A chill races down my spine. “Jesus, Macon! When you said you had security concerns, I thought you meant in a ‘let’s be extra cautious and vigilant’ way. Not that someone had actually stalked you!”

“Well, now you know.”

“Don’t you dare be blasé about this. You should have told me. Not North, you. It should have been you!”

“I know!”

I’m not sure who is more surprised at his admission. We blink at each other before his eyes narrow in that pugnacious way of his.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grind out.

“Because I hate talking about it.” The tendons in his neck stick out as he turns his head and scowls into the growing night. “It makes what they did real.”

Shit.

“I hate what they did to you,” I say quietly.

His snort is both snide and doubtful. I forgive him for it because I’d be lashing out too.

“I do, Macon. It was wrong, horrible.”

The tense set of his shoulders eases a smidgeon.

“If it was me,” I go on, “I would be so angry. I’d want to . . . well, if I’m honest, I’d want to punch them in the face.”

Slowly, his gaze turns back to mine. Wry amusement lingers in his dark eyes. “You always were bloodthirsty.” He leans his head back against the chair. “Shit, Delilah. What can I say? It messed me up. I hate it. But I should have told you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that Sam might be in real trouble?” Fear bolts through me. Because she truly might. My breath comes short and fast.

But Macon snorts. “No,” he says as if it’s the most ridiculous idea on earth.

“No?” I lean toward him, my body humming with anger. “What if someone hurt her trying to get to you? That’s a possibility, you know. Don’t shake your damn head at me! She might have gotten in their way or—”

“Delilah,” he cuts in blandly. “You’re not living in a crime novel. Sam didn’t get carried off or hurt by my stalkers.”

“How do you know? Things happen, you patronizing ass—”

“She’s the one who told them where I’d be.” He stares back at me, unflinching, pissed off. “If anything, she ran when she found out what her loose tongue cost me.”

Rocking back on my heels, I struggle to understand his words. “She . . . wouldn’t. She’s not that low . . .”

“She is absolutely that low. The woman who ran me off the road confessed that she paid Sam a thousand dollars to get ahold of my schedule.”

Horror prickles over my skin, sears me from inside out. Macon lets me absorb it. I can’t look him in the eye. Whipping around, I clutch the rail and stare at the now inky sea. “Fucking bitch.”