Chapter 22

Damien

Watching Frankie is my newest obsession. Her allure isn't just about looks or smarts. She's an enigma, a puzzle I need to solve with each stolen glance.

It's a dangerous thing, this attachment. Olivia is the only one I should care about, but the pull to Frankie is powerful. Every moment we're apart, I feel it. Her taste fades, and a physical ache takes its place. It's alarming. Dangerous, actually.

But first, I need to break her, twist her up so she doubts everything she knows—her skills, her case, maybe even herself.

I have a job to do, several jobs, in fact. I have names to cross off The List, and a plan that will—fingers crossed—bring my sister back to the land of the living. Until I meet those goals, nothing and no one else matters.

Frankie will be mine in every way, and someday, she'll know that the monster she's hunting is the man who makes her feel like no other man ever has.

I smile, thinking about the moment she'll realize we are one and the same. It will be too late, of course, but I appreciate that moment of realization more with every kill.

Like an addict, I watch her from the shadows when she doesn't know I'm around. She hunts the monster and wants to lock him up. But the man ? She wants him, too. Desires him in a way even she can't explain. She wants us both, and knowing it only enhances this strange, magnetic pull I feel toward her.

I'd feel giddy if I were capable of such an emotion.

She's tired and angry, but she's also doubting herself. I know the extra time I took at the crime scene is making her doubt everything she knows about the monster she's hunting. The lack of a dump site and the different method of evisceration is likely driving her crazy.

It's satisfying but it's not enough. I need to do more, I need to push Frankie a little more, which is why I make a stop at the best florist in downtown Los Angeles.

"Welcome to Bloom! How may I assist you today?" The woman behind the counter is exactly what a florist should look like, short and round with soft silver curls and a friendly smile.

I offer a friendly smile in return, careful to leave a lasting impression. "I'd like two dozen long-stem roses."

Her blue gaze lights up. "Lucky lady. Red?"

I think about it and shake my head. "Red, pink and white. Make it beautiful. And feminine."

With a bit of pep in her step, the florist disappears for a few minutes before returning with a tall crystal vase full of colorful roses and a baby's breath for extra decoration. "I think this is what you're looking for?"

I take it in and a slow smile spreads. "Yes, this is perfect. Thank you."

"My pleasure. You'll want to leave a note, of course," she says and slides a small card across the counter.

I scribble a message on the card and seal the tiny envelope with a smile, paying for the delivery in cash.

"Make sure you deliver these at this exact time to Detective DeMarco."

The florist flashes a bright smile. "And they men don't know how to be romantic anymore. I'll handle this myself, sir."

"Thank you."

Two hours, one meeting and one excruciating conference call later, I'm sitting in my home office when Frankie finally arrives home.

She's barely standing up, unsteady on her feet as she carries the crystal vase that holds the long-stem roses. She's smiling through her exhaustion as she buries her head into the perfumed bouquet before opening her door, something I imagine she's done a few times since they arrived at the precinct.

The sound of a car pulling up grabs her attention. My heart quickens. Through another camera, I see Nate Robinson stepping out, along with two other people. This should be interesting.

Frankie peers through the door peephole, and her brow furrows as she recognizes them.

She swings the door open. "Nate, what's going on? Jay? Why are you here? I just left," she says, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Frankie, we need to talk. This is important." Nate's tone is serious.

She lets them in, and I switch my view to a wider angle, making sure I don't miss anything. "What's going on?"

Jay steps closer, crossing his arms. "We received a report about someone hanging around your place last night. It might be nothing, but with the serial killer on the loose, we're here to check things out."

Frankie blinks a few times. "I had a dinner date a few nights ago, but I haven't seen anyone hanging out around here. I was at work until about nine last night. Who called it in?"

"Anonymous caller," Jay replies.

"Fuck," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "So, what now?"

A female officer steps up, holding a device. "We're going to perform a comprehensive scan of your home, Frankie," she explains. "We'll check for any unauthorized surveillance gear, hidden cameras, and any other tampering. You can't be too careful these days. If someone's got their eyes on you, they might have planted something—could be a bomb, incendiary device, a bug or anything else that could jeopardize your safety. We want to make sure your home is secure."

Frankie's eyes widen, but she nods, stepping aside. "Hey, Sarah. Do what you have to do. I won't let someone fuck with me in my own home."

