parking lot across from his building, I relaxed and parked. He didn’t seem to spend much time in this neighborhood unless he was going home, so even when he didn’t go straight upstairs, I settled in for a long wait. He’d get something from the store, and as long as I kept my eye on the entrance to his apartment building, I’d know where he was.
I knew he had friends in an unofficial motorcycle club, but I couldn’t find any implications that they were involved in anything illegal. And Cunningham’s job as a bouncer seemed to be legit. I couldn’t fault him for getting the work, since the sort of felony charge he carried couldn’t make it easy to find work. But I was definitely angry that he was sliding back into regular society so easily. I just wanted to see him locked up, where he suffered for what he did to Daddy and couldn’t do it to anyone else.
I jumped as the passenger door to my car opened and would have pulled my taser while chiding myself for not locking it had I not been terrified. And it didn’t get any better when the intruder lowered himself into the seat and closed the door behind him. He held two paper coffee cups and a paper bag. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said, holding out one of the cups and the bag to me.
“Get out of my car!” I cried at him, my righteous anger riding above my fear.
“I guess I was right,” he smirked. “You’re actually hangry. Here, eat this, and you’ll be more welcoming.” He shoved it toward me so I had to take it or risk the hot liquid spilling all over my cashmere sweater.
“I said, get out of my car before I call the cops.”
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I think that would be a very bad idea, since I would just press charges for stalking. And when I tell them you’re the daughter of the man who caught me trying to steal his paintings, they’ll believe me.”
I blinked at him, my mouth moving but nothing coming out. I couldn’t figure out how Jasper Cunningham had made me, and I certainly didn’t know how he recognized me. I’d been fifteen when the trial started, sixteen when he was sentenced. And I was a late bloomer. I’d looked like Olive Oil from Popeye back then, and I liked to think I’d morphed into a butterfly in my early twenties. The fact that he knew who I was devastated me. And pissed me off.
He shrugged. “I have to say, I remember a sad little teenager, but you’ve matured nicely.” His eyes roamed up and down my body, and I stiffened. He had no right to look at me that way! “Who’s the lucky man who gets to touch you every night?”
“Shut your filthy mouth, and don’t look at me like that!” I was seething, and it came out more as a hiss than anything. Having him this close sparked so many emotions in me, I could hardly control myself. I wanted to lash out and tear up his face, beat him bloody. But the man I remembered wasn’t quite this hard and toned. He’d made use of his time in prison, and his body was finely etched with muscle, his face narrower with sharper angles, set off by the shadow over his chin and cheeks.
And the blue of his eyes sparked a stormy gray when he was angry, as he was now. “I just brought you food because you haven’t eaten since seven this morning, and that’s how you repay me?”
“How do you know I haven’t eaten?” I retorted.
He snorted. “Because you’ve been following me since six, and that was the last time I ate. You had some sort of oatmeal sludge stuff and an apple. It’s a great start to the day, but it’s after two now. You should replenish.”
I couldn’t understand why he cared, but the coffee smelled delicious, sweet and inviting, so I took a sip. It hit my empty stomach with an unexpected warmth, and I peeked inside the bag. A bagel. My stomach growled. “I’m not stalking you,” I told him, sounding like some petty little girl.
“Then tell me why you’re following me.” He rolled down the window, putting a cigarette in his mouth.
“Can you not smoke in my car?” I groused, reluctantly taking a bite of the bagel – fresh and layered with whipped