I Am The Lion: A Riveting Psychological Thriller by Rachelle Lauro

Author:Rachelle Lauro [Lauro, Rachelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

Later that night, Virginia finally called me back. She had a call-in appearance scheduled with a morning radio talk show in Columbus, Ohio, and was anxious to get off the phone and get some sleep.

It was a terrible time to bring up the subject. If she got too upset, she could do something unstable, like nip down to the local watering hole, whereby Amy Mathews would be a no-show on the morning talk show, a catastrophic blunder, not to mention the pickling of her liver. I had to be strategic about bringing up the subject of her dangerous interest in stalkers, but I needed some basic facts.

"M'kay. Well, I gotta get some sleep," she said, yawning, after we'd exchanged some banalities.

I should have waited until she got home. I should have been diplomatic, but it came out like bile racing up my throat, bile that I couldn't keep down. "I moved out," I blurted. "I'm not staying at home anymore."

"What?" she asked, her voice clear and immediate. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about Dillon," I said, heart beginning to race. "I know he was the stalker. I know you dropped the charges."

Silence.

"Why would you do something like that?" I asked. Then I couldn't help myself, I had to say it. "What is wrong with you, Jinny! Why would you put me at risk? You, me, Amy—everything—you put it all at risk for that nut job!"

"He's not a nut job," she said, her voice distant and chilly. There, I'd done it. She'd unbenched the defensive linebacker. But it couldn't be helped, I thought, suddenly angry. Why should I have to tip-toe around her unstable personality, always trying not to upset her, while she goes on and blithely brings a potential serial killer into our house?

"Yes, he is a fucking nut job," I pressed. "Do you not remember the messages? The letters? The video? The roses?"

"Roses? Not exactly the stuff of nightmares."

"What sort of psycho breaks into someone else's house and leafs around in their intimate belongings?"

"He's not a psycho! He's just . . . I mean, yeah, that was a little weird, but he's really into me. He’s really passionate, okay? Is that okay?"

"Ben never had to break into the house and peruse my underwear drawer to show his interest."

"Oh, Ben. Ben is so great, isn't he? Well, you know what? I'm happy for you. I'm happy that you found Mr. Perfect."

"Virginia, this isn't a—a contest. This is serious. You don't know this guy. You don't know what he's capable of. I mean, we had a glimpse, and that was scary enough, but—"

"Yes, I do know him. I know him because I took the time to get to know him. And you would too, if you had ever bothered to try. But all you ever do is avoid him and call him 'Dillon the Dickhead' or 'shit for brains' behind his back."

"He is a dickhead! A totally crazy one too!"

Cold, hard silence. "I have to go now."

"Virginia, I just need to know if he has the security code to our house.

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