And the rose I had found last night was still lying on the dashboard in my car when I drove to work earlier.
I had left it there.
I was sure of it.
Why have I been seeing so many white roses lying about lately?
My heart thudded. Did someone leave them around… forme?
Who?
Brody?
He wouldn’t have done it like that.
And there was no way for him to know white roses were my favorite.
Victoria?
My friend liked to play pranks on me occasionally, but they usually didn’t last long, and they weren’t cruel. Making me think I had a…stalkerwas cruel.
But the other alternative that Ididhave a stalker was…
“Impossible.”
I jumped at the sound of my own voice, feeling my heart rate speed up the more seconds passed. I thought back to all the times I felt as if there were eyes on me and had put it off as nothing more than my overactive imagination playing tricks on me.
But the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t feel right.
Why would I be imagining anything when I was holding onto the physical evidence of it that said otherwise?
I looked down at the white rose.
It hadn’t been de-thorned.
I was careful this time not to let it prick me, but the wound from the last time hadn’t fully healed. The pad of my fingertip still felt tender.
I shook my head.
Did I have a stalker?
* * *
I lookedup at the huge mansion in front of me. All the lights were on.
It wasn’t late, but it wasn’t early either.
But I knew he was still awake.
I didn’t know what I was doing here.
If I suspected I had a stalker, a good choice would be to go to the police.
I found a better choice, but there was a risk of this getting back to Dad when I wasn’t sure if what I suspected was actually the case.
The front door opened, drawing my attention, and a big man stood in front, an easy smile on his face.
His blond hair was disheveled, and I imagined he must have spent most of the evening running his fingers through it. Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then he cocked his head to the side and indicated for me to come closer to him.