Obsession Page 3

  She shouldn’t have dated him in the first place, not with him being Sheriff Carter’s son, but he’d challenged her to not lump him in with his dad. She always was a sucker for a challenge. It’d been a big mistake.

  Emma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, wanting to get away from Mount Locust before Trey made another appearance. His “Hey, sweetheart” still irked her. She was not his sweetheart. Although the deputy’s attention had been flattering—what woman wouldn’t love being wooed by a six-two, broad-shouldered Adonis with abs of steel?

  And at first, their relationship had been good, but it turned out he was more like his dad than he thought. It hadn’t taken Trey long to change, and he gradually chipped away at everything about her—her clothes were too dull, she didn’t wear enough makeup, and even her taste for classical music was boring. But when he griped about her being friends with Clayton Bradshaw, one of the law enforcement rangers on the Trace, she’d had enough. Clayton was like a brother.

  Headlights flashed in the window, startling her. She hadn’t seen Sam walk to his SUV. He pulled parallel with their driver’s sides facing, and Emma lowered her window. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her conscience pinged. She wasn’t usually this cranky with someone trying to help her, even though she didn’t need his help. But maybe it was time to play nice. “Thanks for taking your time to escort me home,” she said.

  “Not a problem.”

  There was that distant edge to his voice again, but what did she expect? That he would just forget the past? She glanced toward the other vehicles. “I thought Trey was guarding Mount Locust tonight,” she said as both SUVs pulled past them.

  “Nate called in two other deputies. Something about Trey needing to check on his dad.”

  She nodded and turned the ignition key. The former sheriff was in an Alzheimer’s unit in an assisted living facility. “Then I guess we’re ready. Do you need my address, in case we get separated?”

  “That’s right. You probably don’t live at home any longer.”

  “No. I’m renting an apartment in one of the older homes not far from downtown.” She gave him the address.

  “Want to give me your cell number as well?”

  “Sure.” Two seconds after she rattled it off, her phone rang.

  “Now you have mine,” he said. “I’ll follow you.”

  Short and sweet. Short, anyway. Emma shifted into first gear and pulled out onto the Trace. Twenty minutes later she parked under a streetlight in front of the early 1900s converted home. After grabbing her backpack with the report, she climbed out of her truck. Sam had parked behind her and waited on the sidewalk. “You didn’t have to get out,” she said.

  “It’d be kind of hard to check out your apartment if I don’t,” he said and turned toward the two-story house. “Nice. I’ve always loved these old houses.”

  She glanced toward the house. “I like it, and renting suits me. That way I can pick up and leave if I want to without having to get rid of a house. And you don’t have to check out my place.”

  “Humor me,” he said and guided her toward the steps to the door.

  Emma tried the front door that opened into a common area, but the automatic lock had already kicked in. She fished her key out of her backpack.

  “Is this door always locked?” he asked as she turned the key and pushed the door open.

  “No, but both this door and the back door are set to lock from 6:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. Something that I usually forget.”

  “I think you should talk to your landlord about having it locked 24/7.”

  Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. “I’ll bring it up at our next tenants’ meeting.”

  She followed Sam inside the large two-story house that had been converted into five apartments, three upstairs and two downstairs. A hallway ran the length of the building, and they climbed the staircase on the right side. Once inside her apartment, she followed behind him as he checked out the rooms. “I told you there was no one here,” she said when he finished. “But thanks for checking.”

  “No problem.” He stopped at the front door. “By the way, what was going on at Mount Locust with Trey? Is he always that grouchy?”

  “Did he say something?”

  “Wasn’t what he said, but how he said it.”

  “He didn’t take our breakup well.”

  “I got that,” he said. “Do you think he’s the one who shot at you?”

  “No . . . He wouldn’t have known I would be at Mount Locust tonight. I didn’t even know I would be until I didn’t have this,” she said, holding up the folder. “And that report is still waiting on me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m going. What time do you plan to leave in the morning?”

  “I’m always at work by eight, but you don’t have to escort me. I need to run by Walmart and get cat—” She slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot the cat!”

  He looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “There was a stray cat at the visitor center, and I meant to bring it home.” Maybe she should go back after it.

  “How long has it been there?”

  “I don’t know. Tonight was the first time it came around. I gave it some beef from a leftover sandwich.”

  “It should be okay until morning, then,” he said.

  She started to argue with him, but did she want to make another trip to Mount Locust tonight? The cat might not even still be around. “I’ll want to leave by seven fifteen at the latest,” she said.

  “I’ll be here at seven ten.” With a tip of his head, he walked out the door. Almost immediately, her doorbell rang. She opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t hear you dead-bolt the lock.”

  “Sorry. I would have before I went to bed.”

  “Do you mind dead-bolting it now?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  His face flushed. “I want you to be safe.”

  She palmed her hands. “And I appreciate it. I’ll lock the door as soon as I shut it.”

