Page 9 of Laura's Safe Haven
Going back to her parents’ house wasn’t an option, and no way her father would allow her mother to stay with her for an entire night. She still wasn’t completely comfortable around Jude, and the closest friend she’d made in the last couple years was visiting Colorado with the man she loved and his two little girls.
Hating to admit it, she shook her head. “Matthew is the one I’d call, but he’s not around.”
Pity swam in his green eyes, making her already uneasy stomach even more upset. She didn’t want his, or anyone else’s, sympathy. She was strong and capable. “I’ll be fine,” she lied. “I have locks on my door and it’s a good neighborhood. Besides, the person probably doesn’t even know where I live.”
Cade shifted in his chair, clearly not convinced. “How about I stick around a little while longer? We can finish our meal and maybe watch some TV. Once you’re too tired to be scared, I’ll leave. Sound good?”
The tension bunching the muscles in her neck loosened. She hated to admit how much she wanted him to stay, but agreeing to such a sensible plan was only logical. “Okay. As long as you let me pick the show.”
“Deal.”
Plan made, she nibbled on a fry. Her appetite still wavered, but she needed food in her system. Besides, keeping her meal down was the least of her worries. She’d have to figure out how to be alone eventually, no matter who was out to get her.
4
The television droned on, sucking Cade into the storyline despite the shitstorm brewing in his mind. He kept his phone clutched in one hand and willed it to ring. The noose of tension wringing his neck wouldn’t loosen until he had more answers.
Answers about the break-in. Answers about where the hell Matthew was—seriously, how could the guy not call back after his sister had been attacked? Answers about Isaac’s whereabouts during the time Laura had been terrorized.
But the dark phone screen stared back at him in silent mockery.
He chanced a peek at Laura. She sat on the opposite end of the sofa, her feet tucked beneath her, and a blanket draped across her lap. She’d changed from her pencil skirt and loose-fitting blouse to black leggings and an oversized T-shirt.
A large bowl of half-eaten popcorn sat between them on the worn, gray cushion. He hadn’t touched it, but Laura’s hand returned to the buttery kernels time and time again while her eyes stayed glued to the mustached soccer coach on the screen.
Cade was more than happy to watch her fill her stomach and zone out. Hopefully some of the stress would melt away.
Her phone glowed from its spot on the end table, heightening his stress level by ten notches.
Laura’s body stiffened, and she caught his eye. “Unknown number.”
“Answer it.” He scooted forward on the couch, forearms on knees.
A tiny tremor shook her hand as she scooped up her phone and accepted the call then quickly activated the speaker so Cade could hear. “Hello,” she said, placing the device between them.
“Good evening. This is Deputy Owen Wells. Am I speaking with Laura Metcalf?”
“Yes.”
Cade leaned closer so he wouldn’t miss a word just as Laura moved toward the middle of the sofa, as if needing his support.
“I wanted to touch base and let you know we spoke with Isaac Heck. He has an alibi for the time in question.”
Cade worked his clenched jaw back and forth. He was confident the deputy had done his job, but Isaac was a slippery sonofabitch.
“Oh, okay,” Laura stammered.
“Is there anyone else I should speak with? Anyone else who might want to hurt you?”
She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “Not that I can think of.”
“If that changes, please give me a call. Until we speak again, be safe. I’ll make sure we have a squad car patrol your neighborhood for the time being. But until we know exactly who attacked you and why, you can’t be too careful.”
“Thank you, Deputy.” She disconnected and stared into the distance, shock clear on her open mouth and wide eyes.
“Hey, now. Everything’s going to be okay.” Wanting to comfort her, Cade placed the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and sat beside her. He hooked an arm on the top of the couch above her shoulders, mindful not to touch her but needing to be close.
“How can you say that? The only person I know who hates me enough to hurt me has an alibi. What does that mean? Does someone else have issues with me? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? How do I step outside and not fear someone not even on my radar is going to fly at me out of nowhere?”