“Most girls would be throwing their arms around me while declaring they couldn’t possibly eat all this. You pat my arm,” he says with a grin.
I give him a stern look. “I’m tutoring you, not dating you. Speaking of…”
He holds up a finger. “Food first. Then you can whip my brain into shape.” His lips twitch, and he gives me a wicked grin. “The chocolate cake will be our reward.” His eyes move from the dessert to my lips, then he winks.
For the first few minutes, we eat in silence, but Trent suddenly tosses his fork down. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know it’s none of my business. We don’t know each other that well. It’s just. Well… you looked scared earlier. Were you? Scared?”
I swallow the bite stuck in the back of my throat and stare at him. Words fill me, hovering on the tip of my tongue, desperate to get out. I want to share this burden with someone. I want this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach to go away. I want somebody to protect me. But I say nothing. Trent is a stranger.
Forcing a smile, I shake my head. “Something spooked me earlier. But I’m fine. Really. I appreciate you asking.”
He says nothing for a long minute. “If you say so.” Picking up his fork, he finishes his meal, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Here’s my homework for the week.”
With the change in conversation, the session shifts back to tutoring. For the next hour, we walk through the homework he aced and review the topics coming up next, but it’s obvious things are strained between us.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car,” he states firmly, gathering his books.
Relieved to have some degree of safety, I don’t even think of refusing but lead the way. Once I’m in my car, I wave my thanks and speed off. It’s nice to have someone my age, or at least close to my age, worrying about me, especially a good-looking guy like Trent. It makes me feel normal.
I pull into the driveway and reach for my backpack and the envelope. When I don’t see it, I jump out and hurry over to the other side of the car. Maybe it fell down into the door well. I throw open the door, but I don’t see anything. The dome light isn’t that powerful, so I turn on my phone’s flashlight. Nothing. It’s empty, and it’s not on the floorboard either, which means someone broke into my car and stole it.
CHAPTER5
WILLA
Lionel’s furious. Face red, he paces back and forth, asking me to repeatedly describe everything from the clasp on the envelope to the photos inside. There was nothing special about the generic envelope, but he makes me find an image of one online and send it to him. He frowns when he hears the images were from some type of instant camera.
“Were the images clear?” He abruptly asks.
I sift through the images in my mind. “Most of them. A couple were sort of… grainy? The one at the clinic and me driving my car. Why?”
“Every detail is important,” he says, his tone calm but commanding. “Clear pictures means they’ve been close to you. Instant cameras don’t take the best pictures from a distance. I’d like to narrow down the camera. Can you find an example of the images online?”
Bringing up my browser, we start looking at various models until we can pin it down to two possibilities. Both have a maximum range of five to seven feet for a clear photo.
The lines around his mouth tighten as I tell him. “I know you’re not dating. Have you spoken to anyone new in the last couple of weeks?”
“I picked up a new tutoring client,” I reply. “The football player. We barely know each other and have had very little interaction outside of the library.” I cross my arms tightly across my chest. “He walked me to my car earlier tonight because I looked scared.”
Lionel pauses. “The same one who ran over you the other day?”
I groan. “Yes, but you can’t think he’s got anything to do with this. The guy doesn’t have to stalk anyone. He’s popular and good-looking; girls chase him.”
“So?” Lionel remarks, lifting one eyebrow. “Someone starts stalking you shortly after you meet?” He snorts. “I don’t like it. He remains at the top of the list.” He reaches into a cabinet in the dining hutch and pulls out a small tackle box. “I’m going to dust your car for fingerprints.”
Flabbergasted, I stare after him. “Do you even know how? And where did you get the supplies?”
Bewildered, I follow him to my car, but he doesn’t answer. Too focused on the task at hand to pay attention to me, he methodically dusts around the windshield, the passenger doors, and driver’s side. It takes forever, but I don’t interrupt him. Instead, I impatiently shuffle back and forth until he’s done.
He closes the tackle box and waves the samples at me. “I’m going to have a friend run these prints. You never know.”
Once back inside, he slides the box back into the cabinet and turns toward me. “I’m going to set up surveillance around your apartment. For now, follow your normal routine. Anything out of the ordinary could spook your stalker, and I want to catch this bastard. Don’t worry. I’ll be close by in case you need anything.”
I throw up my hands. “Shouldn’t we go to the police?”
He thinks about it for a brief second, then shakes his head. “With the pictures gone, there’s no evidence. Nobody has threatened you, and you don’t even have a face or name to offer them. At best, they’ll create a report, but they’re more likely to dismiss you as a paranoid girl.”
Frustrated, I realize he’s right. Why didn’t I put those pictures in my backpack?