  Which she did and then folded her arms across her chest as his footsteps clumped down the stairs. Emma didn’t remember Sam being so bossy. Or maybe overprotective was a better word. Bossy would fit Trey better. Not that he would ever admit to the description. Trey simply never thought he was wrong.

  5

  A quick glance at the clock told him it was near midnight. His fingers trembled as he laid the nine gerbera daisies on the table. Arranging flowers calmed him like nothing else. He definitely needed calming tonight.

  Refocus. This arrangement was special. He’d chosen daisies because they were a symbol of purity and innocence. Nine because it was the number of forever love. Other than his mother, he’d only ever given three women this particular bouquet.

  He arranged and rearranged the white flowers and still was not quite satisfied with the bouquet. Perhaps a different vase. After rummaging through his cabinets, he found the perfect container—an antique pitcher that had belonged to his mother. As the flower arrangement came together, he thought about the last daisies he’d given someone.

  Kimberly Fisher.

  He clenched his fist, and a bitter scent stung his nose. The delicate daisy lay crushed in his hand, ruined. No! He had to have nine white daisies for Emma. Unlike Kimberly, she would understand his message, that she would be his, now and forever. Grabbing his shears, he hurried to the greenhouse.

  People who thought they knew him would be surprised to learn he was an avid plantsman, but he was close to so few people he needn’t worry anyone would discover his secret. With a flip of the switch, light flooded a small room filled with seven different species of daisies. His passion, fueled by his mother’s love of the flower. She’d been such a gentle soul. Innocent. Pure. Not once in the years since her death had he failed to take nine daisies to the cemetery on her birthday. He’d loved his mother and despised his father who still lived. It was his fault she was de
ad.

  “The woman you marry must be like the daisy,” his mother had always told him. “Pure and innocent.”

  He snipped a perfectly shaped gerbera. Emma wasn’t like the others. But what if she turned him down? He brushed that thought aside. She loved him. He could tell by the way she smiled at him. The way her gaze lingered in his when they talked and the desire that burned in those eyes that were the color of emeralds. And then there were the messages she sent him on her Facebook page. Secret messages he decoded, telling him how much she loved him, and how scared that made her. Poor Emma . . . too afraid of her own emotions to stay with any man long. Except him. He understood her. Understood her fear. Understood she couldn’t acknowledge her love for him just yet.

  One day she would, though.

  You believed that of the others.

  But he hadn’t met the others on his mother’s birthday.

  6

  Five thirty a.m. came much too early after a restless night, and Emma hit the alarm off button. Why had she told Sam seven fifteen? Oh yeah, cat food. The cat was one reason she hadn’t slept well. If she hadn’t been worrying about it, she’d been trying to figure out who had shot at her. Maybe she would just lay here for a minute . . .

  Her backup 6:00 a.m. alarm jerked her awake, and she stumbled out of bed. Should have gotten up the first time. An hour and ten minutes didn’t give her enough time for her usual run. After a quick bowl of cereal and a shower, she threw on her uniform and rushed out the door, almost stumbling over a white ceramic pitcher with gerbera daisies.

  She gasped and glanced both ways, but the long hallway that separated her apartment and the one across from hers was empty. Who could have sent her favorite flower and why? Kneeling, she plucked the card that had her name printed in block letters.

  Her fingers trembled as she opened it. Life is short. Enjoy each day. No signature, and the words were hand-printed like her name. A shiver rippled through Emma as she stared at the flowers, unsure what to do. No one had ever sent her daisies before. Trey had sent roses once, but he’d signed the card.

  She glanced down the hallway at the other two apartments on the second floor; the one across the hall mirrored hers, the other was an efficiency at the end. Just then the door across the hall opened, and her neighbor Gregory Hart stepped out, dressed for his job at City Hall. “Good morning,” he said, barely pausing as he strode to the stairs. “Nice flowers.”

  She had to look up to meet his gaze. Greg was a couple of years older than Emma, and at times she’d felt vibes that he had more than a passing interest in her.

  “You didn’t happen to see who delivered them, did you?”

  “No.” He shifted his briefcase to his other hand. His neck turned a blotchy red, but he was so shy the redness happened almost every time she spoke to him. “But I do know they weren’t there when I came back from my run at six.”

  At least that narrowed the timeline. “Maybe I should call the sheriff.”

  “I don’t understand.” His brows lowered into a frown. “You want to call the law because someone sent you flowers? It’s probably a secret admirer—someone who’s too shy to let you know.”

  Emma didn’t realize she’d said that out loud. “I’m probably overreacting.”

  “I think you are.” The redness crept from his neck to his face. “You are very pretty, after all. Just enjoy them.” He gave her a timid smile before checking his watch. “Well . . . have a good day,” he said and hurried down the stairs.

  That was the most conversation she’d had with Gregory since he’d moved in five months ago, and he definitely thought she was overreacting. But what if the person who sent the flowers was the one who shot at her last night?

