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Of course he’d made plans for tonight, and he was sure this was the perfect next step in convincing Florence that she had nothing to be afraid of when it came to their relationship because he’d picked up the ring before picking her up yesterday and he intended to propose sooner rather than later.

Eli had decided that he would continue to stay at the hotel until he and Florence moved into the penthouse together.

It was their home now, and he wanted them to move in together, moving in without her just felt wrong.

He estimated it would take a week, maybe two, to get all of the furniture and furnishings delivered, which gave him plenty of time to get Florence on board with the idea.

The car stopped outside her building, and he couldn’t help but stop and survey the sidewalk for anyone who looked suspicious. When he’d called Florence’s partner Jake yesterday to get some ideas on what Florence liked to eat and what her favorite treats were, they’d also discussed her stalker.

That the cop was worried about Florence’s safety was enough to amp-up his own concerns.

This serial killer was dangerous, just because he hadn't succeeded in killing her when she was a child didn't mean that he wouldn’t now.

The man was obsessed with her, and even if she was brushing things off and downplaying them, he wasn't.

There was no way he was leaving her alone until the guy was off the streets.

He would either be spending every night at her house, or she’d be spending it at the hotel, or a combination of the two, but there wasn't a chance in Hell that he was letting her stay here alone while a serial killer had her in his crosshairs.

When he didn't see anyone loitering he headed inside. Florence was probably going to be annoyed that he’d followed her here, but he was pretty sure that he knew the perfect antidote to her irritation.

If they were quick they probably had time to take a shower together before she went to the gym, and he went to work.

With a goofy grin on his face, he took the lift to her floor. Since he met Florence, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. It didn't matter what he was doing or who he was with, he was always grinning because he was always thinking about Florence.

How much better would things be once they were engaged?

Then married?

And if he had his way, there would be a bunch of little cocky, stubborn half Florence half him babies entering the world sometime in the near future.

“I know you said you wanted some time for the gym and I'm supposed to be preparing for a meeting but…” he trailed off as he opened Florence’s apartment door and stepped inside.

The door hadn't been locked.

That should have been his first clue that something was wrong.

If he’d been paying attention and not picturing what he was going to do to Florence once he got her naked and in the shower, he would have noticed. He would have stopped, realized what was going on, called the cops, and avoided this.

Unfortunately, you didn't get do-overs in life.

Instead of doing anything remotely helpful, he had walked right into a hostage situation, and he knew without anyone having to say anything that his presence had made things worse.

Florence’s gaze flew his way, her blue eyes widening in first surprise, quickly followed by regret, then fear came next.

That Florence was afraid told him that this was bad.

She had a gun in her hands, and it was pointed at a man with dark hair going gray, who appeared to be in his late forties.

He’d seen the same man leaving the building the day he found Florence lying unconscious in her apartment.

Florence’s stalker.

The Coffin Killer.

Seemed the guy had finally surfaced and he knew what he wanted.

What he wanted was the one who had gotten away.

Florence.

The serial killer had a gun in his hand, it was pointed at Florence, but the second he entered the apartment it swung in his direction.

Before he had a chance to react, Florence had moved so she was between him and the weapon.

What was she thinking?

She was the one the killer wanted not him.

“Ah, Eli Lennox, we were just talking about you.” The man shot him a smile. It wasn't pleasant.

“Eli, this is Toby Lane,” Florence said without looking over her shoulder at him. Her weapon never wavered, and although he hated that she had put herself between him and a potential bullet, he had to admire the fact that she would so confidently and selflessly put her life on the line for him.

“Toby, huh? aka the Coffin Killer, I presume,” he said trying to move so that he could get closer to Florence. It probably wasn't his smartest move, but he couldn’t stand the idea of her in danger. So even though she was the cop and he ran a real estate company, he couldn’t not want to protect her.

Without even turning to look at him, Florence seemed to know where he was and where he was going and adjusted her position accordingly. “This doesn’t really have anything to do with you, Eli, this is between me and Toby. I want you to leave, Eli. Go right back out the door and go to work.”

