Victor was the last guy she had dated. They’d broken up three years earlier, after they’d been together for nearly a year and a half. He was an aspiring musician who she’d met when she’d been working on her first album. Handsome, funny—she would’ve said smart, but based on recent developments, she was beginning to wonder how accurate that would be—and always kind to her.
They’d broken up and it had been relatively amicable, or so she’d thought. Her life had become a whirlwind of events and they’d spent so much time apart, it seemed like the logical solution. Although he’d seemed okay with the outcome, now that she thought about it, he had been a little upset.
But not for reasons most people would think.
The chemistry between them had been lacking, although Cheyenne had cared for him. Looking back on it now, she recognized so many of the signs. Victor hadn’t been interested in her, per se. He’d been interested in advancing his career through her.
Was that what this was about? Had he lost his mind somewhere along the way and now he was targeting her?
Movement in the kitchen caught her eye again, but Cheyenne didn’t look. She didn’t think Scrap was in there because he would’ve been barking uncontrollably at the stranger in the living room. But someone was there.
That made her feel slightly better, but not enough to let down her guard. Victor had a gun, whether it was loaded as he claimed or not, she had no idea, nor did she really care to find out.
Then again, she really didn’t care to find out why he was there at all. She was just ready for those Sniper 1 guys to do their thing. It was high time they got this show on the road.
BRENDON WOULD HAVE to say, RT and Z were a couple of smart motherfuckers. It seemed that nothing got past them.
When he’d been sitting in Cheyenne’s living room, doing his best not to gouge his eyes out to keep from having to deal with Paul and Frankie, his cell phone had rang. The moment he saw it was Z’s number, he had answered instantly.
The instructions he received had been simple. “Run out the back door as though you’re chasin’ someone and don’t stop. Tell Cheyenne to go inside. And Brendon, whatever you do, trust me on this.”
Without a moment of hesitation, Brendon had launched to his feet and hauled ass out the back door, putting every ounce of his faith in Z to keep Cheyenne safe. He’d passed Z as he continued to move, only to come to a jarring halt when he found RT kneeling on top of some guy in Cheyenne’s neighbor’s front yard.
It took a little time for his brain to register what was going on. If the guy on the ground had been the stalker, or the only person they were worried about, Z would’ve been right there with them. And he wouldn’t have had any reason to send Brendon out of the house.
Now, there was only one problem with his total trust and gigantic-ass (literal) leap of faith. Brendon had no fucking idea that some crazy asshole was going to come into the house with Cheyenne. Had he known that—and yes, looking back on it now, he probably should’ve asked a few questions—his ass would be inside with her right now because this … this was fucking ridiculous.
Even before he answered that call, he’d known without a doubt that something was going on, but then again, the hair on the back of his neck had been prickling for the past two hours. Now, as he stood on the back porch, his back pressed to the wall, listening to what was going on inside, he was surprised his heart didn’t beat right out of his damn chest.
Apparently the crazy bastard who had disrupted Cheyenne’s life for the past year was an ex-boyfriend of hers. According to RT’s theory—which he’d received the CliffsNotes version of while RT handed off the crazy decoy-stalker to Sheriff Endsley—this guy wasn’t too happy with the fact that Cheyenne had broken up with him. More accurately, he wasn’t doing all that well with his music career and he blamed Cheyenne for not helping him.
As stupid as he thought that was, Brendon sort of understood.
Sort of.
Based on the info RT had texted him after Brendon had realized what the hell was going on and had made a beeline back to the house like his ass was on fire, Victor Thomas Campbell was twenty-seven years old and was currently in between jobs. Brendon had to wonder whether that was because the guy had become a creeper for the past year or for another reason entirely.
“What is it that you want from me, Victor?”
Brendon heard Cheyenne’s question and he hated that she was in there and he was outside, but the only—absolute one and fucking only—reason he wasn’t tearing down the walls to get to her was because Z was inside. He was in the kitchen to be exact, managing to sneak in when Cheyenne’s parents had left. They, of course, were currently spending some quality time in the back of Sheriff Endsley’s squad car alongside Martin McDonald, while RT was on the front porch, waiting for the action.