Page 36 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“Eliminating perceived threats,” she said quietly, the words chilling her even as she spoke them. “The trailer was Jake’s. It was in my driveway, a visible sign that another man was in my life.”
Jake went very still by the window. “You think he did this because of me?”
“I think,” Faith said carefully, “that obsessive personalities often view relationships as obstacles to be removed.”
Webb nodded grimly. “I’ll need a complete list of everywhere you’ve been, everyone you’ve spoken to. Work colleagues, neighbors, service people. Anyone who might have had access to your schedule or personal information.”
“Of course.”
“And I’m recommending you consider staying elsewhere until we can apprehend this individual.”
“No.” Faith’s response was immediate and firm. “I won’t be driven from my home.”
“Faith—” Jake started.
“No,” she repeated, steel creeping into her voice. “I’ve spent too many years letting fear control my choices. I won’t do it anymore.”
Webb studied her face, then nodded slowly. “All right. But I want security measures in place. Cameras, motion sensors, the works. And I want someone with you at all times.”
“I’ll stay,” Jake said quietly.
Faith’s heart clenched at the offer, even as she shook her head. “You don’t have to?—”
“I’m staying, Faith.” His voice brooked no argument. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
After Webb left with his evidence bags and promises to increase patrols, Faith and Jake stood in the sudden quiet of her kitchen. The clock on the wall chimed four, and exhaustion pulled at her shoulders.
“You should try to get some sleep,” Jake said, not looking at her.
“Jake—”
“Not tonight, Faith.” He headed toward his truck. “I’ll grab a blanket from the truck and find a room to sleep in.”
She watched him return with a thick blanket from his truck, then disappear into what would eventually be the living room. The sound of him settling on the bare floor echoed through the house.
Faith remained in the kitchen, sitting at her grandmother’s table, pulling her sweater tighter around her. Outside, the last of the fire trucks pulled away, leaving only the acrid smell of smoke and the hollow ache of lost trust.
She’d protected herself for so long, built walls so high, that she’d forgotten how to let someone else share the burden. Now those walls might have cost her the only man she’d ever truly loved.
And somewhere out there, in the darkness beyond her broken windows, someone was watching. Waiting. Planning his next move.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, Faith felt something harder, sharper settling in her chest.
Let him come. She was done running.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Faith should have realizedthat the explosion would thrust her back into the media spotlight. It had been years since she’d been there for reasons other than her professional work, and she’d let down her guard.
She wrapped her cold hands around the coffee mug and stared out the breakfast nook window without really seeing. The construction crews were already at work, and the charred remains of the trailer had been hauled away by the police. Other than the black scorch marks on her driveway and the broken glass swept into neat piles, there was little evidence of the violence that had shattered the night.
Except for the newspaper that had been delivered at dawn.
She stared at the front-page photo of herself and cringed. The picture had been taken during her business trip to New York—she recognized the hotel lobby behind her.
Steve Slater’s Widow Targeted in Explosion
“Vultures,” she whispered, scanning the article that revealed far more about her past than the actual incident.
