Page 140 of Shadows of Obsession

Daniel turned away from the window, his attention already shifting to what came next. He walked back toward the bedroom, his footsteps unhurried. There was no rush now. No need to hurry. He had all the time in the world.

Standing in the doorway, he looked at Anna's unconscious form on the bed. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Blood had dried on her face, and a bruise had already begun to darken her cheekbone.

She'll wake up soon. And when she does…

Daniel pulled a chair from the corner of the room and positioned it beside the bed, settling into it with the patience of a predator waiting for its prey to stir. He had so much he wanted to say to her, so many things she needed to understand.

She'd learn. One way or another, she'd learn that she could never escape him. That she belonged tohim. Had always belonged to him.

And always would.

CHAPTER 38

Jaxon

"You have reached Anna—"

I hung up before her voicemail could finish, frustration and worry churning in my gut like acid. I stood on the porch of our cabin, the cool night air brushing against my skin, doing nothing to calm the unease that had been building for the past hour. I stared toward the trail that led to Connor's, my eyes straining in the darkness for any sign of headlights, any indication that she was on her way home.

It had been hours since I left her at the barn. Hours. And although we hadn't set a specific time for her return, I knew Anna. She was efficient, organized, methodical. Even with a big group coming tomorrow, she wouldn't take this long just to prep equipment.

The dinner I'd prepared sat untouched on the table inside. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce drifted through the open door behind me, making my stomach twist. I'd lost my appetite around the time I started checking my phone every five minutes.

An hour ago, I'd texted her, keeping it casual: How much longer? Dinner's ready. Simple. Non-controlling. Giving her space without pressure.

But I got nothing back.Not even a read receipt.

The silence from her was unlike her. Anna was good about communication, overly good sometimes, like she was afraid not responding immediately would be seen as defiance or avoidance. A learned behavior from Daniel. One that broke my heart every time I noticed it.

Now, when I called, it didn't even ring. It went straight to voicemail, like her phone was dead or turned off.

Dead battery. Has to be.She probably got absorbed in her work and forgot to charge it.

But the explanation felt hollow, unconvincing even to myself. My Marine training had taught me to trust my instincts, and right now every instinct I had was screaming that something was wrong.

I clenched my jaw, my mind racing with possibilities, trying to find logical explanations that would calm the growing panic in my chest. Maybe she'd decided to stay at Connor's for the night, found him watching a movie and joined him, fell asleep on his couch.

No. She would have found a way to tell me. She knows I worry.

Determined to check on her, to put this gnawing anxiety to rest one way or another, I walked down the steps. My boots thudded against the wooden planks, loud in the quiet night. I climbed into my Jeep, the engine roaring to life as I turned the key, and set off toward the barn, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to make my knuckles ache.

I tried to reassure myself: She's fine. You're being paranoid.

But paranoia had kept me alive in Afghanistan. Paranoia had saved my life and the lives of my unit more than once. And right now, that same paranoia was telling me that something was very, very wrong.

The drive to Connor's felt simultaneously too long and too short. My headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the familiar path, the trees pressing in on either side. Every shadow looked sinister, every sound made me tense.

I turned toward Connor's house, scanning the area, and my heart sank when I realized her truck was gone. The empty space where it should have been parked felt ominous. Wrong.

If she left, she would've had to pass me on the way home. There's only one road.

But I hadn't seen any sign of her. No headlights. No sound of an engine. Nothing.

The unease in my gut intensified, morphing into something darker, more urgent. I climbed back into my Jeep, movements hurried and agitated and parked directly in front of Connor's house. The tires crunched on the gravel driveway, the sound too loud in the quiet night.

Lights were on inside—warm, golden light spilling from the windows. Normal. Completely normal.

I thought desperately: Please let her be in there. Please let her be watching TV with Connor, her phone dead, totally fine.