Page 2 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

“ D inner looks amazing, honey,” Eric says as he pulls out the chair at the head of the dining table.

I set his plate down, smiling at the compliment and then place my own, tucking my dress under me as I take the seat to his right.

Across from me is a panoramic view of the backyard through the wall-length window Eric had installed for our first anniversary.

Our dinners together in front of it are the highlight of my day, especially in the fall when the yard is at its most gorgeous with the turning of the leaves.

“Thanks, it smelled great in the kitchen all day.” I neatly spear a roasted carrot with my fork and place it in my mouth, Eric’s eyes following the movement.

The attention lights a burst of pride low in my stomach.

It’s admittedly easy work keeping his interest, despite all the warnings my mother had given me about men’s wandering eyes.

“Uh, listen Emma,” he starts, swirling the ice in his glass before nervously glancing up at me.

“I know it’s short notice, but I had to make some last minute dinner plans for tomorrow.

For us, here, with my investor. The, um…

the one I’ve been working with lately. He’s coming into town to look at some new locations we can buy and mentioned he hadn’t been to the house to meet you. ”

Small lines of tension have formed on his brow, and I study his face, confused by his tone. “Is everything okay?”

His answering smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, yet he places his hand over mine, brushing it with his thumb. “Of course. Work is great, nothing for you to worry your pretty head about. I think he just wants to meet you now that we’re doing so much business together.”

He returns to his dinner, tilting his head to the side as he continues. “I’m going to have to go out of town again in a few weeks so we can look at some properties in Riverside.”

I frown. He’s been downplaying how much this investor seems to value his opinion. “Sounds like he must trust you a lot. What’s his name again? Josh?”

“John. John Bundy. He’s nice enough, but once dinner is over I’ll get him in the sitting room to finish up some details for the trip so you can get some breathing room.” He leans back in his chair and sighs, wariness in his face. “He can be a little rough around the edges.”

I refill our glasses with lemonade and smile to soothe whatever anxiety he has about hosting Bundy here.

Is it me?

My body can’t help but physically react when Eric is going through something—like a throb in my chest—because I know not every man in his business circle is as sweet as he is.

I hate the thought of him being at a disadvantage because of his good nature, but this Bundy guy must appreciate that about him.

His name’s popped up for the past year as he’s invested more and more into Eric and his many ventures.

Eric’s just babying me again. I can handle rough around the edges if it means supporting the work Eric does for us. He’s a good judge of character, and his gentleness doesn't mean he isn’t incredibly business savvy.

“Don’t worry about any of it, okay? It’ll be just fine. I’ll get everything ready here tomorrow and we’ll have a good night.”

“I also told him our anniversary was coming up, so I’ll make sure I’m home in time to still celebrate with you,” he says earnestly, and I struggle not to laugh.

As always, my feelings are taken so seriously by him.

So I kiss him, a sweet, small kiss to remind him we’re okay.

If I could absorb his stress into myself, I would do it in a heartbeat.

“Eric, stop. I’m not worried about it. You know I manage the new bank just fine when you’re gone. I’ve got it handled.” I shrug as I sit back in my chair, returning to my dinner. Nonchalant. If I act like we’re fine, then he’ll follow along.

“Yeah, I know. I just feel off about you picking up some of the responsibilities there. I never wanted you working and some part of me still feels wrong about it.” He leans his head back against the chair, and sighs exaggeratedly. “Your mother would not approve.”

I shrug. “It’s not as if I don’t have the time.

It’s nice to get out of the house, honestly, and I have a great time with Bo at work.

Plus,” I add, smiling at him, “it’s worth it if it allows you to make your business trips.

This is a huge opportunity that Mr. Bundy is giving to you.

To us . I want to do whatever I can to help, Eric. ”

He watches me for a second, and the smile seems to reach his eyes. Finally . Leaning forward, he presses his lips to mine. “You’re an angel, you know that?” he murmurs into the kiss.

My face flushes. “You might have mentioned it a few times,” I whisper against his mouth, causing a small rumble of laughter to roll through his chest.

A moment later he leans back, keeping his eyes on mine as he pushes away from the table and stands tall. Excitement coils low in my stomach when he takes my hand, tugging me to my feet and leading me behind him to the stairs.

