Page 11 of Reckless
Then Griffin is in front of me, his worried eyes searching mine. Hard hands grip my shoulders and give me a little shake. “Phoebe, babe, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Before I can stop him, he slips my phone out of my hands and scans the messages open on the screen. His expression hardens into a mask of fury as he scrolls through the short one-sided conversation.
“No, don’t,” I protest and try to retrieve my phone from his grasp, but he’s too fast for me and evades in one agile movement.
“What the hell is this?” he demands when he finishes.
“It’s nothing. Really.” I reach for my phone again, but he easily evades me. Temper flares in my gut. “Can I have my phone back, please?”
“That’s not a good enough answer. You look like someone just died. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, crossing my arms and feeling suddenly and exquisitely tired. All I want is a long bath and a gigantic glass of wine. If I had a cat, I’d want to cuddle it, too. Maybe I should think of getting one. “Just some stupid prank.”
“Where is this?” he asks and flashes me the picture of my front door.
I can’t hide the flash of fear that crosses my face. The more he questions me, the more worried I become. It’s been easy to write it off as a stupid prank until now. “It’s my place. My front door.”
His eyes widen marginally. “Someone is threatening you and sending you a picture of your front door, and you think it’s a prank?”
“I think someone’s just trying to scare me. It’s probably nothing.”
Griffin finally relents and gives me back my phone, which I pocket so he can’t snatch it again. “Someone threatening you isn’t nothing. Where do you live?”
“Look, I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. I have a concealed carry. I know how to call nine-one-one. I’m fine, I promise.”
He repeats the question, and I have a feeling he’s not used to being told no. “Do you have someone who can go home with you to make sure you’re okay? If you aren’t going to report this to the police tonight, then you should tomorrow.”
I think of Emily in passing, but she went home hours ago. “Did you hear what I said? I’ll be fine.”
“You shouldn’t take chances with things like that. I’ve dealt with my fair share of enthusiastic fans. C’mon. I’ll get you home. It’s getting late.”
He takes my hand and starts guiding me to the parking lot. What little resistance I can manage seems like nothing compared to his grip of steel. “N-no, really. You don’t have to do that.”
My phone vibrates again, and my stomach does a sick roll. There’s another picture. This time it’s of my open door. I give up fighting and let him pull me to a sleek sports car.
“Was that another message?” he asks as he guns the engine to life.
When I can manage to unstick my tongue from my suddenly dry mouth, I say, “Yes.” We reach the security gate, and I flash him the picture. His mouth hardens again.
Before he can even say anything, I call the police. As I’m on the phone explaining the situation, I manage to give him directions to my apartment. They keep me on the line throughout, and it’s a long, tense drive through the dark, barely populated streets.
We pull into my complex, and Griffin asks, “Which one is yours?”
“That one.” To the operator on the other end of the phone, I say, “We’re here.”
“The police are still on their way. Please stay clear of the residence until they can confirm there’s no one inside.”
My stomach leaps. I’m starting to feel sick. I didn’t even think about them still possibly being here. Maybe it’s a good thing Griffin demanded to come along with me. If I’d been thinking clearly, it would have occurred to me, but I haven’t been.
“Okay, we won’t. We’ll be outside.”
He pulls into the parking spot in front of my building and starts to get out. “Oh, no, they said we aren’t supposed to go inside.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself,” he says. “You stay here so I can make sure it’s clear.”
“Still, they said you shouldn’t go in—” The words from the operator turn into an indistinct buzzing in my ears.
My words cut off as I get a look at the inside of my apartment when he pushes the door open. It’s been ransacked. Clothes are strewn all over the floor. The couch that came with the apartment has been gutted, the stuffing bleeding out onto the floor in waterfalls of fluff. Dishes are ground into the tile, and glasses are in pieces everywhere along the dining room floor, glittering like diamonds as Griffin turns on lights and makes a sweep through the room.