Part 22 (1/2)

”I. . .just thought that I should clean up in my room.”

”Why?” he asked.

”Why not?” She took a step out of the doorway.

The movement caught him off guard. He wrinkled his forehead.

Something is different. Or is it just me? She did just lose her husband. Maybe, she feels weird or even worse. . .guilty. Does she still consider herself married? Is this adultery to her? I wish I could kill Neil again.

”I'll be right back.” She headed away.

”Wait.”

She stopped and slowly turned around again, laying her hands to the side and clenching her fingers in and out.

What's going on?

He glanced down at her feet. Instead of in a relaxed position, she kept them in a guarded stance-far apart with the heel up on the foot that was closest to me.

It had to be his mind playing tricks on him in some way, because she looked like she was ready to attack.

Something is wrong. What changed? Did I do something? Is it me or Neil's ghost?

”Relax.” He backed up to the dresser, set the tray on top, picked up the rose, and brought it to her. ”I just wanted to give you this.”

Diana didn't even look down at the flower. Instead, she stared at his face, as if she was gazing at him for the first time.

Why is she looking at me like that? Was the s.e.x that good. . .or that bad?

Asher held the rose in front of her.

Yet, still, she just stared at him.

”Diana?”

”What?” She blinked and edged back. ”I'm sorry. What did you say?”

”Do you not like roses?” He gestured to the one in his hand.

”I do.” She kept her hands to her sides. ”I'll enjoy that beautiful . . .gift, after my shower.” She inched back some more. ”Okay?”

He twisted the rose's stem in his fingers. ”Okay.”

She walked away, and he watched her every s.h.i.+vering step. Counting each time her foot shook as it hit the ground.

He'd seen many scared women walk away from him. Every time he let a girl go before he killed the man that she was unlucky to be harmed by.

They'd all rushed off on quivering feet.

Just like Diana did in that very moment.

Even his mother had started walking away from him in the same manner. It was after the third husband. She became afraid of him, her own son. After the third husband, even she had had that same rush in her steps, in the times that she feared him.

I don't know what's going on, but things will not change, Diana. Whether it's Neil's ghost or something to do with me, you will be mine for as long as I need you to be.

”Diana!”

She jumped and twisted around, edging back a little and never truly stopping her path away from him. ”Y-yes.”

He forced himself to smile at her. ”Have a good shower.”

Diana widened her eyes. ”Thanks.”

She said nothing else, turned back around, and picked up her pace.

Interesting. She's terrified. Why?

Darkness swarmed in his chest, but he pushed it at bay. There was no need to worry too much with her. They'd made love.

But he could smell her panic in the air.

Something else has to be going on.

This was why he didn't deal with women too much. They were all so complex, each one with their own puzzle and convoluted clues. Before Diana, no women's brain-teasing confusions had been worth him solving. He played their games for a night or two, and then went about his way.

Diana was different.

He'd spend the rest of his life, piecing together every inch of her.

Let's see if I can do my own investigation on Miss Prized Reporter.

She slammed the door behind her, and he walked off to the staircase and headed down to the first floor.

The rose remained in his hand, as he hurried to his closet, put on some pants, and headed to his hidden security room.

It took him no time to get there. Most didn't know it existed, only the house manager and head of security. Neither had the code for the door, and both needed permission to ever review a necessary tape. Too many things occurred in his house, and by his hand. Half of the time, he kept the recording for his own records.

He got to the black, metal door and pressed in his mother's birthday.

A beep sounded, and then a click. The door opened, and he headed in, right as it closed behind him.

Should I even do this? Maybe, I am just a little off. Our minds are the creators of our reality. Diana's anxiety could all be in my head.

Disruptive thoughts plagued his mind.

Eight TV screens stood in front of him. Each one displayed a different part of his property for ten seconds and then s.h.i.+fted to another camera. Every room had a mini-camera in the ceiling. Even more devices were nailed in the trees all over the grounds.

No one would come or leave without him knowing it.