Fate Book (7 page)

“Rape? Murder?” I blurted out.

“A woman walked in on him while he was cleaning her out,” said the officer.

How horrible. Could that have been me?

“No problem,” Santiago said. “Thanks for showing up so quickly.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Officer Melrose said. “After yesterday, I hate to ask you to come in again, but will Monday work to make a formal statement?”

So they already knew Santiago because he’d been to the station after Janice ran me over.

“No problem. Thanks.” Santiago shook his hand.

Officer Melrose looked at me. “You’ve got a really good guy there, Dakota. I’d hang on to that one.”

I stood there completely flabbergasted as the officers left the house.

Santiago’s phone rang, and he quickly answered it. “Yeah?” He listened for a few moments. “No.” He listened some more. “Of course.” He hung up the phone.

“What the hell just happened?” I asked. And who was he speaking to?

“You got lucky. That’s what happened,” he replied.

“Some guy broke in and my stalker—who’s holding me prisoner, by the way—happened to catch him and beat the crap out of him. Not sure I’d call that luck.”

Santiago brushed his hand through his messy, dark hair, and I couldn’t help noticing how his generous biceps flexed as he did this.

I’m an idiot.

“My mother was killed by an intruder,” he said matter-of-factly. “I found her facedown on the kitchen floor when I was ten. So, yeah, I call it luck.”

I gasped. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “So am I. They never caught the guy.”

What a tragic story. I couldn’t imagine how he felt, never getting justice for something like that. I wondered if that had something to do with why he was with me; however, when I jammed the clue in with the other pieces, the puzzle remained scrambled. He had a past, a tormented one that haunted him. Still didn’t explain why he was invading my life or threatening me not to squeal.

Suddenly, my stomach lurched, and I felt my legs giving out. Santiago caught me before I hit the floor.

He scooped me up in his arms, and though I didn’t black out, the dizziness and pounding in my head made it impossible to open my eyes. He held me tightly and carried me up the stairs. I heard the pounding of Santiago’s heart against his chest, and I felt the warmth of his body against mine. I couldn’t deny it felt strangely comforting. Yes, he was real. He had to be. Ghosts didn’t have heartbeats and radiate heat. Ghosts didn’t get phone calls or casually speak of their dead mothers.

“You’re all right, Dakota,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Had he meant me to hear that? Or did he think I was out cold?

I remained perfectly still, hoping he might reveal something more, another piece of the puzzle.

He laid me down on my bed and ran his hand over my face before checking my pulse. “You’re strong, Dakota. Just like I knew you would be.”

He knew I would be?
Like he’d been planning to meet me? But I’d randomly found his picture.

Then I felt something I didn’t expect. His lips brushed across my cheek. And while I didn’t want to admit it, something about the gentleness sent tiny waves of pinpricks charging through my entire body. I felt like I’d been licked by a hungry, dangerous lion. It felt fucking wonderful.

I gasped and opened my eyes. Santiago immediately straightened up, startled by my abrupt awakening.

He stared at my face for a moment, studying me with what could only be interpreted as some sort of admiration. Then, as if catching himself doing something he shouldn’t, he started to turn away. “You haven’t eaten yet; I’ll be back with those pancakes I made you. Then we’re leaving.”

He made me pancakes?
This was all too much. Too bizarre. He threatened me, protected me, made me breakfast. He watched over me like an overzealous boyfriend.

“Wait!” I sat up, and I could see from the look on his face that his patience was being tried. “Please, whatever is going on, whatever is happening, I need to know.”

“Know what?” he growled.

“Who are you?”

His fists clenched into tight little balls. “I told you, stop asking.”

I held out my palms. “I don’t know what’s happened or what I’ve done to you—I mean, yes, I stole your photo—and I’m sorry—but other than that, I have no clue what this is all about. Please, just tell me.”

He marched over and glared down before placing both hands on the sides of my face. The kinder, gentler Santiago I’d seen only moments ago was nowhere to be found. “Do you want your mother to get hurt, Dakota? Do you?” He pulled back but kept a firm grip on my face. “Because if you do, keep asking questions you know I won’t answer. Keep resisting.”

I stared at his face and saw something in the depths of those dark, sultry eyes. A sort of sadness or, perhaps, fear.