I lick my lips and squeeze his large hand.

Perfect. He’s so perfect.

And I’m the luckiest woman in the world for getting to call him mine.

The sound of birds wakes me the following morning, Eric having cracked the window for me before heading to work. Stretching, I rise from the bed and smooth my nightgown, heading to the bathroom to get myself put together for the day .

The business dinner with Mr. Bundy is stuck at the front of my mind while I dry and style my hair.

It’s second nature to create the day's to-do list while I head to the closet to select an appropriate outfit.

A blue wrap dress catches my eye and I hang it on the back of the door, throwing a more casual one for the day of cleaning up and starting dinner.

I meant what I said to Eric last night; I want to help.

I want to do more than just take care of our home.

My thoughts drift as I head downstairs, envisioning what tonight could lead to.

If Bundy liked me and I did a perfect job of managing the bank while he was on his work trip, I could maybe convince Eric to let me take on more of the workload, allowing him to dedicate more of himself to other projects.

I’m smart, and I just think a little space to prove myself with the businesses would be good for me. Might make me feel a little less… restless.

I can do it. Tonight will be perfect.

Flitting from the laundry to the dishes, prepping the courses for tonight’s dinner, and mopping the floors keeps me occupied until the hot afternoon sets in, and I fall into a chair on the deck to catch my breath.

The palm leaf ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, and I admire the way my fresh manicure pops against the lemonade glass.

“Molly!” I call in between sips. It’s a necessity, mid-day in this dry September heat. “Come here, baby!”

Usually, the small, gray cat is already rolling at my feet for a belly scratch, but I don’t see her in her usual hiding place beneath the giant hosta leaves. Sometimes, she waits there for hours to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

That’s odd. I lean out over the banister and scan the yard, but there’s no rustle of movement indicating she’s on her way to me.

The wind seems to still, and then, again , there’s the crawling feeling of eyes on me. Unnerved, I step back from the banister, glancing around for any noise to explain this sensation of being watched.

There’s nothing there .

“Molly,” I shout, a nervous edge bleeding into my voice.

I give her a minute, but she doesn’t come.

Backing into the house, I slam the lock.

For a moment I’d considered calling Eric, but ended up deciding against it.

One way to make myself not look like a capable, strong woman is to call my husband and explain—without evidence—that I feel like someone in the woods is watching me everyday.

Nothing has happened. I haven’t actually seen anything weird.

It’s just…a feeling.

I’m sure at any moment, Molly will start meowing outside my window to beg for her dinner, and I’ll know that I’m just losing it.

Once my hair is styled in loose waves and my favorite pearl earrings are in place, I start feeling a little more in control of myself. The woman reflected in the mirror seems collected enough, the tension erased from my expression like it was never there.

The sound of the storm door below startles me into action. My hands smooth the creases from my dress and I hurry down the stairs to see Eric raking his blond hair out of his eyes and searching the room for me. His smile grows when he catches me coming down the staircase.

“Ah! There she is, John. I’d like you to meet my beautiful wife, Emma. Emma, this is John, I’ve told you enough about him.”

He hadn’t, but I play along, reaching my hand out to greet him.

The slightly shorter, stockier man next to my husband turns and I catch a split second of the once-over he gives me before he disguises it. He looks to be in his fifties, with thinning hair and a five o’clock shadow on his jawline. There’s a hollowness to his eyes that unsettles me .

I immediately want to withdraw my hand, but years of training from my mother overrides the impulse. Instead, I let him bring my hand to his mouth, where he stares me down as he places a kiss on my wedding ring.

Nausea rolls through my body, and I pull my hand back at the earliest acceptable moment. “I’ve heard great things. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” he says, his voice booming in comparison to the lower tone my husband uses. The volume of it grates at my nerves. “Long drive in, though. Eric, could you point me toward the restroom?”

He does, and I try to regain my bearings by fussing with the table setting, though it’s already perfect.

Eric steps toward me, concern etched in his eyes. “Hey, everything okay?”

I lie, a polite smile reassuring him. “Of course, why?”

He cocks his head and gestures behind him. “The side door was locked. It’s never usually like that.”

“Oh,” I exhale, shaking my head. “That. Just a weird feeling earlier. It’s fine.” I play it off, noting him studying me. “Did you see Molly when you came in? I couldn’t find her earlier.”

