Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I suppose time is the only thing that will ease his worries, especially after having a front row seat to the infamous Harper-Rayn breakdown, but as long as he’s happy to give me a chance, then that’s all that matters.
Truth be told, if Dr. McKullan wanted to put me back on day shift just to keep an eye on me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. The day shift lines up perfectly with Knight’s normal working hours, meaning for the most part, we’d be home together, going to bed together, and rumpling the sheets together. Though considering how often he gets called out to be the big SWAT machine that he is, I don’t think it makes much of a difference.
Either way, when it comes down to it, I prefer the silence of the morgue. I prefer working alone without someone looking over my shoulder, and I prefer calling my own damn shots.
As I make my way through the parking garage, I search through the darkness, trying to remember where I parked my Honda as I feel around in the bottom of my bag, searching for my phone. It had gone off an hour ago with a new text, and seeing as though Laith has cooled his jets on the flirty texts, I can only assume it was Knight letting me know that he was on his way back home, but I was too caught up in my work to break for even a second to check it. He’d understand though. I hope. Actually, on second thought, he might be pissed.
Knight was concerned about me returning to work, but he trusted me when I said that I was feeling better. If he’s been nervous about it through the night and now I haven’t responded to his text, he could be thinking the worst.
Finding my phone in the very bottom of the abyss otherwise known as my bag, I pull it out to find Knight’s text, just as I had expected.
A stupid laugh cracks out of me, and I immediately start texting back.
I roll my eyes as I toss my phone back into my bag and grab my keys. It’s a little after four in the morning, and the sun hasn’t even started to think about joining us for the day. It’s still dark, and one would think that after so long working night shift, I would have started parking in the same spot to avoid this bullshit at the end of every shift. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
Finally spotting my Honda, I cut across the parking garage, more determined than ever to get home to Knight and have him rail me into oblivion.
I’m only a few feet away when a chill sails down my spine, and just as I take one more step toward my car, the chill turns into sickening shivers. I pause, my brows furrowed.
Something’s not right. This eerie feeling, there’s something so familiar about it, yet it’s different.
I swallow over the growing lump in my throat, my gaze shifting from left to right as unease leaves me shaken. I search in the shadows of the garage, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but after coming up blank, I realize it’s all in my head.
Maybe I’m not as far into my healing journey as I’d thought.
I try to shake it off and go to take the few final steps toward my car, when the darkness shifts, morphing into a person as he steps out from behind my car, the familiar mask crippling me with fear.
“No,” I say, sucking in an audible gasp, terror pulsing through my veins as I clutch my keys tighter in my hand, ready to use them as a weapon if it comes down to it. I shake my head, wide-eyed as my heart races a million miles an hour. This can’t be happening. I’ve been taking my meds religiously. I haven’t missed a single dose. “No, you can’t be here. You’re not real.”
I back up a step, shaking my head a little faster as though I could somehow shake him right out of existence. This isn’t making any sense. The doctor confirmed that he was nothing more than a sick hallucination. Was she wrong? Was Knight wrong? Was all of it real?
The masked stalker laughs, only there’s something different about it. His tone has changed. “Oh, sweet kitten. How easy it’s been to find you.”
“No.” He takes a step toward me, and I hastily back up again. “No. You’re not real.”
He laughs again, and his tone makes me sick. “You’re right,” he tells me, the darkness behind his eyes filled with a sinister evil, something I never noticed before. Something that’s . . . different. My stalker was always sick and twisted, but his eyes were a window into his desires. But this . . . His eyes are dead. There’s no window here, nothing to see. “Your stalker wasn’t real. He was a figment of your imagination, made up in that crazy little head of yours.”