Mandy had signed up for decorations and made me promise to go. With everything that had happened, it had slipped my mind.
“It’s okay. I understand,” she said, squeezing my arm. “After all, you were hit by a car, hospitalized, someone broke into your house, and—by the way, is it true your boyfriend showed up and kicked the crap out of Jer?”
I nodded.
“I really, really like your boyfriend. Do you know how many times Jer has spit on me?”
“Hey, Dakota.” Dax stood there with a goofy grin on his face. He wore an orange logo shirt and Hawaiian-style board shorts. I immediately noticed how, before, he’d always seemed so huge, larger than life. But now, he looked so boyish and innocent. Did he even shave?
What the hell’s happened to me?
“Hi,” I said.
“You going after school?” he asked.
“To the pool party?” I wasn’t going anywhere, and I might never be free again. But why did he want to know?
“I’m going! I helped with the decorations,” Mandy offered.
Dax stared at me waiting for an answer, completely ignoring her. Jerk.
“Can’t.” I pointed to my bruised face. “Doctor said I need to take it easy for another week.”
“Oh. Well, let me know when you’re feeling better. Maybe we’ll hang out.”
Wait. Wasn’t he afraid of my psycho stalker? I didn’t know if I should give him a point for bravery or deduct one for stupidity.
I smiled. Not too big. “Sure.”
Dax strolled away, and Mandy’s face lit up. “He likes you!” she squealed.
Yeah, well, I wasn’t the least bit interested in him anymore. Besides, even if I were, what good would it do me now? I was the prisoner of a man I’d made up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After class, Santiago’s truck waited curbside, his predatory eyes watching me from behind dark glasses as I begrudgingly approached. It was an exceptionally hot day, not so atypical for a California spring, but Santiago seemed perfectly at ease taking in the scorching sun. Not a bead of sweat to be found on the man.
Figured. Ghosts don’t sweat.
I climbed in and hugged my backpack, hoping it might shield me from the menacing man behind the steering wheel.
“Put your seat belt on,” he commanded.
I obeyed, but didn’t speak. I just wanted to get home and call my father.
Santiago cranked the key and the loud engine roared to life. As expected, everyone stared with fascination. Even Dax, who was on the way to his car.
Santiago noticed immediately. Then again, he seemed to be constantly scanning everything and everyone around us.
“I think he likes you,” Santiago said.
I shrugged.
“Ah. The silent treatment. Probably for the best. That mouth of yours is trouble.”
I looked at him, in shock. A hint of a smile dashed across his lips, then he threw the truck into first and floored it out of the lot.
I hadn’t realized it before, but I’d been holding my breath from the moment I got in that truck, only releasing it when Santiago turned at the light in the direction of my house. Thank the Lord he wasn’t going to drag me away to some remote cabin in the woods.
Oh no! But we are going to be alone. That was equally bad.
Minutes later, we pulled into the driveway, and he turned off the engine. “You can have a break and then start your homework. Your mother will be home at eleven.”
What a complete jack…
Remember, just call your dad.
“Sure. Whatever.”
He opened the front door, and I slid past him and up the stairs to my room.
I shut the door, again holding my breath, praying Santiago wouldn’t follow me.
He didn’t, and I dove for my cell. I dialed my father, nearly bursting at the seams with hysterics.
The call went right into his voicemail again. Son of a bitch!
“Dad,” I whispered, holding my shaky hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. “I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Please call me back. Okay? I need you.”
I pressed END.
“Everything all right?” Santiago said.
I jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even heard the door creak. It always creaked. The entire house was built like a squeaky wheel. “Where did you come from?”
His brows knitted together. “From downstairs. What are you up to?”
“Huh?”
“You look like you’re up to something.”
“No. Just…calling my dad,” I said.
He stepped inside the room, and I stepped back.
He frowned, perhaps displeased by my aversion to him.
“It won’t happen again,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“What won’t happen again?” I hoped he’d meant the scaring me part.
“I won’t kiss you again. I’m sorry. It was just a reaction. And after last night—” He stopped whatever he was about to say. Now, while I unsuccessfully attempted to purge erotic images of him from my thoughts, I wondered what he’d been up to the previous evening. But, whatever. I couldn’t help my thoughts, and I didn’t care why he’d kissed me. Or that I was developing some strange, dark obsession with him.