Page 110 of Protected from Malice
Almost immediately, her response blinks onto my screen.
Still in the bathroom. I can’t hear him. I’m not sure if he’s out there or not.
I can almost see her, crouched in the corner of the bathroom, still crying as she’s thrown right back to that traumatic event from two years ago. But trying so hard to stay strong, like she always does.
Fuck, I wish I could take away her pain. But some scars last a lifetime, and we just have to learn how to deal with them.
I’llhelp her deal with them.
But first, this.
I send one more brief message.
It’s going to be ok. I love you.
Then I pocket my phone, push open the door, and step into the hallway.
I’m poised for anything.
An empty hallway, with the fucker already in hiding.
A crazed monster raging, possibly with a weapon.
But what I find lands somewhere in the middle.
There’s a man wearing a gray suit pacing back and forth midway down the hallway. His shoulders are tight. His hands are clenched into fists. I catch fragments of sentences as he angrily mutters to himself; things like, “How could this…” and, “She wasn’t supposed to…” and finally, “How the fuck can I get out of this?”
He pauses by a door and thumps his fist on it. “Fuck,” he grits out. “Fuck.”
While he’s distracted, I move towards him. Not move.Stalk. Silently. Like a hunter about to catch his long-awaited prey.
Violence simmers inside me.
Thisfucker.
Howdarehe?
There’s no question in my mind that he’s the one. I already believed Eden. If she said it was his voice, then it is. But seeing him like this, so clearly agitated, right outside the bathroom where Eden’s still hiding…
Like Eden said, it’shim.
I’m less than fifteen feet away when he finally sees me. Dismay flashes across his face, but he quickly hides it. Then he flashes me a fake smile—a stiff, brittle one—and gives a quick nod of greeting.
I don’t respond. I just keep walking towards him.
His smile fades.
A beat later, he turns and starts striding briskly away from me. As he walks, he adjusts his posture, loosening his shoulders and adding a confident lift to his step. In seconds, he transforms from an angry, dangerous man to an easygoing one; one no one would ever suspect of such a horrific crime.
Except I know.
And he’s not going anywhere.
With long, purposeful steps, I catch up to him in seconds. In the moment before my hand lands on his shoulder, his body tenses, as if he’s preparing to run.
To run away like the damn coward he is.
To go on to hurt more women.