He checks his watch. “No. I’ll check outside before bed, okay? You should call me if something is wrong here, though.”

Carrying over the finishing touches of rolls and a butter dish, I brush off his suggestion. “Everything’s great. Let’s just forget it and have a good dinner.”

Eric says nothing, but John rejoins the table at that moment, slapping him heavily on the shoulder. I try not to scowl at the contact.

“Yes! Let’s do that. My dear Emma, this looks absolutely delicious.” John says, his attention on my face rather than the food. I try to smile back at him.

This is Eric’s investor. Do not mess this up.

“Reserve your compliment until you’ve tasted it, Mr. Bundy,” I joke, taking my seat .

My choice of words seem to trigger another flash of his eyes on me, and I look to Eric for help as Bundy takes the seat across from me, marring my usual view of the yard.

“So, John, I’d mentioned to Emma that we have a trip coming up,” Eric says, catching onto my discomfort.

“Ah! Yes, I wanted to bring that up tonight. I couldn’t wait a moment longer, so I told the hotel and the realtors to move up our trip. We’re going to need to leave Friday morning.” His mouth twists as if he feels bad about the sudden news, though I get the feeling he doesn’t feel badly for much.

Eric’s brow dips, but he’s quick to recover. Glancing at me, he catches my small nod and affirms the change. “Should be fine. Emma, are you going to be okay taking a few of the bank runs? The new branch still needs some monitoring while they get up to speed,” he explains to Bundy, who nods.

“I’ve got it covered. Me and Bo will have a great time,” I say, twirling my fork in the pasta.

Eric winks at me, and it erases some of the anxiety in my chest. Why am I panicking? Eric is right here with me, he’s handling this. It’s going to be fine…

…As soon as this man is gone.

The rest of dinner passes with Eric trying to volley the conversation, until John sits back in his chair and groans, a noise that makes my skin crawl.

“Well, my dear Emma, I’ve got quite a few business items to cover with your husband that might, uh.

.not be very entertaining,” John suggests.

“Dinner was perfect. I’ll definitely be looking forward to another visit.

” Once more, his eyes run up my frame, and when they reach mine, he’s unashamed that I’ve caught him doing so.

Eric claps his hands loudly before standing. “Sure. Let’s move this to the living room. Emma, do you need help with this?” He motions to the table in front of us, and I rush to shake my head.

“No. No, I’ve got this. You two can have the living room, let me know if you need anything at all,” I say, gathering the cloth napkins .

Bundy’s rough voice chuckles from the doorway. “I just might take you up on that. After you, Eric.”

I don’t look up, instead busying myself with stacking the dishes and setting them in the sink, but the shaking in my hands has me pausing to grip the counter’s edge.

I force several slow, deep breaths. The last thing this evening needs is an anxiety attack to top it off.

This house has been my safe place since we bought it, and yet all I want to do is slip outside to escape the uneasy energy that John Bundy dragged in with him.

Something about him is wrong . I can’t explain how, besides him simply having looked at me too openly.

It’s less his behavior and more something inside him.

The window shows that night has fallen, the backyard now blanketed in darkness. My feet take me thoughtlessly to the porch, and I quietly shut the screen door behind me. I must have stood at the sink longer than I’d realized for it to be so late.

The deck is screened in and roofed ever since Eric last upgraded the space for me, with two wooden steps leading down to the rough-cut patio pavers. Sitting quietly on the bottom step is Molly, her tail flicking lazily.

I gasp. “Molly, baby! Oh, I was so worried.” I rush to her and gather her into my arms. As I tuck her protectively into my chest, I see something slip from her collar and floats to the patio.

“What…” I start, crouching back down to pick the object up from the pavers. It’s a purple dahlia flower, seemingly taken from the bush in the back corner of my garden. The stem has been cut short enough that it could be tucked into her collar without being knocked out.

I straighten, fear shooting through me as I clutch Molly to me and stare out into the trees. My eyes strain to see something, anything .

Stress floods my bloodstream as I consider what could be hidden in the woods, but I don’t move for the door. Bundy’s inside, and has robbed my home of the feeling of safety, leaving a cold dread in its place.