Having no inkling of Carlise’s unhappiness, both her mom and Susie had asked why she’d suddenly decided to leave him. When she’d fessed up, it prompted Susie to wonder if the abuse was a one-time thing . . . if maybe Carlise should give him another chance. Not surprising, since he excelled at charming anyone who didn’t know him well. From the outside looking in, Tommy was a catch, and their relationship was great. Carlise knew that was all on her.
She didn’t bother trying to explain that men like Tommy didn’t change, that their apologies were hollow, and it wouldn’t be long before he fell into a pattern of beatings and false regret. Carlise knew Susie would never fully understand. She’d never been in an abusive relationship. Hadn’t grown up wondering what kind of mood her dad would be in when he got home. If he’d be happy, or if he’d immediately start swinging his fists, not caring who he hurt.
Her mom understood all too well, of course.
Her best friend had been more supportive after Carlise started receiving threats. She’d been outraged, in fact . . . even as she’d tentatively questioned whether it could be someone other than Tommy. And she had a point. Slashing tires, painting her door, leaving notes . . . none of that was really his style. He was more the in-your-face, confrontational type. The type who’d come right up to her door and ring the bell and tell her in person that she was a bitch.
But if it wasn’t Tommy harassing her, she had no idea who else it could be. She couldn’t think of anyone who hated her enough to want to make her life as miserable as it had been before she’d left Cleveland.
There was that woman at the grocery store who’d gone over-the-top crazy when Carlise had taken the last pint of Thin Mint ice cream, following her to the register, then all the way out to her car, screeching the entire time. Despite the woman’s irrational display, Carlise couldn’t imagine anyone stalking her over ice cream.
Maybe it was the author who’d claimed her translation was terrible. It wasn’t; the woman just didn’t want to pay for the work Carlise had done.
The possibility that it could be her dad was always in the back of her mind. He’d seemed relieved enough to wash his hands of both his wife and daughter . . . but then again, maybe when he’d learned how well they were both doing, his ego couldn’t handle it. And Carlise had been the one who’d continually begged her mom to leave the man.
“What time is it?” Riggs mumbled from next to her.
It was still dark outside. She was snuggled against Riggs the same way she went to sleep every night. One of her legs between his, her head on his chest, her arm across his body, and holding him almost as tightly as he held her. She wore one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties, but the shirt had ridden up in the night.
One of his hands rested on her lower back, fingers brushing against the elastic of her underwear. The other was on the arm over his chest, as if making sure she didn’t move from his side.
“Not time to get up yet,” she whispered back.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
Carlise shook her head. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
This was it. She needed to tell him about her stalker. About the reason she’d fled Cleveland, and why she’d ended up in his cabin in the middle of a freaking snowstorm. He deserved to know that if they stayed together, it was possible he might be in danger. That someone might find this cabin and defile it in some way. Ransack it, burn it to the ground.
The latter thought had her shivering against him.
“Carlise? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I have a stalker,” she blurted.
The relief that swept through her body at the quick admission was immense. She hadn’t realized just how much it had been weighing on her to keep that secret.
To her surprise, he didn’t tense under her. “Do you know who it is?” he asked.
She lifted her head and tried to see his face in the dark. “You aren’t upset?”
“Oh, I’m pissed,” he said calmly. “But I need information in order to fix it. And the last thing you need right now is me leaping up and ranting and raving and pacing the room. Baxter wouldn’t like that either. I’m just thrilled that you’re finally trusting me enough to tell me what brought you here. So I’m staying calm, trying to gather intel, so I can pass it on to JJ and the others, and we can end the threat to you. And so we can get on with our lives.”
That was the sweetest, most loving thing anyone had ever said to her. Which was probably messed up, but whatever.