Page 46 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

Gage!

My heart leaps, but I barely register his fist until it moves. One punch, and Tyson folds onto the carpet like a wet roll of toilet paper.

For a moment the apartment goes silent, except for the sitcom and my ragged breathing. I stare at the man sprawled beside the couch, then at Gage, who flexes his arms and glares at my landlord like he’s debating the merits of a second punch.

“Did you knock him out?”

“He fell,” Gage answers evenly.

“Onto your fist?”

His jaw works. “Very unfortunate trajectory.”

An inappropriate laugh bursts out of me. I don’t care. Whatever is still burning in Gage vanishes the second he hears it. Within seconds, he’s before me and cups my face, so gently, the contrast nearly breaks me inside.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

His gaze travels to my torn shirt, and the fresh red marks layered over the old bruise on my arm. His muscles are stone. “Jules.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.”

He surveys the tremor in his fingers. “Huh.”

Then my brain catches up. “How did you know?”

Gage goes still. That is never a good Gage expression. He lets go and rubs the back of his neck with a small, sheepish grimace. “Don’t hate me.”

I cross my arms. “That’s an uncomfortable opening.”

“I installed a few micro security cameras.”

The shock jars my senses. “In my apartment?”

“The living room,” he admits. “And the hallway outside.”

I scan the apartment like tiny cameras might suddenly wave at me. And then, a chill runs up my spine. “Bathroom?”

His head snaps up. “No. Jesus Christ, Jules. I still have some decorum.”

“Bedroom?”

“No.”

“Kitchen?”

“Half of it.” He raises both hands. “After that man started showing up at Saint Violet and you said you recognized him, I wanted to know if anybody came into your apartment while you weren’t here.”

I fold my arms, although the torn shirt seriously weakens the intimidation factor. “Anything else?”

He hesitates. Oh God.

“On nights you drive yourself home, I sometimes follow. From a respectful distance.” I open my mouth, and he barrels on. “And after dates, when we meet somewhere separately. Sometimes.” My brows climb. “Shit. Okay. Every time.”