The Billionaire's Secret Kink Box Set: Knox: Secret Alpha Billionaire Romance Bundle (Rosesson Brothers Book 1) (6 page)

A short while later, she paid the cab driver and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her townhome. It wasn't secluded, like her place in Seattle, but that was one of the reasons she had come. Victorian buildings crowded it from both sides. The hum of traffic behind her reminded her that there were people everywhere. She would be safer in San Fran. There were neighbors to run to if things got bad.

Mica pulled out her keys and unlocked the door to the foyer she shared with the other townhome owners. The seam of the door whispered over the red-velvet carpet as she pushed her way inside. Speaking of neighbors, the guy in 1A must have seen her pull up. He opened his door, shirtless, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts and nothing else, a mailbox key glinting in his hand.

He smiled at her. "Mica, so good to see you. How's Seattle?"

Mica swallowed hard. He was hot. Sexy. Smoking, even, but his size and his confidence always made her nervous. His feet padded soundlessly over the carpet as he walked to the mailboxes and opened his. He pulled out a handful of mail while Mica worked her throat, trying to get her tongue to work. He checked his mail a lot when she came in the door, but he'd never done it practically naked before.

"Hi, uh, Darryl. It's good. You know, uh, rainy."

Darryl flashed his dazzling smile at her and headed back to his door, mail in hand. Mica tried not to watch his thigh muscles bunch and clench as he moved, or the way his pecs looked in the soft light. She locked her eyes on his face as he spoke again.

"We've missed you here. You staying for a while this time?"

"Well, uh, yeah, maybe. At least a week."

"Are you hungry? I've got spaghetti on the stove."

Alarm bells sounded in Mica's brain. "Ah, thanks, but, I already ate. I have some phone calls to make so I should..." She motioned up the stairs.

The disappointed look on his face almost made her feel bad. Darryl had been showing interest in her since she first bought the townhome above him, but she'd never responded. She loved the way he looked, the clean, rugged handsomeness of him, and he certainly seemed like a nice guy, but she generally went for men who were...different. Less ... muscle-y. And not quite so tall. Men who didn't exude sex appeal.

"Well, ah, bye Darryl. Thanks again." Mica bounded up the stairs, her face heating. It was true she generally went for men who were slim and not much taller than her, but not because she was attracted to them. More because they were safe. This was a fact she knew about herself, and more evidence that her life was messed up. That
she
was messed up. She knew it. But she didn't know what to do about it.

Mica reached the top of the stairs and rounded left, heading for the door to her apartment. She saw something sitting on her welcome mat and her heart tried to leap out of her chest as adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream.

No. No. No.

Denial coursed through her brain. It couldn't be. As she approached her door she saw it was. Another train. She reached out with trembling fingers and plucked it off the mat, turning it over at once. Two different words greeted her on the bottom of this train.

Predictable bitch.

Mica

Mica sat on the dark stoop, waiting for the police to arrive, just glad Darryl hadn't seen her come back down the stairs. There was no way she was entering her apartment on her own.

How had he gotten in to the foyer? When had he come? Before or after she'd slammed her own car into a tree? Was he watching her? Was he there, now, watching her, laughing at her?

Her eyes scanned the rows of homes across the street, then every parked car she could see. Her once-friendly, safe neighborhood seemed different, scary now. He'd been there. It seemed to her like he was having a great time messing with her. Like maybe he didn't even want the money, what he really wanted was to steal her sanity piece by piece, rip it away from her and watch her shake in terror.

Mica bit her bottom lip and tried to feel defiant. She wouldn't let him do that to her. She would fight him, deny him what he seemed to want. She'd find a way.

A patrol car turned out of the traffic and double-parked in front of her building. Mica stood up to greet the officers, deep shame running through her. She hated being vulnerable. Being vulnerable and alone had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Two police officers got out, a man and a woman. The man had been driving so the woman reached her first. Mica was glad to see a woman until the officer reached her. The look on the officer's face told her that the female officer already thought this was a bullshit call. Mica bit back her frustration. She'd just have to convince them it wasn't.

"You called about the harassment?" the tall, hard-looking female cop asked, her hands on her hips.

Mica looked at her name tag as the other officer came around the car to join her. Powell was her name. The stripes on her sleeve said she was a Sergeant.

"Yes, I called. It's more than just harassment th—"

Sgt. Powell cut her off. "Just tell me what happened."

"Well, I uh, I came home and this train was on the rug in front of my door."

She held the train out and waited for Sgt. Powell to take it.

"You shouldn't have touched that," the officer told her, a look of disgust on her face. She turned to her partner. "Get the fingerprint kit."

"No, you don't understand," Mica said. "I know who sent it."

"Mmm-hmm," Sgt. Powell said as her partner reappeared and opened a bag for Mica to drop the train into. Powell took the bag and examined the train, her eyebrows raising at the two words on the bottom. "So who left it?"

"His name's Dick Bailey," Mica told her in a rush. "He left me one at my house in Seattle too, but I didn't bring it, I didn't tell the cops either. I should have, but they weren't very helpful when he sent me the letter and filled my mailbox with blood, so it wasn't my first thought."

Sgt. Powell held up her hand, stopping Mica's flow. "What letter?"

"He sent me a letter a few weeks ago. I don't have it anymore. The Seattle police have it."

"A threatening letter?"

Mica grimaced. She had thought it was plenty threatening, but the cop who had come to take her information had pointed out there wasn't an explicit threat in it. Nothing that would get him in trouble. She'd known what Bailey meant though. She decided not to tell Sgt. Powell that part for now.

