Page 27 of The Devil's Playground

Thwack.

“What the fuck!”

I don’t hit him again. I got the guy in his arm, hitting him flush with the back of the frying pan to get his attention. If I wanted to kill him, I would’ve gone for the head, but I didn’t—and, whoa, am I glad when I recognize that growl of a voice.

I’m so used to it sounding cultured and professional that the sudden—and completely rational—anger catches me off-guard before I can even swing again.

And then he spins on me at the same time as he lowers his hood. Even in the dark of night, he seems golden.

Royce.

NINE

CONTROL

NICOLETTE

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he shoots back, glaring at the frying pan that I assaulted him with. “I couldn’t make it back to the Playground before you were done so I thought I’d see if you were home—I didn’t think you’d try to brain me with a frying pan!”

“I’m so sorry! I… I didn’t recognize you.” I take in the sweatshirt that, up close, is actually pretty different than the one Kieran had on. “You usually wear a suit!”

“That’s when I’m on duty. I’m off, and it’s fucking cold out here. Forgive me for throwing on a hoodie.”

I ignore that.

“If you wanted to come over, why didn’t you call me first?” I ask, conveniently forgetting that I didn’t give him my number.

But I guess I didn’t have to because he crosses his arms over the front of his hooded sweatshirt and says, “I did. You didn’t answer. I got worried and drove over.” He waves behind him, showing that the reason I didn’t see his car was because he parked it just out of my camera’s range—and I realize that I didn’t look at my phone once since I’ve been home. “I could’ve sworn I saw something flashing over here. I was checking it out when you hit me.”

He shows me something in his hand and stomach sinks.

It’s a tiny camera. Wireless, with suction cups that would keep it on my window so that it could peek inside.

“Oh, that’s?—”

“I know what it is. I just don’t know why it’s out here. Usually surveillance cameras are pointing out, not in, unless someone’s spying on you.”

Yeah. I know.

He sees it. He sees the lack of a reaction on my face and knows there’s something darker at play here. Especially when it doesn’t even occur to me to accuse Royce of being the one to put the camera up.

I watched my footage earlier. I saw Kieran standing in that same spot before, though I couldn’t quite see what he was doing.

Now I know—and so does Royce.

He lowers his voice. “Nic… why did you come out here with a frying pan?”

I don’t answer him. I can’t. Maybe I could have before, but after that night we had over dinner? My impression of Royce McIntyre is that he has a savior thing. If he finds out I have a stalker, he’ll want to save me the same way he did from Miles Haines.

But I grab onto the excuse he unwittingly gave me by grabbing the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I really didn’t mean to swing at you. I was just scared”—for obvious reasons, yeah—“and panicked when I saw you. Let me make it up to you.”

Royce gives me a curious look. On the one hand, I doubt he’ll let me get away with avoiding explaining myself and the extra camera. On the other?

He’s still a man who got cut short in that supply closet. “How do you plan on doing that?”

I roll my eyes, then lead him around back. When he seems even more curious, I explain that the front door’s locked, but I left the back open when I saw someone on the camera.

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