Page 50 of When He Defends

“I don’t have delusions,” Emerson whispered.

“No, baby, you don’t.”

She wet her lower lip. “You just called me baby.”

Yeah, he had.

“Are you getting into your—our—cover story? That why you’re suddenly using an endearment?”

He could lie, say yes. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze started to fall away.

“On me, Emerson. Eyes on me.”

Her stare collided with his.

“You’ve got a stalker,” he told her.

Slowly, she nodded.

“You’ve known he’s been in your life for a while, haven’t you?” Rage slithered within him.

“Since I was seventeen. He’s been in and out of my life since then. Doing small things.”

Trying to make you think that you were slipping into the same delusions that claimed your father?He locked his jaw. “How often does he leave you messages saying that you’re going to die?”

Her breath shuddered out. “That was new.”

“Was it.” Not a question.You should have told me what was happening.But he was figuring things out. Fast.The prick followed her all the way to Briar.Like that wasn’t hugely problematic. As problematic as say, threatening tokillEmerson. Damn red spray paint on the motel room wall…

The paint had been a warning for him to get away from her.Leave.Why? Because her stalker thought Emerson belonged to him?

The hell she does.

And when Gray had stayed close, the guy had gotten mad, stepped up his sick game, and smashed her mirrors?

“He’s trashed my room before. Broken valuables.”

And it made sense. Shit. He’d read her wrong. Gray reevaluated.“That’swhy you don’t have anything personal at your place. Because he just destroys what matters to you.”

Her chin lifted.

“You didn’t go to the police?”Keep the rage back, Gray. Hold it in check.“I get your mother wanted to cover up the first attack, but when the prick stayed around, you never told the authorities?”

“I did. When I was in college. Then med school. In college, the campus police told me it was just a prank. Probably some frat guys having fun.”

He growled.

“In med school, I, um, hired a PI. My mother wouldn’t hear of me making a public charge, so I went on my own to the PI. He didn’t find anything. Never figured out who’d come into my room and destroyed everything.” A soft sigh. “I’ve contacted other local cops over the years. See, something always happens, wherever I go. Sooner or later. He’s been a ghost, always dodging me, leaving no trace, and it’s not like you can get a restraining order against a ghost.”

He needed to breathe. Hard when he just wanted to fight. “Name.”

“Excuse me?”

“What was the PI’s name?”

“Daniel Stewart. He was in Boston.”