My heart is practically beating out of my chest. Fuck. This wasn't part of the plan. I watch the cop, Sarah, closely. I know exactly what she's going to find.

After some time, Sarah's device beeps. She pulls out a tiny, sophisticated camera from an inconspicuous spot on the bookshelf and holds it up. "Nate, I got something. It's a camera. There could be more."

Frankie's face pales as she backs away from the lens. "What do you mean a camera? How is that possible?"

Nate's face hardens. "It means someone's been watching you, Frankie. Monitoring everything you do."

A flash of panic crosses her face. "This can't be happening…who would do something like this?"

Sarah and Nate share a look that makes my skin crawl. "Whoever it is," Sarah says, "they've got serious resources and technical know-how."

"Fuck." Frankie slumps into a chair, head in her hands. "I can't believe this…"

Nate lays a hand on her shoulder. "Frankie, we'll find out who did this, I promise. But for now, you need to be somewhere safe. Somewhere they wouldn't expect. How about my place?"

"No way, Nate. Not in a million years," Frankie says, spitting the words out.

Jay steps in, sounding like a concerned father. "Frankie, you can stay at my place. I've got that extra room."

Is he serious? Absolutely not. She's not staying with any of them! I grab my phone and tap the screen.

"Hello, Damien?" she answers, her voice trembling. "Uhm, thanks for the flowers, they're beautiful."

"Are you okay? You sound upset—what's going on?"

Her voice softens. "Oh, Damien, Jay and Nate are here. They found a camera inside my house. Someone's been spying on me…"

"God, Frankie. Do they know who it is?" I press hard on concern, and she buys it.

"No, they have to figure it out. I just feel so violated."

I switch my tone to concern and comfort. "Well, you shouldn't stay there," I insist. "Come to my place. It's secure, and you'll be safe with me."

Nate shakes his head, clearly eavesdropping. Frankie's eyes dart around, and she walks down the hall. "I don't know Damien, I mean are you sure? Just for a few days until they can secure my house?"

"Absolutely. Pack a few things. I'll be there within the hour. We'll sort this out together."

"Thank you, Damien. But…"

"No buts. I'll be there soon. Don't worry, Frankie. You can stay at my penthouse. I'll crash at the office."

"Thank you. See you soon."

She hangs up and walks back into the living room. "I'm going to stay with Damien for a couple of days."

"Frankie, you barely know him!" Nate protests.

"Nate, that's none of your business," she shoots back.

Good girl.

"This is just the beginning," I whisper. "You'll be right where I want you, Francesca."

After finishing my drink, I disconnect the cameras and surveillance. I don't want to be too early. After another twenty minutes, it's time to make my move. Excellent.

I pull up to her place and spot her standing outside with a small suitcase. She looks fragile and vulnerable—just the way I want her. I park and walk toward her.

"Frankie," I call out, concern dripping from my voice. "Why are you outside?"

She looks up, her face softening at the sight of me. "I didn't want to be in there while they're looking for more cameras. Thank you for coming."

"Of course," I reply, taking her suitcase. "I couldn't leave you like this. Come on, let's get you to safety."

We climb into the car, and I feel her fear. It's actually intoxicating. Sick, I know.

"Do you have any idea who could be behind this?" I ask, eyes flicking to her briefly as I drive.

She shakes her head. "I have no clue. It's terrifying to think someone's been watching me…"

"You'll be safe at my place," I assure her, my voice steady. "Let the professionals figure it out."

She glances at me. "Damien…thank you. I don't know what I would've done without you."

I smile. "We'll get through this, Frankie. I promise."

"We?" she asks.

I glance at her and put my hand on her thigh. "Yes, we."

We drive in silence for a bit before arriving at my penthouse. I pull into the garage and park. "Let's get you inside," I say softly. "You'll be safe here."

Frankie nods, and we head into what she believes is her sanctuary. Little does she know she's stepping right into my grasp.

Francesca slips into bed, and I turn to switch off the light.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I told you I'd sleep in my office."

Francesca turns down the comforter and pats the bed. "No, you belong here. Stay with me. Please."

As I sink into the bed beside Frankie, her soft breathing lulls me into a false sense of security. I turn to face her, the moonlight gently highlighting the beautiful contours of her face. She looks so peaceful, blissfully unaware of the monster lying next to her.

All of a sudden, my phone lights up. I reach for it, and the message I read sends a rush of excitement through me.

"We need to talk. It's about Frankie. Meet me at the usual spot."