit.

It took everything I had not to stride down that long driveway and yank that fucker out of his flashy-ass car and ask him what the hell he was doing. At the thought, I felt my fingers flex. And if the guy didn't want to tell me? Not a problem. I'd persuade him. It wouldn't take long.

Who knows, it might be fun.

I took a deep breath. Shit. Or, it might fuck everything up.

Damn it. Remember the basement thing.

My jaw was tight, and my breathing was unsteady. If I took one step toward him, it wouldn’t end there. And it wouldn't end pretty. With a muttered curse, I held my ground.

Lucky for him? Or lucky for me? When his car backed out of the driveway a minute later, I was standing in the same spot. Trying to get a grip, I watched silently as his car disappeared down the quiet street.

With him gone, I turned to stare at Chloe's front door. It was closed. But was it locked? And if it was, so what? If I wanted in, no lock on Earth could keepmeout.

Or hey, let's make it simple. I could just ring the fucking doorbell. And then what? Show my ass a second time when I learned it was just some cousin from California or a guy selling Amway?

I heard a scoffing sound – my own. The car had Michigan plates, and as far as I knew, Chloe didn'thaveany cousins from California, not that I knew of, anyway. And Amway, was that even a thing anymore?

I tried to think. But my thoughts were a jumbled, fucked-up mess. It didn't help that hadn't slept.

From the sidewalk, I was still staring at Chloe's front door. If I walked up to it now, the odds of me pulling off the "I'm-just-stopping-by-to-say-hi" act weren't looking so good.

I was too wound up, and worse, I was spoiling for a fight. Even if Itriedto play it cool, she'd know something was up, and as soon as I opened my mouth, she'd know exactly what I'd been thinking.

I took a long, deep breath. Maybe Iwasn'tthinking. Or at least, maybe I wasn't thinking straight. It wasn't that long ago that I'd found out the hard way that with Chloe, things weren't always the way they looked.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about that guy. A salesman? Yeah, right. What kind of salesman shows up at eight o'clock in the morning? And what kind of girl answers the front door in those skimpy-ass, fuck-me clothes?

I shoved a hand through my hair. I'd been standing here how long now? Five, ten minutes? It was time to shit or get off the pot. Trying to be smart about it, I turned and started walking – not toward Chloe's house, but back toward my own.

In four hours, I'd be seeing her.

For different reasons than usual, it felt like too damn long. Or maybe it wasn't long enough, because I had some serious cooling off to do. If the whole thing was innocent, I was like five seconds away making an ass of myself.

Again.

Chapter 39

I spent the next few hours pumping iron and obsessing over Chloe. But before all that, I'd made a phone call. It was almost noon when Bishop finally called me back, telling me, "I've got that thing you wanted."

I'd showered a half-hour earlier and was now pacing my study. I'd been too wired to work and too distracted to do anything else.

"About time," I muttered. I'd left the message almost four hours ago. What the hell had taken so long? Chloe would be here any minute, and I still didn't know how I'd handle it.

Bishop ignored my comment and said, "Do I need to ask?"

"Ask what?"