Survive the Night. Vicki Hinze

Finally their relationship made sense. He spent time with Della because they weren’t dating. She was safe.

      Except that, while their relationship had started out that way, now everyone thought they were dating no matter what they said.

      So why hadn’t he stopped spending so much time with her?

      She’d have to think about that. Right now she just wished the idea of them being more than friends didn’t thrill her or make her heart flutter and her breath hitch. But it did, and that terrified her.

      “Look, all I’m saying is we need help. This is complicated. Until we can prove who the stalker is, we need to keep an open mind. He could be anyone.”

      “I hear you, but I have to say that this is too much like Dawson for me to really believe it’s anyone else.”

      Paul lifted her hands, pressed them to his cheek. “And I can’t dismiss that Gary Crawford could have found out what happened to Danny and is using it to get to me through you. I survived his attack, and he hates loose ends.” Fear flashed through Paul’s eyes. “I’m afraid—”

      “He’ll kill me to hurt you,” she interjected. “I understand.” She slid off the porch step, stood up and then moved away from him so she could think beyond the feel of his work-roughened hands on her face. “Did your guy stalk his victims?”

      “Yes.” Paul leaned forward, spread his feet and laced his fingers at his knees. “And he’s very good.” He looked up at her. “Whoever sent this package—Dawson, Crawford, some crazy copycat—he’s dangerous and smart. We need help to stop him before he hurts you.”

      “I’m not opposed to help. I am opposed to going through normal channels for it.” Her chest went tight. “You have to understand, Paul.” It took all she had to meet his gaze. “I’ve got so little left. Going through normal channels, I could lose it all and gain nothing.”

      Anguish crossed his face. “But, Della—”

      “No. We need help. I get it. But we’re going to get it my way.” She took his phone and keyed in her boss’s number. “I hate my way, but things are what they are. I have no choice.”

      He dragged a frustrated hand through his wind-tossed hair. “What is it you hate—exactly?”

      “Bringing my dirty laundry to work.” Della stared into his eyes, motioning for him to scoot over on the step and make room for her. “Madison, it’s Della.” She sat down beside him. Sounds of the party flooded in the background. “Can you hear me?”

      “Barely. The diehards are still going strong here, as you can tell.” Madison laughed, soft and melodic. “Let me get somewhere quiet. Just a sec.” A brief pause and then she returned. The background noise faded. “What’s up?”

      No sense in sugarcoating it. “I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

      “Can we handle it, or should I summon the troops?”

      Paul apparently could hear every word. “Tell her to summon the troops. If this is Crawford, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

      “I heard him,” Madison said. “That’s Paul and he said Crawford. As in Gary Crawford?”

      “It is, and he did, but we don’t know if Crawford is involved. It could be someone else.” She’d explain in person.

      “Either way, Paul sounds worried.”

      So, too, did Madison. “He is.” Della held Paul’s gaze. Beyond worried. Guilty. Sick inside that maybe he had led Crawford to put a target on her back. Understanding all too well that displaced guilt felt as real as earned guilt, she clasped his hand.

      “I take it he’ll be with you, then?”

      “He will.” It’d take an earthquake or a brick of C-4 explosives to hold him back—if Della wanted to and, honestly speaking, she didn’t.

      “All right. Be safe on your way in. People are still dancing in the street. The mayor said this is the biggest festival crowd he’s seen in thirty years. We’ll be waiting for you in the conference room.”

      “Thanks, Madison.” Della ended the call, locked up the cottage and then returned to Paul on the porch.

      “You’ve been crying.”

      She hadn’t been. But walking into her home had put her in a cold sweat. “You know I don’t cry anymore.”

      “But you’re upset.”

      “I am.” She rubbed her arms. “Wondering what he touched.” She shook. “Everything looks fine, but I still feel as if I need a bath.”

      “That’s normal.”

      “I know. But I still hate it.”

      He opened the SUV door. She slid inside, onto the buttery-soft leather seat. “I hope you’re wrong. Dawson’s bad enough, but he’s sick. Crawford is...”

      “A monster who likes to kill.” Paul’s eyes burned with worry, guilt and now regret. “Della, if I’ve put you on his radar—”

      “Don’t go there. We don’t know, but we are where we are. At least we’ve got each other.” She buckled her safety belt. “Can you get me a dossier on Crawford, just in case?” She honestly didn’t believe he was involved. This smacked of Leo Dawson, but it’d make Paul feel better if she weighed in his concerns.

      “It’s waiting for you. I emailed it while you were locking up the cottage.” Paul put the gearshift in Reverse and then backed out of the cottage’s driveway.

      He was always thoughtful, prepared and protective. Della loved those qualities in him. “When you get yourself a wife, she’s going to appreciate many things about you, Paul Mason.”

      “Yeah, I do good email. That’ll impress her.”

      Della smiled at him. “You do good everything.”

      “Thank you.” His smile broadened. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

      Was it? Really? All he’d done for her, and she’d never offered him kind words? That was pathetic. “I think you’re an amazing man. The way you helped get me here and find a job and a place to live.”

      “That’s just part of my job.”

      So was talking her through the hard times. Being with her on the anniversary no mother should have to acknowledge. “You do it well, and it’s a lot more to those who need it.” She rubbed his arm “I’ve seen people you’ve helped, Paul. They look at you with such respect and admiration.”

      “They were in a jam. Anyone could have done what I did.”

      “Could have, but didn’t.” She stroked back an errant lock of hair from his ear. “You did.” A tenderness she didn’t want to feel filled her. It startled her. This was Paul. She couldn’t have these feelings for Paul. He was her best friend. And one of the first rules of survival was to never risk what you couldn’t afford to lose.

      “Della?”

      “Yes?”

      “You get to me, too.” He spared her a glance. “We’re going to have to talk about that someday.”

      “But not today.” She lifted her phone. “Today—tonight, I need to get sharp on Crawford before we get to the office.”

      “That’s fine.” He looked entirely too happy. He knew she didn’t want more. She knew he didn’t want more. They had to keep things the way they were or they could end up with nothing. How in the world could she stand her world without him in it?

      “Della?”

      She didn’t dare look at him. “Mmm?”

      “Quit worrying and just