I nodded, starting to feel very uneasy. What the hell was going on? “I just opened it today on the L. I don’t even know when it came. It was in my mail stack. I thought…” I shook my head. I would be apologizing to William forever at this rate. “I know you’re having me followed. I want you to call off your spies. It’s creepy to see pictures of myself like this.”
William stood still for the space of three heartbeats then let go of my hands and raked his fingers through his hair. He walked slowly to the windows overlooking the city and Lake Michigan. He didn’t speak for a long time, and just as I was about to say something, anything, he said, “First of all, I understand why you think I had these taken. You saw the file I had on Jenny Hill, and I know doing elaborate investigations on women I dated or might have dated was fucked up on some levels.” He spoke without looking at me, his hard eyes on the city’s skyscrapers. “But I tried to explain to you that that approach has been necessary for my protection. I’ve been a target ever since my family died, and that’s the only way I knew how to protect myself and the women I’ve dated from those who might seek to”—he paused and took a deep breath—“exploit my weaknesses.”
It was difficult for me to imagine he had any weaknesses, though he must have thought he did. He thought he was at risk enough to justify spying on me. “Listen, I understand someone in your position has to be careful,” I interrupted, “but that doesn’t mean—”
“No, you don’t understand.” He rounded on me, folding his arms across his broad chest as he stood framed by the Chicago skyline. “That’s the problem. Believe me when I say—again—I have never, never had a dossier on you. I had you under surveillance to keep you safe. But I only know what you’ve told me about yourself. I’m flying blind with you, and it scares me. Loving you scares the hell out of me because it makes me vulnerable.”
I’d never seen him like this, so emotional. He seemed to be fighting to keep his feelings in check. I wanted to reassure him. “William, loving me doesn’t make you vulnerable.”
“Oh, yes, it does, and I question my decision not to make a dossier on you every day. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I need to keep you safe, Catherine. The more I know about you, the more effectively I can do that. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me.” He stalked to the chair and lifted the photos again. “These are the evidence that you’re not safe. These aren’t messages to you from me. They’re messages to me about you. He’s showing me he can get to you.”
I shook my head. “Wait. Who can get to me?”
“I didn’t have these photos taken.”
A chill ran up my arms and across my back. I suddenly felt ice cold. “If you didn’t have them taken, then who did?” My voice sounded hollow and far away, and much calmer than I felt.
William was beside me in a moment. He gathered me in his arms, warming me with his body and maneuvering me to the couch. He sat beside me and looked me in the eye. “There are things I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to alarm you. Truthfully, I didn’t want to scare you away from me. But it’s too late for that now. You need to know that you could be in danger.”
I wasn’t processing what he was saying. Danger? How could I be in any sort of danger? My gaze darted to the photos again. Suddenly, I saw them in a new light. I was unprotected, unaware, an easy target. But from whom?
“Someone is making threats,” William went on.
Somewhere in the distance I heard a familiar ringtone. My cell. I ignored it and focused on William.
“The threats are why I wanted you in Napa with me. I wanted you out of Chicago and under my protection. It was the only way I knew how to keep you safe once I thought you might become a target.”
The ringing stopped, and I assumed the call had gone to voicemail.
“So this started before we even left Chicago? You’ve known about it for how long then?”
“For a few weeks.” He looked sheepish and I watched him steel his shoulders and lift his chin. He was obviously struggling with telling me all of this, but he seemed determined to nonetheless.
“Is this connected to the Wyatt thing that’s going on, with the wreckage?” I asked, my voice dead and flat as the words tumbled out of my mouth.
“I think it’s all connected. We just haven’t been able to figure out how. Yet. George is on it now, as are other members of my security team. We’re thinking about notifying the FBI, but I’ve held off. Until now.”