Revealing Annie - Freya Barker Page 0,54
want to borrow her semi-automatic for safety. Jesus.
I hear the beep for the washer, put my phone down, and go to switch the loads. Elena had put their sheets and towels in the washer before she left. I put those in the dryer and turn it on, but when I’m stuffing the next load in the washer, something hits me from behind.
“Annie! Annie?”
I swing around just in time to catch Daisy when she jumps up again.
“Hey, girl,” I coo at her before calling out to Kyle, “I’m in here!” His face is unnaturally pale when I meet him in the kitchen. “What’s wrong? The dog’s being funny too.”
He holds up his finger, pulling his phone from his pocket and thumbing in a number before putting it to his ear. Then he crooks that finger and motions me closer.
“Tony? Yeah, I need you to come to my place. Someone was here.”
What? Here?
Kyle takes a step closer, reaches for my hand and yanks me close. His arm tightens almost painfully around me.
“She’s here, she’s fine. Right.”
The next moment he throws the phone on the counter and wraps his other arm around me too.
“What’s going on?”
It’s not just the phone call that has my anxiety soaring; it’s the tension coming off Kyle in waves.
“Tony is on his way,” he rumbles, but says nothing else.
“That doesn’t help me.” I try moving back from him a little, but he doesn’t let go so I tilt my head back. I see a storm brewing in his brown eyes.
“Something was left behind.” He swallows hard. “The dog was pulling to get home, almost dragging me along, and when I saw that bag hanging off the door…” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Kyle, you’re scaring me.”
His eyes shoot open.
“Swear I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“What bag?” I push through the panic welling up.
“Someone hung a plastic bag on the door with a dead bird inside. While…you…were…inside.”
He enunciates those last words very carefully through clenched teeth, and I grab the back of his shirt in my fists, rising up on my toes.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, fighting off the shakes that seem to have taken over my body.
“Thank fucking God.” Daisy whimpers at our feet and Kyle lets go with one arm, reaching down to scratch her head. “You did good, Daisy-girl. Good dog.”
When Tony walks in minutes later we are still in the kitchen, Kyle holding me close.
“You guys okay?”
“Not even close,” Kyle answers, and I get the sense he’s even more shaken than I am.
“Blackfoot is outside, looking at the evidence. Why don’t we sit and you guys tell me what happened?”
While Kyle recounts Daisy’s odd behavior and how she led him home, where he found the bag, I put on a pot of coffee. I need something to do with my hands otherwise I might start pulling at my hair.
The possibility my stalker had not only somehow tracked me to Durango, but was able to find me here at Kyle’s house in a matter of a few days, has every muscle in me coiled with tension. My fight or flight response fully engaged. Had it been just me—had I kept my distance from people like I’d done for the better part of a year—I would’ve been gone already.
I lean on the edge of the sink and stare out into the backyard, thinking about these past weeks when I’ve been less than careful and unwittingly dragged people into this mess. I brought this creep to Kyle’s doorstep. Literally. Thank God Bryce wasn’t home.
A cold fist closes in my chest and I have to brace myself to stay upright.
Bryce.
“Annie? What is it?”
“Bryce,” I squeak, swinging around to find both men looking my way, concerned. “Check on Bryce.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth and Kyle grabs his phone and dials.
“Brick? Bryce in your sight?”
I watch him like a hawk, waiting for his body language to tell me. When he closes his eyes and drops his head back, exhaling hard, the tight fist in my chest releases a little.
“Don’t let him out of your sight. We may have some trouble here. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and his eyes find mine. “He’s fine. Brick will keep him safe up there.”
“I shouldn’t have stayed here.”
“We had this discussion,” he says, his face suddenly angry. “We’re not having it again.”
I don’t get a chance to rebut because Keith walks in the kitchen, holding up what looks like a Ziploc bag with a piece of paper smudged