“Do you want someone to die, Dakota?” he whispered coldly.

My body instantly reacted to his brutal words, but my mind screeched to a halt. He had made it sound like he would do the hurting, but now I knew that just couldn’t be right. Could it? So did that mean someone else wanted to hurt me and my mother?

“Answer me,” he said.

I shook my head no.

“Then, who am I?”

“My boyfriend,” I croaked.

“Very good.” He released his grip. “And you will stop asking questions?”

I couldn’t promise that so I didn’t respond.

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “Dakota,” he blew out a tension-filled breath, and I could’ve sworn I saw steam. “Is what I’m asking you to do so terrible? Is it so hard to imagine me being your boyfriend—a guy who will make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again? Who will do everything possible to make sure you live a long, happy life?” He inclined his head and whispered in my ear. “Is it so hard to pretend that you’re mine?”

The narrow space of air between us filled with a strange tension. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it was sexual. My stomach fluttered and breasts began to tingle. My heart felt like it might beat its way out of my chest. I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about his full lips. What would he taste like? I wondered.

Crap? What’s wrong with me?
My mind caught up with my very gullible body, realizing that he had switched tactics on me. Intimidation no longer did the trick so now he was using my obvious sexual attraction to him to kowtow me. The sad part was, it almost worked, and that was the irony of the situation. He scared me. And the more frightened I felt, the more drawn to him I became. It was as if he could sense it, too, because he had no problem tuning right in and using his body and voice to make me feel like he really wanted me.

Idiot. He’s playing you.

“Are you going to hurt me or my mother?”

“I would die for either one of you. In a heartbeat. ”

That wasn’t the answer I expected. Why would he say something so morbid and dramatic? “How am I supposed to believe a word you say when you keep threatening us?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to believe my words, just look at my actions.”

His actions said I should be very, very afraid of him. He was lethal, sexy, and a complete enigma. But something in my gut made me want to believe him. Perhaps it was that tormented look in his eyes. I just didn’t know.

“Can you at least tell me something about yourself? Do you have more family? Where do they live? Do you have a brother, dog, fish? Tell me anything so I know you’re real.”

He stared for a sobering moment, his beautiful brown eyes as cold as a slab of granite. “I like camping.”

“What?”

“You know, camping. Trees. Mountains. Cooking over a fire.”

This was not the sort of personal information I’d meant. “Does your version of camping involve a gun and killing something?”

He shrugged his brows. “A man’s gotta eat.”

“Figures.”

“You asked for something personal. I gave it.” He crossed his thick, muscular arms over his chest.

“Yes, you did.”

“Now you’ll stop asking questions?” he said.

I hung my head, thinking the worst of my faculties. A small part of me wanted to play nice and stop resisting the situation. “I’m crazy. I have to be.”

He sat next to me on the bed and placed his hand on my leg. “You are not crazy,” he grumbled. “There is a logical explanation for everything.”

I looked into his eyes and was hit with a rush of adrenaline. Simply sitting so close, sharing his space, and gazing into his eyes felt dangerous. And I couldn’t deny it sucked me in. I imagined it was how wolves felt about their alphas. They were attracted to the alphas’ savage recklessness—their power, their innate ability to do as they pleased without fear of consequence. A part of me wanted to follow.

“Better?” he asked.

Of course I wasn’t. Regardless, I pressed my lips together and nodded.

“Good.” He stood up. “Then I have your commitment to stop the infantile tactics?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

“If your page is a flaming ball of devastating terror, then yes. We are absolutely on the same page.”

“I know this isn’t easy, Dakota, but this will all be over quickly. If you do as I say,” he added.

“Really?”
Because I might do just about anything to make this nightmare go away.

He grinned, and I wondered if it was because he’d found the secret key to gaining my compliance. “Yes.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Perhaps a few more days. Perhaps a few weeks.”

“I’m not going to your house or anywhere alone with you,” I blurted out.

He growled something under his breath. “It’s not sa—” Again, he stopped himself.

“I don’t feel well,” I pushed. “I need to stay here and rest.”

He tilted his head and scratched the black stubble on his jaw.

My cell rang on my nightstand, and I practically dove for it. It was my mother. “Hi, Mom.”

