13. Part to play

He found me. I doubted he would. For all his words, for all his promises, when I took off, I was sure he'd let me go.

The only reason Will didn't was because I was spending his money. That's it. Sure, he believed he owned me, and I didn't mind that so much. I've spent my whole life belonging to someone. I'm usually happiest when I am because then I know who I am—who I'm supposed to be—and the part I'm expected to play.

The doting daughter who next gets upset or needs to be bribed to behave.

The goody-goody high school student who blossomed late, but found a boyfriend who adored her until she got too intimidated by his devotion, then escaped to an out of state college.

The perfect wife who stayed in the marriage because she was paid too, but who loved her husband's money far more than she ever cared about him. And who took the slaps, the name-calling, and the disgust so long as he paid her bills on time. But as soon as she had her second chance at true happiness, she threw his money in his face and left… only for that goddamn account to cause her former husband to chase after her.

Will didn't love me, either. How could he? You don't hurt the one you love, and you don't threaten to slit their throat just because they went on a shopping binge and spent a thousand dollars in two weeks.

Oh, no. But you do get your throat slit when you threaten a woman with a devoted stalker…

As Jake presses an open-mouth kiss to the place between my shoulder blades, I have to admit that he got it a little wrong. I'm glad he killed Will so that I didn't have to deal with him anymore, but that was before my dead husband started haunting me because I was a lot guiltier than I expected to be.

I didn't really expect him to kill Will. He never used to be violent; at least, not to me. There were rumors… who knows. His boyish smile and inherent charm concealed a dark side that called to mine even before I knew just how broken I was.

So I didn't expect him to kill Will, but I'd never been so fucking turned on in my life than when I received the note from the Watcher with Will's blood-covered ring. I knew. I knew then that Jake was still obsessed, would always be obsessed… and it was time I admitted that I felt the same.

He's here now. I made it as difficult as possible to test his resolve. The tracker I found ages ago got pried off with my fingernail before I drove out of Merrill Grove, but maybe he's better than I thought. It's possible he had a second one on there, or some kind of way to find my phone.

He even found my room in this hotel, and if I wasn't so flattered that Jake came right after me—instead of it taking two fucking weeks and more luck than he deserved for Will to find me—I might've been a little pissed that he got his hands on a key to my room.

Because he told me that he was my husband. Because he has every intention of making me his wife.

I glance down at my left hand, focusing on the naked ring finger.

It's about time I got a new one…

Jake gooses my hip. "Stay here."

He fucked me so boneless, I don't really feel like getting up. But I didn't think he would, either, so I roll onto my back, then prop myself up on my elbow just in time to see he's tugging his jeans on again.

We'd stripped after he banged me up against the wall. He was still desperate for me, and I needed him, so I brought him back to life with mouth before climbing on top of him. It was my turn to take control—and he let me before his possessive nature got the best of him and he tossed me to my back, grabbing my ankle and pulling my leg over his shoulder so that he could fuck me impossibly deeper before collapsing on top of me.

Check-out isn't until eleven tomorrow morning. I'd planned on cozying up to Jake, rewarding him by spending the night with him before we sat down and discussed what happens next.

This all happened because I couldn't be with both Jake and the Watcher. I loved his sweet side, I was fascinated by my stalker's darkness, and until he could come clean that he was both, we were both just fooling ourselves.

It's different now. Something's changed. Will's gone and Jake's here, and I'm finally—finally—ready to move on.

But what if he isn't? Is this like when he came to me as the Watcher both times before? He got off, got what he wanted, and now he's ready to just go?

My heart starts pounding. Praying like hell he can't hear it, I keep my voice light. "Where are you going?"

He checks his back pocket, nodding to himself as he pulls out his wallet. "Saw a vending machine down the hall on my way over. I don't know about you, but I could use a drink." He pulls out two cards: his debit card and the room key that I'm still curious about. "They've got ginger ale."

My face breaks out in a grin. "My favorite."

Jake pokes his tongue in his cheek, raising his eyebrows. "I know, baby. I know."

What the…

My head is heavy. Woozy. It feels like someone took my brain out of my skull, stuffed some cotton inside, then plopped the top back on. My ears are ringing a little, too. And my mouth… ugh. It tastes like old socks with a hint of ginger.