  Not wanting to add her fingerprints to the vase, she grabbed a drying cloth from the kitchen and gingerly carried the flowers inside, the pungent scent tickling her nose. It probably meant nothing, but she would tell Sam about the flowers when he came to follow her to Mount Locust. And maybe she’d knock on the door to the one-bedroom apartment at the end of the hall. No. Not a good idea. The young woman who lived there—Taylor something or other—usually didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning. Maybe Emma could catch her this evening.

  She grabbed the backpack she used as a purse again and hurried downstairs. The daisies remained on her mind as she waited for Sam by her truck, but she wasn’t going to let the unexpected gift take away her excitement over working with the ground penetrating radar machine today. She’d texted the operator not to come until after lunch. Surely Sam and the sheriff would be finished with their investigation by then. She just hoped no one disturbed the flag grid she’d spent half of yesterday setting up.

  Emma checked her watch and scanned the street. Where was Sam? Late as usual . . . a little fact she’d forgotten. Some of their biggest arguments before they broke up had been over his tardiness. Back then, Sam seemed to have no concept of time. She’d hoped he had gotten better about it.

  In five minutes, she was leaving for Mount Locust with or without him. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and she yanked it out, glancing at the ID. “You’re late. Where are you?”

  “Half a mile away, so wait for me,” Sam said and then he added, “Please.”

  At least he recognized that he’d barked out the command and sort of made it a request. If she hadn’t wanted to show him the flowers, she probably would have left already. As soon as he arrived, he motioned her on.

  She waved him down. “You need to see something,” she said after he lowered his window. “Park in front of my truck.”

  Her heart hitched when Sam strode toward her. He’d left his bulky jacket in the SUV, and she tried not to notice how buff he was, like a running back, lean and muscular. Being in close contact with him might be very difficult.

  “For your information, I’m rarely ever late now,” he said. “But Jace woke up with a fever. Jenny had an early morning parent-teacher meeting, and he’s too young to be home by himself, so I had to stay until Mom could get there.”

  “It’s okay. Are you staying with your sister?” Jenny and her ten-year-old son, Jace, had recently attended Sunday night services with Sam’s mother at the same church Emma attended. Which meant Sam would probably go there as well now that he was back in Natchez. Or not. After the cool reception his sister had given Emma the few times they’d crossed paths at church, Jenny might try a different church. Emma would hate to be the reason why.

  “Yes.” He tilted his head. “You wanted me to see something?” Sam was using his cool, professional voice again.

  “Someone left flowers outside my apartment door. Gerbera daisies.”

  “Who were they from?”

  “Well, if I knew, don’t you think I would have said?”

  7

  Sam’s stomach tightened. Emma used sarcasm when she was nervous. He needed to cut her some slack while keeping his distance. Otherwise, being around her was going to get very difficult. “Sorry. Of course you would have. Are these the first flowers you’ve received from an anonymous admirer?”

  “Well, yes.” She lifted her shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I’m not exactly the type to receive flowers from men I don’t know. Haven’t gotten too many from the ones I do know.”

  He didn’t know why not. There was no denying she was pretty, leaning more toward the all-American look with her red hair and handful of freckles sprinkled across her cheeks. And when her emerald eyes weren’t pinning him against the wall, they reminded him of the lush greens of summer. He stiffened and took a step back. If he wasn’t careful, she’d slide right under the wall he’d built.

  “There was a card with no name on it,” she said. “Just a sort of message that creeped me out.”

  Focus. “What did it say?”

  “Life is short. Enjoy each day.”

  The skin on Sam’s neck prickled. He hadn’t paid much attention to the neighborhood, and he turned and scanned the area. One house was for sale on the street that dead-ended into the
one Emma lived on, but there was no activity around it. Several of the larger houses had been turned into apartments with little access to parking, and cars lined both sides of the street. But nothing looked amiss. “This may be confirmation that you have a stalker.”

  Color drained from her face. “Don’t say that. Maybe the shooting and the flowers are just a coincidence.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” He tried to ignore the way the desperation in her voice tugged at his heart.

  “Then he may get more than he bargained for,” she said, fisting her hands on her hips.

  That sounded like the old Emma. How could someone be so strong in the face of danger yet so fragile when it came to relationships? He nodded toward the house. “Show me the flowers and card.”

  Sam followed her inside and up the stairs, the fresh, cottony scent he remembered so well trailing behind Emma. Bittersweet memories best left behind.

  “They were right here,” she said, pointing at the floor in front of her door.

  “You didn’t touch the vase, did you?”

  Emma pulled a key from her backpack and unlocked the door. “Of course not. I watch enough cop shows on TV to know better than that. I used a dish towel when I moved them.”

  He resisted pointing out that the towel could have smudged any fingerprints when she lifted the vase. The vase of daisies sat on the middle of her island. Sam glanced around, not surprised that Emma had left her apartment so tidy. She’d always been a neat freak. He brought his attention back to the flowers. “How many people know daisies are your favorite flower?”

  “You remembered?” Surprise laced her voice.

  That and so much more. He waited for her answer.

  “I don’t know—anyone who knows me well.”