Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,43

bolstering up the door. Because if she got in here, I’m pretty sure I was dead.

“You cunt!” she yelled. “You fucked up my fingers. Patrick is going to be furious at you for hurting me. Get out here!”

Hand shaking, body propped against the door to help keep it closed, I dialed nine-one-one.

“Apparently she climbed the fence and gained access through an open door,” said the police detective.

“We keep the doors open to let the air in.” I sat huddled on the couch, a glass of whiskey in my hands.

While his eyes said “you rich idiots,” the detective just nodded. At least another six officers were hanging around. No idea who they were or what they were doing.

What a fucking day.

“Norah!” yelled Patrick, coming through the front door.

And while it would have been neither cool nor brave, I almost fell off the couch at the sound of his voice. Relief poured through me from head to toe. Then his arms were around me good and tight and I’d never been so grateful for a damp and smelly sweat-covered hug in my entire life. Which would explain why I promptly burst into tears.

“Do all these people need to be here?” asked another voice. Jack, as far as I could tell.

The detective umm’d and ahh’d before ordering some of the people out. Thank goodness for that. All of the staring and snooping just made things a hundred times worse.

“Are you hurt?” Patrick’s hands ran over me. I flinched when he pressed on my upper arm and he frowned. “You need a doctor.”

“It’s just bruising.”

“Norah—”

“I’m fine.”

He swore and growled, but I remained unmoved. Right up until he picked me up and moved me onto his lap. He was so warm and solid. All of the comfort I needed.

“Where were you?” I ever so slightly whined.

“We went for a jog up in the canyon and my cell was on silent. I’m sorry. It took me a while to see your messages.”

And while this was a plausible and even reasonable excuse, now that he was here, I had officially removed my big-girl panties for the rest of the day. Let him deal with this mess. And by this mess, I meant me.

When I blew my nose on his tee he did one better, taking it off and handing it to me. There I sat in his lap, clutching his gross, sweaty item of clothing and hiding my face in his neck. All the while, the crazy woman’s screams echoed inside my brain. Because she had not shut up for a minute. Not even when the police arrived. Patrick loved her. I was trying to come between them. She was going to cut out my heart Snow White style. On and on it went. And the scent of blood from her battered fingers and the scratching of the knife against the bedroom door wouldn’t get out of my head.

Jack fetched Patrick a fresh tee and me a box of Kleenex and bottle of water. The detective questioned Patrick about his fan mail and messages and so on. A quick search of his email revealed that Beth Whitmore had been obsessed with him for at least the last eighteen months. Believed him to be in love with her. A disorder known as erotomania was briefly mentioned. Since Patrick had been busy and out of the country for the bulk of the time, this was one of the first opportunities she’d had to stalk him face to face. The woman had not hesitated.

Next, Patrick made a quick call to a security firm. Still with one strong arm wrapped around me. Photos were taken and the knife was bagged and carried away. I have no idea what else the police did before they left. They talked about the gathering flock of paparazzi at the gate, but I didn’t have the energy to follow along. Angie called, and she and Patrick came up with a short statement to release to the press, and that was that.

When my brain finally calmed down and my heart rate seemed mostly back to normal, I finished off the last of my scotch and slowly pulled myself together. Being scared in the place that was supposed to be my home for the next while annoyed the absolute crap out of me. How dare this woman mess with my peace of mind? My sense of security. But she hadn’t gotten her hands on me. I was alright. Therefore, as a grown and capable adult, I should probably