The Guardian's Legacy by L.M. Hatchell

Author:L.M. Hatchell [Hatchell, L.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ALX Publishing

Pete was quiet on the taxi ride back to his house. I forced a mumbled agreement from him to call me if he needed anything and watched him trudge up the driveway, hands in his pockets, head hung low. Though it appeared I’d unravelled the mystery that had Pete’s mother so worried, I had absolutely no idea what I could say to the woman to put her mind at ease, given what I now knew. So, I did what any self-respecting adult would do and put it into the column of things to be dealt with later.

My head was pounding by the time I reached the apartment. Any adrenaline had long since left my system, and my hand was trembling as I pressed the button for the lift.

It had finally struck me on the drive home just why my assailant seemed so familiar. I’d seen him before – as I was leaving St. Stephen’s Green park.

Now that I remembered, I couldn’t understand how I’d forgotten in the first place. How had the creepy guy in shadows not seemed out of place at a crime scene? And why did my head go all funny any time I thought about him?

I needed to call Brian and tell him what I knew.

Unlocking the apartment door, I flicked on the apartment lights. Teagan wasn’t due back from work for a while, so it would give me time to get my thoughts straight and talk to the Watcher.

I stopped in surprise.

The rose that had been waiting outside the apartment for me the day before now occupied a vase in the centre of the kitchen table. I knew I’d left it in the box, my head too occupied to worry about keeping the thing alive. Perhaps Teagan had found it and decided to save it from dying of dehydration?

An uncomfortable sensation tap-danced down my spine, and I eyed the rose warily, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. Maybe it was because I never thanked the sender?

I’d been in a rush to get to work early this morning to make up for yesterday’s tardiness, so I hadn’t had a chance to ask Teagan if she knew who dropped it off. Dothur was the obvious assumption, but now that I thought of it, how would he have gotten my address?

As I looked again at the flower’s silky petals, their unusually dark colour suddenly felt more ominous than romantic. I knew it was likely an aftereffect of what happened in the park and it was stupid to project my residual fear onto an inanimate object, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Before I could second-guess myself and let paranoia take hold, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Dothur.

Is it you that I should thank for the rose?

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