“Those are really interesting,” he murmurs with indifference.
I squint at him with indignation, “That’s it? Interesting? You sent them! Explain that last photo. Who took it?”
“What did your boy think of them?” his voice oozes with condescension.
The way he says, your boy, or some other pejorative term every time he refers to Bowen grinds on my nerves, like I’m pretending to have a whole relationship with someone else just to annoy him. All the same, I don’t tell him that Bowen doesn’t know about the texts.
“He knows it was you in the house and he’s planning on shooting you if he catches you. So, stop it!”
Colson’s eyes glimmer with excitement, “Ooh,” he shivers sarcastically, “who doesn’t love a little bloodlust?”
I clench my jaw and narrow my eyes, “Maybe I should let Bowen shoot you.”
“Would that make you upset?” he asks.
“Would what make me upset?”
“If your boy tried to kill me?”
I knit my brow, caught off-guard by his question, “I mean…yeah…I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Colson leans forward again, his eyes boring into me, “I didn’t ask about anyone, I asked about me. Are you worried about something happening to me, or are you worried about something happening to him? Because either one is fine with me.”
I stare at him, appalled. Is this a game now? A competition?
“You’re nuts. You’re fucking nuts.”
“So, you’ve said. But you seem to like it since you only point it out after I’ve made you see God,” Colson gives a lackadaisical glance out the window, “so, why does Bowen think it was me in your house?”
The way he says Bowen’s name is unnerving. It’s a different tone than jealousy or spite. There’s a deeper, more sinister meaning to it, but I don’t know what it is.
I take a deep breath, “Because he knows what happened back in college.”
“Does he?” Colson’s tone hitches with a hint of intrigue, “Any other reason?”
I narrow my eyes, “What are you getting at?”
“If he thinks I took your underwear,” he traces the arms of his chair with his finger, “he must think I did everything else, too.”
I blink, studying Colson, “Why did you do everything else?”
“He didn’t tell you?” he sounds slightly surprised.
“Why don’t you tell me,” I say with irritation, swiveling in my chair and bending down to pull my tote out from under my desk.
I dig into the interior pocket and produce the worn, folded up paper I’ve been carrying around since Bowen tossed it across the counter at me.
“I’m not the first person you’ve done this to,” I unfold the paper and hold it out in front of him, “Who were you stalking, Colson?”
Colson stares at the photo of himself, not moving a muscle.
Finally, he looks up at me, “Where’d you get this?”
“Bowen,” I lower my arm, letting the paper crinkle in my fist, “I know you’ve been arrested for stalking. And I know it was in Canaan. Why were you there?”
Colson’s eyes bore into me, a darkness slowly seeping across his face like a cloud moving over the sun. He remains motionless, like a marble statue. And, finally, after a minute, a malicious smile tugs at his lips.
“Oh, Bo…” he drags his name out in a melodic whisper and slowly turns his gaze to the photo frames sitting on the filing cabinet behind me.
My breath catches when he returns his attention to me, glaring across the desk with those eyes—the same eyes I saw four years ago.
Black…dead…
“Has he been telling my secrets?” Colson murmurs with a tilt of his head.
“Please,” I plead, “please, just tell me. Do you know Bowen?”
“Instead of asking what I know about Bowen, maybe you should ask Bowen what he knows about me. Because it’s a lot more than one arrest and no conviction.”
“You tell me,” I rise from my chair and drop his mugshot onto my desk, “tell me why you’re doing all this. Why are you painting the name of Bowen’s ex on the wall and putting knives through pictures?”
Colson’s eyes meander out the window as if he’s lost in thought, “Bowen’s the kind of guy who’s too pompous for security cameras, isn’t he?” All I can do is stare back at him in confusion until he continues. “He’d rather shoot anyone who comes onto his property without permission. Fortunately for me, to shoot someone, you have to be able to see them,” he emphasizes the last two words with pure irreverence.
“Is that where you hang out now—in the shadows outside my house?” I ask, “What’s your end game? I’d really like to know because a whole hell of a lot of good you’re doing me right now!”
Colson rises and closes the space between us, towering over me, “Seems I do you a lot of good, Brett. I take care of you all day—listening to you, feeding you, protecting you, loving you…” he pauses, letting his words sink in, “I give you everything you want. And that’s why you let me lay you out on this desk and shatter you into a million pieces, rules and regulations be damned.” He turns his head and leans into my ear, “Because I’m the only one you break the rules for. You’re a good girl, a loyal girl, but right now, you’re trying to decide whether or not you have the audacity to come back home where you belong.”
Colson’s standing so close, I have to tilt my head back to look at him, “You have a lot of nerve saying you love me when you’re doing everything you can to wreck my life.”
