Page 6 of Caught in His Sights
In a few more years, I’ll be too old for their target practice.
I head toward the wall of mailboxes in the foyer, eager to check if my package was delivered while I was out.
As I walk past the out-of-order elevator, my eyes water from the stench emanating from it. It worsened overnight, and it will continue to go downhill. The mess won’t be cleaned until at least Monday.
The building owner always leaves it to sit as punishment, hoping the tenants won’t use it as a bathroom again, but the tactic has now turned into a game to see how fast they can shut down the lift again.
I breathe through my mouth as I unlock my mailbox and find the key inside for the bigger lockbox. Excitement shoots through me. My toy arrived.
With a smile on my lips, I collect my delivery and head for the stairs.
On my floor, I step out into the hall, and a pleasant scent tickles my nose in stark contrast to the stench downstairs. Someone must have gotten fed up with the stink and sprayed an air freshener to combat the overflowing trash room.
At my door, I transfer my package to the same arm as my grocery bag and unlock the multiple deadbolts. This moment of vulnerability, stopped in one spot for too long, always fills me with anxiety, but better this than a thief busting into my home.
Inside, I waste no time dropping the box on the table next to the door and re-securing the locks. As I do, my nose twitches. The pleasant scent from the hall fills my apartment, quickening my pulse.
Is a new Alpha visiting this floor? It’s supposed to be Omegas only, but people sneak in lovers.
For a moment, jealousy spikes through me. But I’d have to go out to meet people to find an Alpha. Unless I want to test the resolution of the hoodlum outside.
Snorting at the idea, I head toward the kitchen, where I freeze in my tracks.
A tall man dressed all in black stands in my office, with a skullcap covering his hair. With his back to me, he studies the photographs taped to my wall.
My pulse quickens. The pleasant scent thickening the air comes from the intruder.
“Oliver Kent, I presume?” he asks without turning.
The low rumble sends shivers through me, and my knees tremble in recognition. I’ve heard that voice a hundred times in interviews.
At my silence, the man turns, his dark-brown eyes sweeping over me.
He arches one red eyebrow. “I’d introduce myself, but I don’t think that’s necessary, is it?”
I look from his chiseled features to the dozens of photos behind him, the same face, but with an expression I’ve never seen before.
“Oliver?” he purrs, lifting his arm.
My focus jumps back to him, and I swallow hard. The man from my wall of obsession, my personal fantasy, has come to life.
Caleb Rockford is in my apartment, and he’s pointing a gun at me.
3
Shocked as I stare at Caleb Rockford, the grocery bag I hold slips from my fingers, and the sound of eggs breaking fills the tense silence.
“Nice collection you’ve got here.” Caleb nods toward the photos plastered all over the office behind him. “What’s the deal? Got a twin kink or something?”
My focus shifts from the muzzle of the weapon to the man, and I swallow hard, my thundering pulse threatening to undo me. “It’s not a twin kink.”
“Could have fooled me.” His red eyebrows raise as he gestures to the walls again. “All these clippings seem pretty…obsessed.”
“Take another look.” My gaze locks with his. “Only one man is in my collection.”
Caleb scans the pictures and points to one taken at a gala opening from five years ago. “That’s my brother, Damien.”
“No.” My heart pounds harder, making me lightheaded. “That’s you pretending to be Damien. All the photos are of you.”