Read Online Bound to be Tempted: Emergence, Book 4 by Becca Jameson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becca Jameson
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drove home.
It wasn’t until she was inside the house and preparing dinner that the envelope caught her attention sticking out of her purse. She almost dropped it right in the trash, but something about it made her open it first.
It was certainly not an ad. Four typed lines in the middle of a piece of plain white printer paper.
We’re watching you. Glad to see you’ve finally moved on to men. You aren’t a quick learner. Now, lose the kinky shit, and you’ll be on your way to an eternity right with God .
Margaret dropped the paper on the table as though it burned her. She glanced around the room, suddenly feeling the creepiest sensation she’d ever felt crawl up her spine. And she was alone. She lurched forward to ensure the blinds were completely closed and the curtains drawn together.
When she returned to the table and slumped into a chair, her dinner was burning and her hands were shaking. How many times in her life had she felt like she was being followed? Hundreds? It had seemed to increase in frequency lately. She’d always assumed she was stuck with her absurd paranoia as a result of her teenage drama, but it was more than that. And the proof was currently lying on her kitchen table.
It almost seemed as though the incident from twelve years ago was related to this piece of paper now. Irrational. Stupid. Not possible. How could anyone from twelve years ago still be following her? And if they were, why hadn’t they acted before now? After all, she’d lived with Lori for a year. No one had confronted her then. Why now that she was considering a man?
A chill took over Margaret’s body, making her shake uncontrollably. Her previous hunger had converted to nausea. She jumped back up, flipped off the burner where her chicken had charred black and headed for the living room.
Thank God for the throw she kept on the back of the couch. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself inside the warmth of the blanket and curled up on the couch. It took over an hour for the shaking to stop. Her mind never stopped running.
There was no good explanation for the note. It was too specific to have been a matter of mistaken identity. Should she call the police? She couldn’t imagine what they would do with a single piece of paper, damp from hours in the parking garage and covered with her own prints now.
Carlton. Maybe she should call him? No. She couldn’t. As though the man’s ears were ringing, her phone picked that second to beep. Margaret groaned. She was supposed to text him when she got home. Now she couldn’t even do that much. For one thing, she didn’t have the energy to get off the couch. And for another thing, there was no way she would tell him about the note.
If she thought he was absurdly safety conscious before tonight, she could imagine what he would be like if he thought someone was following her.
Her phone pinged again. She flinched. She had to answer him. If she didn’t, he’d show up at her doorstep in no time.
Margaret heaved herself off the couch, tucked the blanket tight around her shoulders and headed for the kitchen to grab her phone from her purse.
Margaret? Where are you?
That was his second message. She didn’t need to scroll back to the first.
I’m home, Sir. Sorry. I forgot to text and I had my phone on vibrate in my purse .
One small white lie to keep the man from going ballistic.
Now, she just needed to figure out how to keep herself from going ballistic.
Carlton was on pins and needles Friday night at the club. He’d exchanged texts with Maggie nearly every day for the last week, and he felt confident she would accept his proposal. But that didn’t keep him from worrying. Until she arrived and confirmed she was all in, he would pace.
He’d offered to pick her up and bring her to his house when he got off work, but she’d declined, saying she needed her car anyway. So now he was forced to wait for her to arrive, worrying all the while that she’d been killed in an
It wasn’t until she was inside the house and preparing dinner that the envelope caught her attention sticking out of her purse. She almost dropped it right in the trash, but something about it made her open it first.
It was certainly not an ad. Four typed lines in the middle of a piece of plain white printer paper.
We’re watching you. Glad to see you’ve finally moved on to men. You aren’t a quick learner. Now, lose the kinky shit, and you’ll be on your way to an eternity right with God .
Margaret dropped the paper on the table as though it burned her. She glanced around the room, suddenly feeling the creepiest sensation she’d ever felt crawl up her spine. And she was alone. She lurched forward to ensure the blinds were completely closed and the curtains drawn together.
When she returned to the table and slumped into a chair, her dinner was burning and her hands were shaking. How many times in her life had she felt like she was being followed? Hundreds? It had seemed to increase in frequency lately. She’d always assumed she was stuck with her absurd paranoia as a result of her teenage drama, but it was more than that. And the proof was currently lying on her kitchen table.
It almost seemed as though the incident from twelve years ago was related to this piece of paper now. Irrational. Stupid. Not possible. How could anyone from twelve years ago still be following her? And if they were, why hadn’t they acted before now? After all, she’d lived with Lori for a year. No one had confronted her then. Why now that she was considering a man?
A chill took over Margaret’s body, making her shake uncontrollably. Her previous hunger had converted to nausea. She jumped back up, flipped off the burner where her chicken had charred black and headed for the living room.
Thank God for the throw she kept on the back of the couch. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself inside the warmth of the blanket and curled up on the couch. It took over an hour for the shaking to stop. Her mind never stopped running.
There was no good explanation for the note. It was too specific to have been a matter of mistaken identity. Should she call the police? She couldn’t imagine what they would do with a single piece of paper, damp from hours in the parking garage and covered with her own prints now.
Carlton. Maybe she should call him? No. She couldn’t. As though the man’s ears were ringing, her phone picked that second to beep. Margaret groaned. She was supposed to text him when she got home. Now she couldn’t even do that much. For one thing, she didn’t have the energy to get off the couch. And for another thing, there was no way she would tell him about the note.
If she thought he was absurdly safety conscious before tonight, she could imagine what he would be like if he thought someone was following her.
Her phone pinged again. She flinched. She had to answer him. If she didn’t, he’d show up at her doorstep in no time.
Margaret heaved herself off the couch, tucked the blanket tight around her shoulders and headed for the kitchen to grab her phone from her purse.
Margaret? Where are you?
That was his second message. She didn’t need to scroll back to the first.
I’m home, Sir. Sorry. I forgot to text and I had my phone on vibrate in my purse .
One small white lie to keep the man from going ballistic.
Now, she just needed to figure out how to keep herself from going ballistic.
Carlton was on pins and needles Friday night at the club. He’d exchanged texts with Maggie nearly every day for the last week, and he felt confident she would accept his proposal. But that didn’t keep him from worrying. Until she arrived and confirmed she was all in, he would pace.
He’d offered to pick her up and bring her to his house when he got off work, but she’d declined, saying she needed her car anyway. So now he was forced to wait for her to arrive, worrying all the while that she’d been killed in an
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