Sasha gasped and dropped the letter to the floor. It couldn’t be ‘Mrs. Lloyd’—the online stalker—could it? But if not, who else?
Panic started bubbling through her. Whoever had sent this had meant to freak her out. Whether it was an online stalker or not, it was certainly from an unsavory character.
She couldn’t stay at the house any longer, and she couldn’t leave her mom—not now that she’d seen how much help she needed. Both she and her mom had to go somewhere safe. But with Kelly refusing to help her and Chris transforming into someone she’d never be able to turn to again, that left only one option.
Thomas.
Sasha took out her phone and scrolled down to his name. She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the dial button. However, no matter how much she wanted to, she just couldn’t bring herself to press it. Last night she’d been aroused just by watching grainy footage of Thomas Lloyd making love to her, hearing his sexy British accent again would probably tip her into the realm of orgasm.
Instead, she carefully composed a message:
Thomas, I’m sorry to have to do this to you. I know you don’t want to talk to me, or hear from me, but I really need your help. Someone has been threatening to kill me online and today a letter arrived at my mom’s house. They know where I live. I’m scared. I don’t expect you to talk to me but please don’t turn your back on me. Help. Sasha.
After a moment’s hesitation, she hit send and the text disappeared into cyberspace. There was no turning back on it now. She went back into the kitchen.
“Anything nice?” her mom said.
“Huh?”
“The mail. Was it anything nice?”
“Oh,” Sasha said. “No. Just junk mail.”
She screwed the letter up and threw it in the trash, then sat herself back down at the table. However, her stomach churned as she tried to finish off her breakfast.
***
The day gave way to evening. Sasha was jumpy, constantly peering out the windows for any sign of a disturbance. But all was quiet in the sleepy suburb.
She hadn’t heard anything back from Thomas and had been ruminating on her text message all day, flitting between frustration at herself and frustration at him. Had she been a fool for contacting him? Days had passed since they’d last spoken, but instead of trying to patch things up with him, or ask for forgiveness, or see how he was, she’d jumped straight in with a damsel in distress moment. But then her thoughts would flip, and she’d remember how the Thomas she’d grown to know was a deeply caring man. He helped the people around him, even when they let him down—Crystal being a prime example. If he could spend thousands of dollars on treatment for his sister—who leaked his secret scars to the world—then surely he wouldn’t abandon Sasha at her time of need. Once she’d reached that conclusion, she’d remind herself how wary Thomas was of being used. The reason he’d been attracted to her in the first place was because she had no idea who he was and had no preconceptions about the things he’d done. An inability to trust people was his biggest flaw. Lying to him had destroyed their bond. He had no reason to care for her anymore.
Sasha tried to dampen her ponderings with stupid television programs. Her mom was a fan of home improvement shows. Sasha, herself, hated them. She’d never had time for TV as a child and still hated it as an adult. She was relieved when her cell phone started ringing. But when she realized it was Thomas who was calling her, her relief turned into anguish.
Sasha sat up straight.
“Is that him?” Julia said with a knowing look.
“Yes. I’ll…”—Sasha stood—“…take it in the bedroom, if that’s okay with you. I need some privacy.”
“Of course. I’ve got my television to keep me company.”
Sasha bolted up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom shut. She answered the call.
“Thomas.” Thanks to the jog up to her room, she sounded breathless. That wasn’t going to do much for her whole damsel in distress thing.
There was a long pause before Thomas spoke.
“Hello,” he said simply.
It felt like years had passed since she’d last heard his voice. She hadn’t been sure if she would ever hear it again. The relief that he’d called her was almost overwhelming. It was so comforting; his English accent was like a gentle caress, and she had to hold herself back from blurting out, “I miss you.”
“Have you reported this to the police?” Thomas said.
“Reported what?” Sasha asked.
“The note.”
The note. Of course. She’d almost forgotten. Thomas wasn’t calling her for a chat; this was a pragmatic call. She was a problem that needed solving, nothing more.