Every Breath You Take
Read Every Breath You Take Online
Authors: Bianca Sloane
Bianca Sloane
Text Copyright © 2015 Bianca Sloane
Excerpt from
Live to Tell
copyright 2015 by Bianca Sloane
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, places, dialogue, and plot are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This book contains an excerpt from
Live to Tell
by Bianca Sloane. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
Cover design by Torrie Cooney
http://torriecooney.blogspot.com/
Book formatting by 52 Novels
https://www.52novels.com/
To sign up for the author’s newsletter, visit her website:
www.biancasloane.com
Part I: What Ever Happened to Natalie Scott?
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Part II: The Boy Most Likely To. . .
Chapters
Part III: Remember the Time. . .
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Part IV: You Are Cordially Invited. . .
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78
Every Breath You Take
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Natalie Scott goes jogging along Chicago’s lakefront. She likes foreign films, cinnamon gum and strawberry yogurt. She smells like sunflowers in the summer and roses in the winter.
These are just a few of the things Natalie’s stalker knows about her.
In fact, he knows everything about her.
In one brutal act of violence, Natalie’s stalker will reveal himself to her, imprisoning her in the process, determined to own her body and soul. Now trapped in a madman’s web, Natalie finds herself in a terrifying battle of wills where the only way to survive is to beat the monster at his own game. . .
SHE
S
he misses sunlight.
Of course, there are so many things she misses. Too many to count, really. The sound of a ringing telephone. The heft of a link watch sliding against her wrist bones—of being able to glance down whenever she wanted to check the time. The crunch of a cake cone underneath a scoop of pecan praline ice cream on a sweltering summer day. The lemony flutter of furniture polish under her nose. Walking. She misses just . . . walking. She couldn’t count pacing. Pacing across the same patch of Pepto-pink carpet every day wasn’t the same as putting one foot in front of the other to cross a street, of feeling the strike of your heel against a concrete sidewalk, or even wandering the aisles of the drugstore in search of something as mundane as toothpaste.
It was the sunlight that surprised her the most, though, never having been much of an outdoors person. She could only claw helplessly at the blacked-out, shatterproof window, yearning for emancipation. In her weaker moments of grand delusion, she thought if she rubbed hard enough, she could wear a hole in the thick pane to let in a slip of light—and eventually, a gaping fissure that she could shimmy through to the freedom on the other side.
Lately, she’d taken to lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, pretending it was blue sky. The stiff, itchy bristles of the ugly pink carpet fell away and became grains of lush white sand or velvety, sweet-smelling grass. The gnarled, winding veins of the stucco ceiling were voluminous cotton-candy clouds floating across a bright, white sun. Most of the time, it was just infinite crystalline blue sky. Once in a while, it was a little overcast, but it never rained.
Ever.
In fact, in all the time she’d been here, however long that had been, she’d never heard the sound of raindrops pounding against the roof or tapping against the windows.
Not even the solitude of rain to keep her from going insane.
What Ever Happened to Natalie Scott?
Chapter 2
SHE
“D
o I know you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Excuse me?”
Natalie frowned at the strange man trying to chat her up. The man, who’d wandered over to the adjacent highboy table just a few seconds ago, had been stealing sidelong glances at Natalie since she’d first arrived, unnerving her more than a little. All evening it seemed at every turn, every accidental glance in his direction, his eyes poked at her through the slender clusters of people milling about the sleek, charcoal-grey cocktail lounge, a sanitized Euro dance montage pulsing softly in the background. Every time she’d seen him staring at her, he’d offer a mysterious, crooked little smile which meant she had to take a sip of her drink and refocus her attention on whoever she was socializing with at the moment to discourage him from hitting on her.
Clearly, it hadn’t worked.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “You just look really familiar. You’re not Rachel, are you?”
Natalie looked down at her name tag. “Nope.”
“It’s just that you look like a girl I went to high school with. Rachel. But you’re not Rachel, you’re—” he leaned toward her, squinting at her nametag. “Natalie. Natalie. What a beautiful name for a pretty girl. Wow. That sounded really corny, didn’t it?”
“Just a little.”
“Okay, what I meant to say is you’re really beautiful. No, no, that sounds worse.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Wow, okay, what I really,
really
meant to say is that you’re beautiful. And the name is pretty. Man. I’m really losing points here, huh?”
Natalie cleared her throat and hit “send” on her text message before downing the last swallow of her chardonnay. She offered him a weak but polite smile. “If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured as she set her empty glass on the table. She’d done her due diligence and made the requisite small talk and niceties and would be able to give her boss a full report on Monday. It was time to peace out and get on with her Friday night. She started to head for the exit when the guy shot out in front of her, causing her to jerk back a bit. He smiled again.
“I promise, I’m not some psycho stalker or something, and I’m not normally this . . . ugh. All right, let’s start over.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Jason.”