“I don’t think so,” Toby said.

“This is nothing to do with him, Toby,” Florence said again, her tone was calm and controlled, smooth like she knew she was in control and didn't have to yell or argue to get her point across.

“Actually, this is everything to do with him because he’s the one who ruined everything ,” Toby growled. “You were mine, you were always mine, and then he comes along, and now you think you belong to him.”

“Florence doesn’t belong to me,” he said, incensed by the notion. “She’s not a piece of property, she’s a person. A person who is free to make her own choices and decisions.”

“Eli, stop talking,” Florence ordered.

Ignoring her, he continued, “And she wasn't yours, she was never yours.

You two weren't a couple, you didn't date, you were involved with her mother and used that to assault and try to murder her.

You drugged her, you put her in a coffin, if she hadn't woken up and run away you were going to bury her alive.”

“Eli, leave,” Florence hissed.

That wasn't happening.

There was no way he was leaving her alone in here with an armed and dangerous man.

“He. Doesn’t. Leave,” Toby said, over-enunciating each word.

“This is what you're choosing over me? You might be the only one who survived, but that doesn’t make you any less mine than the others. I was your first, I'm the one who claimed you. You know that you’ve always been mine, that’s why you’ve been single all these years, and if the only way to make you single again is to take this guy out of the equation, then that’s what I'm doing.”

“Don’t make things worse for yourself, Toby.

At the moment, all we have on you is that you broke in here and held a gun on me.

We don’t have any proof to tie you to the coffin murders.

You shoot someone, and that changes. Eli is going to walk out of here, and you’re going to put your weapon down and your hands behind your head,” Florence said.

“He is all that is standing between you and I being together. He has to die.”

7:04 A.M.

As far as Toby was concerned, there was no other option.

Florence was his, and Eli Lennox was getting in the way.

“Eli, leave,” Florence ordered.

“You move, she dies, Eli ,” he sneered. Florence was blocking him from getting a direct shot off at the man without also hitting Florence.

That he wasn't prepared to do.

Yet.

But if she gave him no other option, he wouldn’t discount it because one way or another, he was making her his.

Nineteen long years he’d waited.

When he closed his eyes each night, he could still picture the little blonde girl he’d first met when he’d gone home with her mother.

The child had looked like a doll. She had delicate features and porcelain-like skin that had been as soft as it looked.

Large blue eyes framed by long dark lashes dominated her face, and her lips had been a light pink and shaped like a heart.

Long blonde hair had cascaded down her back in loose waves that shimmered when she walked.

She’d been perfection.

By far the prettiest of all the little girls whose paths had crossed with his, and he’d contemplated keeping the child.

What he’d do with her he had no idea, it wasn't like he could take her home to his wife and children, what excuse would he have given for who the child was and where she had come from?

Regardless of the risks of keeping little Florence, and the difficulties in explaining why she was suddenly in their lives, he had definitely considered the possibility. Maybe his uncertainty had made him slip up and not inject the correct amount of sedatives to knock the little girl out.

If it hadn't been for that mistake, she would probably have died because when push came to shove, he always chose safety over risk.

Toby knew that sounded odd given that he was a serial killer, which had to be the very definition of risky, but in reality, he was a very cautious guy.

He checked both ways not once but six times before he crossed the street, he watched what he ate and counted calories every day, covered up in the sun, and waited a full thirty minutes before going in the water after eating.

He also made sure that every child was properly cleaned before being deposited in the coffin, and that he wore a head to toe protective covering so he didn't leave any of himself behind.

It was his cautious nature that had allowed him to avoid detection for over two decades.

So why had he now thrown caution to the wind?

What was it about Florence Harris that had gotten under his skin?

Her china doll-like features?

Her sweet nature?

The fact that she’d had to fight for everything she had in life because she’d been handed a raw deal?

Whatever the reason, he couldn’t stay away.

He’d tried.