Dangerous Obsession. Jessica R. Patch
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her. He’d called the police—and an ambulance, though there was no need; it was too late.
When Wilder had returned empty-handed and seen Beckett’s devastation—his blind rage—he had reined in his own temper. That much he could control. He could step up and lead, be the levelheaded one as always. Bring Meghan’s killer to justice. Keep Beckett sane. Carry the grief of his family on his shoulders.
And he’d hold it together now and make sure no one—not Beau Chauvert, Jeffrey Levitts or anyone else—laid a hand on Cosette.
“Wilder?” Cosette called his name. He’d zoned out on her.
He blinked back to reality—to the woman before him with fear in her eyes.
“Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “I’m fine. More than fine and completely able to take care of you. I will take care of you. I promise.”
“Wilder, you keep everything inside. You’re not fine.”
“Pot, meet kettle.” He winked. “Get some sleep. I’ll turn on the monitors in my office surveilling the outside perimeter. Don’t worry.”
He waited for her to close the door before heading downstairs to his apartment. To the piano, where he’d pound out his secrets on the keys. He’d be strong for her. For them all.
He was not weak.
But he did feel weighted down by the responsibility of seeing to everyone’s safety—within his team and their clients. Like the world had been nail-gunned to his shoulders.
He sat at his baby grand and lightly ran his fingers over the keys.
He’d failed Meghan.
And another woman he’d cared about just a year before that.
But he would not fail Cosette. He’d die first.
* * *
Sleep didn’t come until the wee hours of the morning for Cosette, but there was great power in concealer and contouring. She had already dressed in a gray pantsuit and pulled her hair away from her face, letting the rest hang down her back. She wouldn’t let Jeffrey—or Beau—steal her life. She had patients to counsel today at the therapy clinic. These people depended on her.
How was it she had the ability to help other people fix their lives, but her own was a disaster? As she knew he would, Wilder had asked why she hadn’t filed a report on Jeffrey. He’d surprised her, though, with no major reprimand and walking her up the stairs when they both knew good and well CCM was the safest place in the world. That gesture made it difficult to defend her heart around him.
But she had to remind herself that Wilder was doing his job. And it was no secret he had a tender side. She’d seen it dozens of times with his sister Caley, and with his cousin Jody, who worked for him and had been shot during an assignment a few months ago right in front of him. He hadn’t left her side at the hospital... Cosette had tried to get him to talk about it—how it made him feel. He was their team leader. Alpha male. Former SEAL. The man wouldn’t take defeat, failure or mistakes well. He seemed to remain in control, with a cool and calm exterior, but Cosette was concerned a storm was brewing inside him and could unleash without much warning. Her hands were tied, though. He refused to confide.
She came downstairs to chatter and the aroma of strong brewed coffee and freshly baked blueberry muffins.
Wilder sat at the head of the sixteen-seat conference table with team members Beckett Marsh, Shepherd Lightman, Evan and Jody Novak and Wheezer, who clicked away on his laptop. Beckett’s wife, Aurora, held a file folder in one hand and her black plastic glasses in the other. The chatter died.
“What’s going on?” Was everyone discussing her failed relationships? Her pitifulness?
“I’m going over stalking laws in Georgia,” Aurora said. “Want coffee? I brought it from the shop, and assorted muffins—none have nuts.”
Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about dying by nut allergies. Just an obsessed stalker. Cosette darted a glance at Wilder. “I have to get to the clinic this morning. I have patients, and I’m going to see them.” Not up for discussion.
Wilder had the look—he was sizing her up to see if he could win a verbal war with her. “I’ll drive you.”
She jingled her keys in the air. “I’m fully capable of driving myself and watching my rearview if necessary.”
“Watching your rearview is always necessary. Didn’t you take driver’s ed?”
Humor and the twinkle in his eyes wouldn’t deflect her. She didn’t need him to fawn all over her. Now that she knew the danger, she would be cautious. This, sadly, was a road traveled before. “It’s overkill.”
“It’s smart. And safe. If this Levitts guy is here—or Beau—he’s watching you. Which brings me to a question.”
Great.
“Now that you’ve had time to process, professionally, do you think it could be Beau Chauvert? He seems more like an opportunist, not a plotter. I did some checking—”
Wheezer cleared his throat. “Uh-hum.”
“Wheezer did some checking.” Wilder grinned. “Beau didn’t show up for work the other night. He could have been in your apartment, but he doesn’t have the kind of money to hop a plane or even spend the gas money to get to you.”
“Unless he’s fixated, and then he’ll steal if necessary to get what he wants,” Cosette offered. “But no. I thought about it. The earrings are expensive, dainty. Beau was never a gift-giver. Unless it was giving me something that already belonged to him. Like an old football jersey or class ring. The mind games...they’re more psychological. More Jeffrey.”
“Could it be someone other than Jeffrey? A newer patient who’s become obsessed? Anybody giving you unwanted or even extra attention recently?”
She shook her head. “This has Jeffrey written all over it. But I’ll give it more consideration and go over my patient files today to be sure I haven’t missed anything.” She’d missed the signs with Jeffrey. She wasn’t infallible.
Wilder grabbed his phone. A knock echoed in the foyer. “Painting crew’s getting an early start. Come on.”
No point arguing. Wilder wouldn’t let it go and she’d end up running out of arguments and be late for work.
An older man with long gray hair, two middle-aged men and a bright-eyed hotshot stood on the porch. Wilder greeted them and gave instructions. Cosette smiled and followed Wilder outside.
“Ma’am!”
Cosette turned to the tousle-headed millennial, who appeared to have rolled out of bed only minutes ago.
He grinned and held up her keys. “You dropped these.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said. “I didn’t even hear them fall.”
He approached her with some seriously practiced swagger.
“Cosette, come on,” Wilder hollered from the SUV.
“Cosette...that French?” He handed her the keys, his finger brushing her palm.
“Yes.” She tucked them soundly into the side pocket of her purse.
“I took two years of French back in high school.” He glanced to the left, then resumed eye contact. His pupils dilated. He was attracted to her, and he was lying about French.
“That’s nice. Thank you for these.” She hurried to the SUV and hopped in.
Wilder raked his hand through his hair. The urge to touch it made her fingers tingle. He grunted and clicked his seat belt into place. “I only know of three—no, four—men who don’t flirt with you. They all work for me.”
“I dropped my keys.”
“Yeah,