Page 14 of Secret Stalker

She slowly shook her head. “No. No other reason.”

He blinked, and like throwing a switch, his eyes shuttered, his expression went blank. “Well,” he finally said. “Guess that answers that.” He gave her a bitter smile. “I loved you, Bex. All those years ago, I loved you in every way a man can love a woman—with my mind, my body, my heart, my soul. And I thought you loved me, too. I would have done anything for you back then. Anything. Together we could have faced whatever really happened the night Bobby Caldwell died. We would have gotten married, raised a couple of kids by now.” He shook his head, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “But all that’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it? You’ve sure as hell moved on. Guess it’s high time I moved on, too.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “If going to the station’s too difficult, so be it. We’ll do the interview here. You don’t mind if I record it, do you?”

She sat as still as a statue, staring at him in shock, reeling from everything he’d just said. And one thing in particular—that it was time he moved on. What did that mean? That in all these years he’d never dated anyone? That he’d been, what, waiting for her?

She’d dated, a handful of times. But her first dates were always last dates. Because no one had ever measured up to Max. She’d never once considered that he might have been existing in that same limbo that she had all this time. And now she wished that she could tell him the truth.

That she hadn’t moved on. And never would. That a day hadn’t gone by that she didn’t think of him.

He arched a brow. “Bex? I’ve turned on the recording app. Do you consent to having your statement recorded?”

She blinked, then nodded.

“You have to say it out loud.”

“Oh, um.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I consent to having my statement recorded.”

“Excellent.” He shoved the phone to the middle of the table between them. “First we have to get the logistics out of the way. State and spell your first and last name for the recording. Then list your address and place of employment.”

She frowned. “Is that really required?”

He nodded.

She sighed and told him what he’d asked, admitting that she lived in Knoxville, giving him the address of her condo. And she told him about her antique store. Then she went on to answer his questions about everything she’d done the day of the grocery store shooting.

The interview started out stilted, on her side at least. But answering his questions was almost a healing therapy for her emotional wounds. It helped her go numb, almost dead inside, and get through this.

Going over the same questions over and over was grueling, tiring and reminiscent of when the chief had grilled her years ago. Thornton had trained Max well. She felt just as guilty this time as she had ten years ago, even though this time she had nothing to feel guilty about.

He finally stopped the recording and put his phone away. “I guess that’s it. For now.”

Relieved, she grabbed both of their long-empty coffee cups and carried them to the sink. After rinsing them, she turned around. Max was still sitting at the table, studying her as if he had a million more questions and was looking to her for the answers. Afraid that he might start the interview all over again, she headed toward the archway into the family room.

“Thanks again for protecting me this morning.” She waved toward the front door. “You can see yourself out. I’ve got packing to do.”

She headed into her bedroom, the one she’d had her whole life until she’d left at eighteen. Taking the master bedroom hadn’t even tempted her. It would have felt...weird, sleeping in the room her mother had slept in just a few short weeks ago.

Her suitcase was in the closet, so she grabbed it and dropped it on top of the bed, then flipped it open. She’d packed light, with just a week’s worth of clothes, and had laundered everything yesterday. It wouldn’t take long before she could head out. She opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed a stack of underwear and bras.

“You’re not sticking around?”

Startled, she jumped, then pressed a hand against her chest. Max lounged in the doorway to her bedroom, looking impossibly appealing.

“Sorry,” he said, even though he didn’t look sorry. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She shoved her armload of underwear into the suitcase and headed to the dresser for more clothes. “I’m going home.”

“When?”

An armload of shorts and T-shirts went into the suitcase. “Today. Now. Just as soon as I’m packed.”

“Don’t you want to stick around and find out why those gunmen went after you?”

She hesitated, her arms full of jeans. “What are you talking about? They robbed the store. You make it sound like it all had something to do with me.”

“I’m thinking maybe it did. They didn’t rob the store. They were searching up and down aisles looking for you. At least, that’s what it seemed like to me.”

She slowly lowered the jeans into the suitcase. “Why would they be looking for me?”

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