“I think he’s from the city,” I blurt out.
All eyes focus on me.
“His accent.” I wiggle my fingers in front of my mouth. “When I lived down there, I heard it all the time. No one in upstate New York talks like that. It sounded like the Bronx, maybe, or Brooklyn. His vowels were too clipped to be Queens.”
They continue staring.
“What?” I shrug. “I lived down there while I was modeling. But I wanted to be an actress, so I studied accents and dialects all the time.”
“Could be one of twenty different crews working in the city,” Z says, glancing at Rock who nods in agreement. “But that’s a good start. Thank you, Serena.”
“Can you think of anything else?” Wrath asks.
My mind blanks. I feel so helpless and useless.
“Let’s start before the attack. What’d you do today?” Rock’s tone is smooth and mellow. Like we’re old friends chatting about life. He reaches over and slaps Wrath’s arm, motioning for him to sit in his chair.
Without everyone hovering over me, I’m able to clear my mind and focus. “Uh, on my lunch break, I had coffee with my friend Emily. He was there. The guy.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gray mutters. “He was stalking you all day?”
“I think he’s been to my apartment too. He said as much when he threatened me. But there was a night a couple weeks ago when I swore someone was skulking around my hallway.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug, feeling stupid now. “I forgot about it.”
“Go on,” Rock encourages. “Did he talk to you at the coffee shop?”
“Yes, I went to get my order and when I came back, he was sitting at my table. Gave me some cheesy line about wanting to talk to a pretty girl. I just thought he was a regular creep trying to hit on me.”
Grayson growls again.
“It happens all the time,” I tell him.
Z shakes his head and flashes a dimpled smile. “Not making it better, Serena.”
I appreciate his attempt to make me laugh. Then, a hot poker of fear stabs me. Is Emily in danger now too? “He’s not going to go after my friend, is he? She’s got a little sister to look after. They live by themselves.”
“Aw, fuck,” Grayson mutters. “They’re sweet girls.”
“You know ’em?” Rock asks.
“Yeah. The play I told you I went to was Libby’s.”
Grayson told them about going to Libby’s play with me?
“Any chance they’ll want to stay here for a few days?” Rock asks me.
“Ah, probably not. Emily’s not really the motorcycle club type.”
“Give me her address.” Wrath slides a piece of paper my way. “We’ll have someone watch her house.”
Great. How the hell am I going to explain that to Emily?
I write it out and hand it over.
“Okay. Go back to the coffee house,” Rock prompts. “Did you see him or anyone else watching you? Anyone follow you to your office?”
“No. I don’t think so, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” Nothing unusual stands out about my walk. “My afternoon was normal. Saw my patients. Left at a decent time. He was waiting for me outside my building.”
“How’d he approach you?” Rock asks.
“Uh, he called out my full name.” I glance down at my lap. “I got so scared it was someone trying to serve me with a lawsuit or something.”
“Why would you think that?” Z asks.
“None of your business,” Grayson growls.
“All right. Settle down, G.”
I rest my hand on Gray’s arm. “It’s fine. He made some snarky comments about my YouTube videos. I got scared he was a crazed fan—”
“Hold up,” Wrath says. “Your what?”
My cheeks must be glowing red by now. “I have a channel where I do makeup tutorials, reviews, and stuff. I have a presence on all the major platforms.”
Wrath nods, like he’s actually impressed.
“Serena has a big following on that Insta-thing,” Grayson says. “Lotta dirtbags say nasty shit to her, too.”
Boy, he’s still stewing about that, huh?
“How the fuck did you find your way to Instagram, old man?” Wrath jokes.
Grayson grumbles a bunch of curses in response.
Rock’s severe expression doesn’t suggest he’s amused by the detour in conversation. “How’d you realize he was there because of Gray?”
Grayson flinches as if Rock’s question punched him in the side.
“Ah, he said Gray was a ‘lucky old bastard’ and implied that he thought I’d be older.”
Z snickers and covers it up with a cough behind his hand.
“Laugh it up, you dimple-faced little fucker,” Gray grumbles.
“Then he said he wanted me to deliver a message.” I swallow over the painful lump in my throat and struggle to remember exactly what the guy said. “Gray ‘pissed off the wrong crowd.’ And, uh, he couldn’t leave prison without taking care of his obligations…something like that.”
“Someone told him about you,” Rock says. “Who else knows about your relationship?”
Gray and I look at each other. He cups my unbruised cheek and rubs his thumb over my skin. “The club. Remy went with me to her apartment. My parole officer.”