Page 43 of Stalking Ginevra

That bastard also didn’t answer when I asked if he’d murdered Dad.

This twisted little game of his is over.

As I turn on my heel and head toward the door, Julian’s face floats to the forefront of my mind. That sick hunger on his sallow features made me shudder, but the erection straining against his pants made me heave.

Shame burns my cheeks almost as hot as the fury searing my chest. I can’t believe I came right in front of him. He’ll never let me live this down.

Shoving away those thoughts, I cast one last hard look in the mirror, straighten my clothes, smooth down my hair, and fling open the bathroom door.

Julian topples forward as though he’s been leaning against it the entire time I hid from his prying eyes. He gazes down at my mouth and licks his lips.

“Hey, Ginny?—”

“Not. Now,” I growls.

He rears back a little and blinks, but still blocks my path. I shove past him, my hackles rising. First thing I need to do is speak to the police.

I stride down the hall, my cheeks still heating from my embarrassing display. My colleagues cast me cold glances, but I’m too furious to cower. Just as I’m about to reach my cubicle, a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Ginny—”

“When will you get the message,” I snap. “Back off!”

His grip only tightens. “You sure? I’m here if you need anything. Anything at all.” His voice dips lower and he leans so close that his breath warms my ear. “Just say the word.”

Skin crawling, I round on Julian and look him square in his face. Concern creases his features, although I can’t fathom why. When Dad was alive, I never gave him so much of a scrap of attention. Now that Dad is dead, he seems to think he can exploit my grief.

“Congratulations on getting the Bellavista account. There’s no hard feelings, but not leaving me alone when I ask is harassment.”

His face falls. “Sure, Ginny. Whatever you say.”

I leave him standing at the cubicle, staring after me as I walk the long way out of the office. Right now, I can’t muster up the strength to deal with anything else but my stalker.

Several minutes later, I’m standing outside the glass doors of a police precinct, wondering if I’m about to make matters worse. In this world, we don’t report to the cops, but the rules about unwanted sexual advances are murky.

As long as I don’t mention my suspicions about Dad’s murder, I won’t be crossing any lines.

Sucking in lungfuls of courage, I step inside, inhaling the mingled scents of stale coffee, desperation, and sweat. Thedetective who handled the homicide said to come right away, so I take a seat in the waiting area. Staring at the grimy floor tiles, I practice the words in my mind and remind myself not to mention that my stalker works for the Montesano family.

After what feels like an eternity, Detective Douglas calls me into his office. Today, his suit is rumpled, and the collar of his shirt is stained with sweat.

“Do you remember anything else about your Dad’s situation?” He gestures to a chair across from his cluttered desk.

I lower myself into a worn leather seat and grimace. “I’m here about a stalker, remember?”

He leans back in his chair, making its springs squeak under his weight. “He’s the killer?”

“No,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay even. “He’s been following me, sending messages, and making me do things against my will.”

His eyes narrow. “How long has this been going on?”

My mind flashes back to the shootout at Samson’s hideout. The last thing I want to do is admit to any connection to him or the Montesano family.

“A few days ago,” I say, skipping over the first time I met my stalker. “He broke into my bedroom and forced me to…” I gulp. “To touch myself.”

“And?” Douglas leans forward, his eyes sharpening.

I shift in my seat. “He…well. He made me pleasure him…then he finished on my face.”

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