JEREMY’S POV

I watched her stiffen across me, her eyes turning away from the entrance and staring pointedly at the screen of her phone.

It wasn’t lit up.

This was an interesting scene. I had only interacted with Fiona twice now, but each time left me more curious. Angling my head, I watched as the tall blonde waltzed over to the counter, her false high pitched tone forcing an unpleasable ripple down my spine.

Fiona risked one look. And I think that look got her in trouble.

“Shit!” She muttered, her eyes darting towards the door. I saw her calculate how long it would take to dash out of the café before the lady reached her. But she decided against it, settling for a chill expression as she leaned back, too.

But there were telltale signs.

Like how her nails kept digging into her palms and how her eyes were suddenly unfocused. I should include this in my book. It kept the stalker character sharp, relatable, and cruel.

“Say nothing,” she whispered, just as the lady sauntered over, now armed with a cup of espresso. Her wave of perfume hit first, soft, flowery, and delicate, before she appeared.

She had blonde hair put up in a messy bun that somehow looks like it was paid a lot of attention, low-rise jeans, and a white crop top, blue eyes that looked more mean than startling.

I should like her. She was my perfect type of villain.

So why was I suddenly overwhelmed with the strange urge to protect Fiona from her?

“Fiona?” There was amusement laced in her tone as she angled her head, a soft smile on her lips. “What are you… Aren’t you supposed to be mourning your husband?”

Her eyes took me in then. I saw her do a double take, the way everyone else did when they didn’t realize that pure evil was right in front of them, borne from months of anger and plotting.

The lady scoffed. “I knew it, Fiona. All that pointing of hands at Gabriel just makes you look like a horrible person now, seeing as you are with another man, not even two weeks after his funeral.”

Fiona looked up at her. “I don’t have any reason to explain myself to you, Camilla. So, just go do whatever fills your day and leave me out of it.”

Camilla scoffed again. I take it that she wasn’t used to getting spoken to this way. Her hair threatened to fall out of the bun as she shook her head, but that hair tie seemed to be doing one hell of a job.

“Of course. That stupid righteous anger.” She turned to look at me. “She will only drag you into the mess her life has become, so just run away while you can.”

“Really?” I murmured smoothly.

Camilla saw that as a nudge, and she nodded emphatically. “She lost her husband a few weeks ago, and it is just… strange. He died in an accident, but I realized that a few days later, Fiona, here, was asking my fiancé if he thinks someone tampered with the car before he died. She didn’t think it was an accident.”

Hmm. Very intriguing theory.

I looked at Fiona, who, for some reason, was brimming at the edges but was saying nothing.

“But I think that is just her trying to be the centre of attention, as always. She accused the poor man of cheating so constantly that it probably drove him to his death, and now that she can’t find anyone like that to make her life rotate around, she made it about her again. The grieving widow who thinks her husband was murdered.”

Camilla rolled her eyes dramatically. “I mean, stop it, girl. We all know you are a bloody attention seeker. Gabriel had an accident, and that is that.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Camilla,” Fiona whispered, her voice breaking. “Just leave.”

“Of course, I’ll leave,” she drawled, but proceeded to make herself comfortable, sliding her cup to the table. “But not without asking what my fiancé was doing at your place yesterday.”

Fiona looked up at her a second time. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

“Yes,” Camilla maintained. “And you are going to give me a response.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Fiona jabbed, and it hit. I saw Camilla flinch slightly. Things might not be going so well with her and her fiancé.

When I flew into New York two weeks ago and got started on my manuscript, I thought it was going to be the simplest of tasks. Rage was more than enough motivation to get things done.

But things had become much more complicated. There seemed to be a lot of variables to consider. I hated variables.

“I am asking you!” Camilla snapped. “He didn’t come back straight from work, and his secretary informed me he has been searching for you since the funeral. Why would he do that?”

“Look, I don’t know why Chase was at my house either,” Fiona murmured. “I would love to know that too, so why don’t you ask him for me?”

I had a working theory, but I would like to test that first.

Retrieving my phone, I typed in a quick message. “Tell me everything you can find on a certain Camilla and how she ties into this. She should be Chase Kent’s fiancée.”

I hit the send button and pulled my gaze to the ladies.

“As much as I think I like where this conversation is headed,” I interrupted, getting on my feet. “I have to leave now. Miss McCarthy, we’ll continue this conversation some other time.”

Nodding at the ladies, I took my leave, but didn't return to my car in front of the publishing house. Instead, I walked across the road and took the corner, stopping at the phone booth.

Punching in a number, I waited for the familiar ring. He picked up immediately.

“Is she dead yet?”

“No, Dad,” I muttered, leaning in. “But there is a lot more at stake. I haven’t found the locket. It’s not her wedding band, and it’s not in her car either.”