My main character is dealing with what she thinks is the worst thing that can happen to her. . . and it's about to get messier.
A clear impression of keenly focused rage.
“He was here.”
She didn’t know what told her it was a man, but she was certain it was. One man. The man who had hurt Kat. Clenching her teeth, she opened the scrapbook, the malice he left behind burning a path through her raw nerves. Jared moved behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. The conflict between his concern and this man’s hate sent a wave of dizziness and nausea through her. Shivering, she shrugged off Jared’s touch. “I’m sorry. . . I can’t. . .” He withdrew, hurt and she knew she would have to explain later.
She closed her eyes and sent her hands and her senses questing through the pages. It was like the childhood game hot potato cold potato. The places where he stopped to study a photo or a clipping left an afterimage in her mind. By the time she’d closed the book, her body was slick with sweat and she slumped against the back of the sofa.