Natalie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. He looked clean, anyway. And he was wearing a suit. An obviously expensive navy blue one with paper-sharp creases, a jaunty hot-pink pocket square, and drapes and cuts in all the right places. And unlike the hastily scribbled nametag that denoted her being pressed into attendance at the last minute, his was preprinted, meaning he was on somebody’s guest list. So maybe he wasn’t a total freak.
Maybe.
She hesitated a bit before snaking her hand out to shake his. A smile broke out across his face. As much as Natalie hated to admit it, he was cute—quite cute.
“Nice to meet you, Natalie.” He dropped her hand, a little reluctantly she thought, and gestured toward her empty glass. “Can I get you another drink?”
“You know, I’m actually heading out. I have somewhere else to be.”
“Oh. Right. Friday night,” he said. “Big plans, huh?”
“Yeah, yes. Big plans.”
“Lucky guy.”
Natalie hoped the flicker of another dateless Friday night didn’t flash across her face. She shook her head and cast her gaze to the carpet. “Ah, no, no, nothing like that.”
“Whew, okay, still a chance, still a chance. So, could I call you sometime, take you to dinner, show you I’m not a complete jackass?”
“Really, it’s okay,” she said, starting to edge away from him. “I do have to get going, though.”
“Okay, here, how about this,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a business card. “You’re not comfortable with me calling you, so maybe you could call me? You could even block your number so I won’t see it. I mean, if it will make you feel better.”
He held the little white card out toward her, his face earnest with a side of pleading that made Natalie soften despite her apprehension and resolve. She glanced around, contemplating what to do. She bit her lip and turned back to look at him. Sighing a little, she took the card and he smiled again.
“Hope to hear from you soon, Natalie.”
She looked at the card for a few seconds before slipping it into the side pocket inside her purse. “Goodbye . . . Jason,” she said as she turned on her heel and headed for the exit.
“Oh, and, uh . . . hope you have a fun night. But not too much fun,” he said, giving her one of those cheesy half winks she was never sure she could trust.
Embarrassed now, Natalie offered him a feeble smile before she hurried toward the elevator. Natalie tugged at the bottom of her suit jacket and fiddled with her hair while she waited. She couldn’t help it; as she got in the elevator, she twisted her head around a little to see if he was watching.
He was.
• • •
Natalie searched Devon’s crowded bar for signs of either Brandy or Christine. She spotted Christine taking a glass of wine from the bartender and ambled over to her.
“Boo,” Natalie said, tapping one of her best friends on the shoulder.
“Hey, chica,” Christine smiled, giving her a quick hug, enveloping her in Escada and Jean Patou. “I was just about to text you, see where you were.”
Christine. Unsullied as always, and more so when compared to Natalie’s own tousled, sweaty appearance. There were no late-day oil slicks smeared across the smooth planes of her olive skin (though if there were, she’d most certainly be “dewy” not “greasy”), no limp strands of once-luscious layers of black hair that had lost the day-long war against humidity; her dark brown eyes weren’t bobbing in a sea of red veins. It was as though she spent her days sitting in a lettuce crisper.
Natalie signaled to the bartender and ordered her own white wine. “It took me forever to get out of that event, and then I couldn’t get a cab, so I had to walk.”
“That sucks. Sorry, sweetie. So listen, it’s an hour for a table down in the restaurant, so let’s just stay up here, order from the bar menu.”
“Sounds good,” Natalie said as she took her wine and followed her friend to the lone empty highboy tucked into one corner of the cavernous room. The two women sat down, each sipping their wine as they settled in.
“Where’s Brandy?”
“She’s running late, too. Probably another ten minutes. So what was this event you were coming from?”
Natalie snorted. “So, my boss e-mails me at four-thirty to say he needs me to go to this reception that a corporate client is having at one of the Loop hotels, and he was supposed to go but can’t and could I go instead, blah, blah, blah. I mean, first of all, who has a reception on a Friday night?”
“True.”
“Anyway, it was just a bunch of old suits. I think I was the youngest one there. Well, except for this one guy.”
“Okay, now I’m listening.”
“It . . . it was nothing. He was kind of weird. Of course, what does that say about me because I still took his card.”
“So, wait. What happened?”
“I dunno . . . I’m standing there, finishing my glass of wine, checking e-mail, texting you, and this guy keeps staring at me. Actually, I’d seen him staring at me all night, so finally I ask him if I know him, because I meet a lot of people, right? And maybe I’ve forgotten his name.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I ask him if I know him, and he’s like ‘no, but you look familiar and you’re so pretty—’”
“Oh, jeez.”
“Exactly. So, he goes on and on and then he asks if he can get me a drink, and I’m like, I just want to get the hell out of there. Then he asks if he can call me, and the next thing I know he’s handing me his card and saying to call him so he can take me to dinner.”