My tongue is so dry that I come to, smacking it against the roof of my equally dry mouth.

It takes a second for my eyes to focus after I open them. I don't remember falling asleep at all, but the way my arms feel like deadweights as I shift against the stuffed furniture in my back, I'm sure I've been out for hours.

I must've been, because how else can I explain waking up in a room that is most definitely not the hotel?

It's not my house, either. It's a living room, sure, set up in a similar style as mine, with basic furniture that's not as comfortable as I first thought it was, but the walls are white instead of pink. No way it's mine.

So whose is it?

I blink my eyes a couple of times, then scrabble against the couch when I finally spy Jake standing with his back against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, and attention focused solely on me.

For a split second, he reminds me of Will, but then he smiles that warm, possessive smile that's always warmed me up from the inside out and I know that's not Will. It's Jake, and he seems pretty fucking pleased with himself.

What did he do? I don't remember falling asleep, but I do vaguely have a recollection of Jake coming back from the hotel hallway with two drinks in his hands. Both were open. The ginger ale was mine, the Coke his, and we sipped them together as we cuddled up in bed.

At some point, he suggested we go for a walk downstairs to grab dinner. I hadn't eaten in hours, but I wasn't feeling so great… and, as I squint, struggling to piece it all together, I do remember sleepwalking through the halls with him before everything went black.

Holy shit. "You drugged me?"

"Sorry, baby. I couldn't risk you sneaking out on me again. Until I've got my ring on your finger instead of Burke's, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"And you drugged me?"

In my ginger ale. That has to be it. He got me a ginger ale and fucking drugged it so he could bring me here… wherever here is.

He doesn't lose his easy smile even as I'm shooting daggers at him with my gaze. "I needed you where I could keep you. If I told you I was taking you as my captive until you loved me as much as I love you, would you have willingly hopped in my car?"

I ignore that. "Where am I? Where's my car?"

Did he leave it behind at the hotel? I'll kill him?—

"It's okay, vixen. Listen to me. I got your purse and your keys when we left the hotel. My car's still there, and I drove us home in yours."

My heart nearly stops. Yup. Still gonna kill him. "You drove my car?"

Jake chuckles as if this is somehow funny at all. "Simone, Simone, Simone… how can you ever doubt my love for you? What other kind of woman would be more pissed that I drove her car than that I knocked her unconscious so I could abduct her?"

He's not even a little wrong about that. "Fuck you, Jake?—"

His dark eyes glitter. "Always."

I ignore that, too. "Where. Is. My. Car?"

"I parked it in my driveway. It's in perfect shape, and you can have it back when you say ‘I do'."

Say ‘I do'?

"You haven't even proposed to me!"

As if on cue, my obsessed stalker starts to drop to one knee.

I huff. "Get up. That's not funny. Where am I anyway? You said your driveway… is this your house?" I get up, dashing for the window. I should be relieved when I see my house just outside, though I am when I spy my car sitting in his driveway. "This is crazy. I want to go home."

I didn't see him move. One moment, he was on the other side of his living room. The next? He's right there, grabbing me by the wrist, whirling me around.

I'm pissed. No. I'm furious. I'd worked so hard… planned so hard… and he's turned everything on its head by kidnapping me. Like he couldn't believe I might actually choose him, he once again took the choice from me—and now he's going to have to deal with the outcome.

"Let go of me."

"I'm not hurting you."

I don't care. "This isn't the way it was supposed to go."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?" When I don't answer, he gives me a gentle tug. "Simone? You're closing me off. Don't do that. What are you thinking? Tell me."

I try to yank my hand back. His grip is gentle but too strong, and it's impossible.

That makes me angrier. "Get off me. You're a murderer!"

He rocks on his heels as if I hit him, though he doesn't let go of me. Not yet.

Instead, in a firm voice, Jake says, "You wanted me to kill him."

He's said that to me before, almost as though he's trying to convince both of us that his act of murdering William Burke was a gift he granted to me. He's not a killer. No. He's my savior.

If only he knew. But that's the thing. He doesn't.