"Yeah, it was threatening. And then he put blood in my mailbox."

"You saw him do it?"

"No, I didn't, but who else would do it? I—"

Sgt. Powell held up her hand again. "Fast forward to the train. What's the problem with it?"

Mica turned around and shook the door to her building. "This door is locked. He shouldn't have been able to get into my building. He left another train at my house in Seattle earlier. He's trying to scare me. He's extorting me. For all I know he could be in my apartment right now waiting for me."

Sgt. Powell pressed her lips together like she very much doubted it. She nodded at her partner. "Check with the neighbors. See if anyone saw anything" She looked at Mica and nodded her head to the door. "Let's go see."

Mica breathed a sigh of relief. Now they were getting somewhere. She unlocked the foyer door and led Sgt. Powell up the stairs, then opened the door to her apartment and stepped back.

Sgt. Powell strolled in, her right hand relaxed, resting on the butt of her gun. Her head swiveled right and left. "Turn on the lights," she told Mica over her shoulder.

Mica stepped through the doorway and snapped on the lights, then tried to look every way at once. The large apartment seemed completely normal. And empty.

Mica directed Sgt. Powell through every room, where they poked into closets and under beds. Finally satisfied that the apartment was empty, Mica led the officer into her kitchen. "Can I get you some coffee?" she asked in a small voice. She was beginning to feel stupid.

Don't you do that! her mind snapped at her. He was in the building! He was in your house! You had every right to call the cops!

"No, thank you." Sgt. Powell sighed. "Look Miss..."

"Nichols," Mica supplied, knowing what was coming.

"Miss Nichols. What do you think this guy wants from you?"

"Money," Mica whispered, knowing that wasn't all he wanted.

Sgt. Powell nodded. "And you say you've already got a case going with the Seattle PD?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you what I can do for you. I can talk to your neighbors, see if they saw anything, see if one of them let him into the building. I can fingerprint that little train. I can call whoever is working on your case in Seattle and give them this update. I can maybe make a harassment charge since the guy called you a bitch. But that's it. Unless he stole a key or picked the lock downstairs he hasn't really done anything illegal."

Mica nodded. She knew that. The officer in Seattle had told her the same thing. Dick was smart. He knew how to skate that line.

"What is the name of the officer in Seattle who took your case up there?"

"Dunway," Mica said softly, wondering how she was ever going to be able to sleep again.

"Dunway." Sgt. Powell nodded as she wrote the name down in her notebook. A knock on the door startled Mica and she turned toward it. "I'll get it," the police sergeant said.

She walked to the door and Mica saw it was only the other cop. They had a short discussion and then Sgt. Powell returned to Mica. "He says no one saw anything or let anyone into the building, but your upstairs neighbor isn't home, so we'll have to try back later."

Mica nodded, hopelessness spreading through her.

Sgt. Powell held out a card. "Here's my card. Call 911 if he shows up here tonight. I'll get this information to Dunway asap."

"Thank you," Mica said, ready to just be alone already. She showed the officers to the door and double locked it, then stared at it, not feeling any safer at all.

Mica looked around her living room. She didn't know what she wanted, other than to feel safe again. Her eyes settled on a dining room chair. She grabbed it, and dragged it to the front door, then wedged it under the doorknob. It was rudimentary, but it did make her feel a tiny bit safer. At least she would hear it if someone tried to get in.

Mica walked over to the large bay window at the front of her large living room. She checked all the locks, then pressed her faced up against the glass, looking out. She was on the second floor. He'd need a ladder to get up here. Someone would surely see that, no matter what time he tried it. She thought she was safe. She hoped.

Mica dropped onto her couch and tried not to cry. Tears wouldn't help her. She didn't know what would, but she knew it wasn't tears.

A buzzing sound across the room startled her, making her cry out.
Her phone!
Mica crossed the room to her purse and pulled it out, wondering who would be calling her at almost 1:00 in the morning.

Her phone glowed, showing a text from Justin.

Just checking on you. Did you get there ok?

Mica stared at the message, and this time she wasn't able to hold the tears back. At least someone cared about her. One soul on the planet would miss her if something happened to her.

She stared at the screen until it darkened and cried out the frustrations and fears of the day. She hated what was happening to her. Hated being made to feel like a scared, lonely, helpless child again.

The phone rang in her hand and she jumped again, then wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. Justin calling. She didn't want to answer it because she didn't know what she could possibly tell him, but she was afraid if she didn't he would get on a plane and come check on her.

She hit the green answer button and tried to compose her voice. "Hi Justin, I made it. I'm here."

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, his warm voice suddenly suspicious.

"Nothing, really, I just ... nothing."

Justin didn't respond for a moment. When he did, worry had replaced the suspicion. "Mica, don't do this to me. Don't block me out. Something is going on. You haven't been yourself for weeks now and you won't tell me anything. And now you take off to San Francisco when we have a show coming up?" He didn't speak for a moment, then added. "I would ask you if you were pregnant, but this ain't Bethlehem and you ain't the Virgin Mary."

Mica barked out a laugh, dismayed at how quickly it turned to crying again.

"Oh hey, Mica, what is going on? For real. You have to tell me. I'm here. I'm listening."

The concern in his voice made Mica cry harder. Justin just listened, and when she finally got herself under control, she was able to spill the entire story, starting with his very first letter, and ending with the train on her doorstep today.

"Call the cops," Justin suggested.

"I did. They just left. They searched my place but he's not here. They said they can't do much."

"I should come down. I can stay with you. I mean, I know I'm not much in the fighting department, but if you need someone to scream like a baby when something scary happens, I'm your guy."