“I just heard. Why didn’t you call me? Are you all right?” she asked, frantic and panting.

“Fine. I’m completely fine. I promise.”

I heard her let out a slow breath. “Thank God Santiago was there.”

I looked at Santiago, who now stood like a sentinel, arms crossed again. “Yeah,” I replied. “Lucky me. Are you coming home?”

“There was an accident on the freeway; they’re bringing in fifteen people, and we’re down two nurses today. Can you hang tight for another few hours? Santiago can stay with you until I get there, right?”

Ugh.
“No, Mom. Don’t come home. I’m fine. Really.”
Not really. Please come home
, my tone said.

She hesitated for a moment. “All right. But if you change your mind, call me.” Sirens soared in the background. “I gotta go, baby. I love you.”

I put down the phone and sighed. I was on my own, I realized. I needed to take control.

“If you really mean it,” I said, “if you’re not here to hurt me, then prove it. Back off. Let me stay home here where I feel safe.”

He sucked in a deep, slow breath almost as if he didn’t have the will to continue arguing. “I’m warning you, Dakota, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, so don’t leave this house. Don’t do anything stupid. And if you run, I’ll find you. If you run, there will be consequences. For everyone. I’ll pick you up on Monday for school.”

“Why do you have to pick me up?”

“I promised your mother. She doesn’t want you driving just yet.” He turned to leave.

“Thank you, Santiago,” I blurted out, surprised by my own unexpected burst of gratitude. “Thank you for stopping that lunatic who broke in.”

He nodded and stalked from the room, leaving me alone, swimming in my own desperate thoughts.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Monday.

Confined to my house and turning down several shopping invitations via text from Mandy, I spent the weekend arriving at three very important, rational conclusions.

One: If Santiago wanted to harm me, he would have done so by now. No, that didn’t mean I trusted him, but I didn’t feel as petrified as I probably should have. In any case, once fear is removed from a situation, it does allow you to see things differently, which leads to my next point.

Two: When something generally doesn’t make sense, it’s because you don’t have all the facts. So that’s what I began doing, looking for facts, answers. But Santiago Asturias was a ghost. I’d found hundreds of people with the same name, but not
the
Santiago Asturias. Maybe that wasn’t his real name. After all, I’d invented that, too. What I found odd, however, was being unable to find the website from where I’d nabbed his photo. There was no trace of this man anywhere: Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google Images.
Nada
.

Three: I was on my own. My mother had stayed at the hospital the entire weekend due to yet another shortage of nurses, and my father’s phone was turned off. Voicemail only. And strangely, each time I tried to call someone other than my parents, the signals on both my cell and landline went all screechy. When I dared to look outside, there was Santiago. At one point, maybe out of boredom, I actually saw the guy mowing the front lawn and trimming the trees. Strange, to say the least.

So basically, that left me confined to the house with nothing but the train wreck inside my head. Why was Santiago here? What did he really want? When would he leave? Was he, perhaps, a real, live ghost? Someone I’d brought to life by speaking him into existence?

No, I supposed he wasn’t a ghost who enjoyed gardening, but everything was beyond bizarre. There had to be a logical explanation. Even he had said so.

I gulped down my coffee, looked at my watch, and yawned loudly. It was almost 8:00 a.m., the time I’d normally leave for school, and time to face my “ghost.”

I yawned again. How would I make it through the day without falling asleep? I’d tossed and turned for hours last night after having the most intense, vivid dream. The sort that made me blush when I woke up. Obviously, the man was brutally attractive. I’d have to be dead or in a coma not to notice Santiago’s raw masculinity—his powerful body, fierce gaze, and fearless posture. But why in the world had I dreamt about baking cookies with him? Well, it started out that way. But then we were naked and covered in cookie batter, which led to us being in the shower. Before I knew it, I was washing his wet, hard body, touching and exploring every steely inch of him. And there were many, many inches. But strangely, he never really moved or touched me back. He simply gazed at me with hungry eyes, as if I were some kind of forbidden fruit he wanted to devour. Even when I took my soap-slick hands and began stroking him, he simply stared right up until the very end when he closed his eyes and screamed my name, rocking himself frantically into my hands. That’s when I woke up a hot mess.