He only thinks he does…

Jake angrily yanks out his phone. He jabs the screen with forceful fingers, swiping quickly as though searching for something in particular.

"You thought I was watching you from outside. And I was, baby. Nothing was more peaceful than sitting in the woods, crouching low, watching you through that window. But when I couldn't be there, that didn't mean my eyes weren't on you."

He gives me his phone. "There. Play the video."

"What's this," I ask, not even bothering to hide my suspicious tone.

As much as he did for me, I did double for him. For Jake, for the Watcher… and how did he repay me? Right when he proved himself, right when I actually believed that he loved me enough in his twisted way to always follow me like he promised… I gave him my body, and he gave me a roofie.

I trusted him. As much as I could trust anyone, I trusted Jake.

I've trusted him all along. Letting him into my house, into my life… letting him take the lead, knowing that he has to feel like he earned his prize, that he won before he'd stop hiding behind his mysterious alter ego… I did that, and he cheated by drugging me.

I'm done with playing this game. He thinks he's been a step ahead of me all the time?

Glancing past Jake, I look out into his empty room. I haven't seen Will since the night I stopped fighting my attraction to my stalker, and as I try to conjure him now, there's no sign of the ghost of my dead husband.

I got what I wanted. At least, I thought I did. But I wasn't looking for a killer. Not really. Didn't really appreciate a stalker, either, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't love the way it made me feel to have his eyes always on me like that.

No. All I wanted was my hero, and my happily-ever-after.

I worked so damn hard for it and he doesn't know any of it.

He crossed his arms over his chest again. "The night the cameras picked up on you pleading with someone to get rid of Burke. He'd just banged on your door, promising to come back… and you said you wanted him dead. I did it, Simone. So don't you fucking call me a murderer. I'm your hero."

Without even watching the video, I hand the phone back to him.

He takes it, even as he wordlessly dares me to argue against what he said.

I don't, though I do grumble, "You think you know everything."

Jake's cocky answer is exactly what I expect from him. "I've made it my mission to learn everything about you."

I'd promised myself I wouldn't tell him. That he didn't need to know. If he got his kicks as the Watcher, I could be Simone… but, all of a sudden, I'm eighteen again, Jake McIntyre is looking at me, telling me that my life was his long before I had the chance to live it and… and… I snap.

"Okay. What's my name?"

I've caught him off guard. He takes a step back, releasing my wrist. "What do you mean?"

"My name, Jake. Because that's your name, right? Not the Watcher or anything like that. You're Jacob McIntyre. Jake's your nickname, and the Watcher is who you want to be. Come on. You know everything about me? What's my name?"

"Simone Burke." His face twists a little as he spits out Will's last name. "But you were Simone Walton first."

"No."

"No?"

"I changed my name to Simone Walton when I was eighteen. Simone for my great grandmother. And Walton because I was crying in a Walmart parking lot the day I realized I'd have to change it if I wanted any chance of having a life of my own."

Jake doesn't even register that last part. I think he stopped listening after I mentioned the tears because anger bursts out of him, his face suddenly so hard, so dangerous, I feel bad for sicking him on my last husband.

"Why were you crying?" he demands. His hands are on my elbow, pulling me into him. "Who hurt you, baby? I don't give a fuck that it was, what? Nine, ten years ago? You tell me. I took care of Will for you. I'll get any bastard who makes you cry."

He still doesn't get it, does he?

"Who hurt me?" I break out of his hold, shoving him in the chest as my fury matches his. "You did."

Jake's eyes go impossibly dark. Instead of their usual brown, they're suddenly black. "Me?"

"Yes!"

"But… but…" Jake stops. I see it then. I see the sudden understanding dawning on him a split second before he drops his voice. "What's your name then?"

I hesitate. Something in the way he said that… he knows the answer. He just wants to hear me say it—and I'm not so sure I can right now.

"Jake…"

He shakes his head. "No. Your name. I told you. I've made it my mission to learn everything about you. I don't know your name." He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, it's so quiet, I shiver. "What is your name?"

There's no way in hell I can deny him this time.

"My birth name was Cassandra," I tell him, kicking my chin up in defiance. "But everyone called me Casey."