ADDICTED

64

LEAH

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle drew my attention away from the television.

I swallowed hard and looked back at the television. Lifting the remote, I held down the replay button until the headlining news played again.

A man in a blue suit with pearly white teeth sat behind a pristine white desk and spoke in a cryptic voice.

Criminal felon was found dead earlier today in his car, only hours after his release on parole. Autopsy results have not yet been determined, authorities are saying he was found with copious quantities of fentanyl that may have caused an overdose.

I, once again, hit the replay button and listened to the reporter rattle off the story details.

A mug shot of the deceased criminal replaced the view of the reporter.

The man's eyes were bloodshot but just as haunting and dark as I remembered.

My brain couldn't process the visual before me or the reporter's words. Timothy García—as in the Timothy García?

Originally sentenced to five years in prison after being convicted for attempted kidnapping, aggravated assault, and stalking charges, García was released early on parole for good behavior. Unfortunately, he didn't get to enjoy his newly found freedom for too long. Now, back to Mandy for the weekly weather report.

I swallowed hard. He was dead. Really, dead.

Not that I felt any kind of way for my dead ex-boyfriend's ex-wife's cousin. The man stalked me, tried to abduct me, and gave me a concussion.

The world probably should have felt safer to me knowing this man would never set eyes on me again.

But I didn't. I felt sick.

My ringtone blared from my phone. I jumped, my hand flying to my chest.

Sighing, I grabbed the noisy device and checked the caller ID.

Unknown.

A pit settled in my stomach. I shook my head to dismantle the familiar paranoia gripping me.

Would I ever get over feeling like a hunted animal?

"Hello?" I answered.

A moment of silence left my heart throbbing in the base of my throat.

"Hello, Leah," replied a cool, feminine voice. "This is Marie, James' mother."

Her familiar voice clicked. I blinked a few times and cleared my throat.

"H-Hi, Mrs. Muller," I choked out.

I couldn't fathom what reason this woman decided to call. Just a few weeks ago, she threatened James with removing his inheritance if he didn't drop me.

Why the hell did she think I wanted to speak with her?

"You can call me 'Marie.'"

"Okay . . . Marie. Are you trying to get a hold of James or—?"

"I would have called him if that was the case."

Laughing to myself, I shook my head. This woman was insufferable.

"I wanted to schedule lunch with you sometime soon," she said. "I believe there may be some misunderstandings we need to clear up."

"Between you and I?" I asked.

I heard the kettle whistling and padded into the kitchen.

"Yes," Marie said.

"I'm sorry—what misunderstandings, exactly?"