Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping the deck railing until Brian was inside, locking the back door, and her fingers ached from holding on.
It wasn’t just that he’d seen the man again — it was how quickly the moment had shifted. One second, they were two people sharing the evening air; the next, she was watching him move into the dark after someone who had been standing close enough to touch the fence.
Her stomach had gone cold in a way she remembered too well from the hospital. That moment when you don’t yet know if what’s coming through the doors can be fixed.
They kissed and she enjoyed it. She really liked him and was growing more attached by the day. After they'd kissed and teased, she followed him into the kitchen, watching the way he moved — deliberate, checking locks, pulling the curtains closed. It wasn’t fear she saw in him. It was readiness.
“You got close to him,” she said.
“Close enough to know it’s the same guy.” He slid the deadbolt home. “He didn’t hang around to chat.”
She folded her arms, less for comfort than to keep from fidgeting. “And you still don’t know why he’s here.”
“No.” He glanced at her. “But I know he’s not just passing through.”
She could feel the truth of that in her bones. That stillness the man carried wasn’t the kind of thing you stumbled into. It was deliberate.
Brian poured two glasses of water and handed her one. She took it, the cool weight grounding her. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ll start asking questions in town tomorrow. Quietly. See if anyone’s seen him before. I'm also going to chat with the sheriff, let him know what's happening.”
“And if someone has seen him?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Then we find out what he wants. And we end it.”
She took a sip of water to hide the shiver that worked through her. It wasn’t the words that rattled her — it was the quiet certainty behind them. He wasn’t promising something he couldn’t deliver. He was stating a fact.
Later, when they’d both retreated to their rooms, she lay in bed listening to the sounds of the cottage. The creak of a floorboard. The faint hum of the fridge. Somewhere down the hall, the low rasp of Brian’s voice as he made a call — too soft to make out words, but steady, measured.
It should have made her feel exposed, knowing the man was still out there. Instead, she felt the smallest shift inside her. Not safety exactly, but the sense that someone was willing to stand in the gap until she found her own footing again.
She pulled on her father's flannel shirt and padded down the hall to the living room.
She felt edgy and unable to sleep. She quietly peered out the window, staring toward the trees the man had disappeared into.
What was on the other side of those woods?
She'd noticed a lot of rock formations as she'd entered town last week.
If it was more of that, was he sleeping up there?
Did he find a cave and burrow in? He didn't look homeless or dirty.
A floorboard creaked, and she spun around, her heart beating loudly in her chest. Brian stopped a couple of feet away, his brows high on his forehead. "Do you see something out there?"
"No." She shook her head and took a deep breath to get herself under control. "I just...I couldn't sleep and...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."
"You didn't. I was talking to Hank."
She cocked her head to the left. "Oh, your friend. The one who races."
"Yes. He has a level head. I told him what's been going on and wanted his advice."
"Did he have good advice?"
"Some."
He stepped closer and stopped in front of her. His forefinger slid softly along her cheek. "You look tired, Tess."
She chuckled. Her father had called her Tess. "I am. But I hear every sound."
He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her tightly to his body, and she'd never felt safer. She'd never felt more - love. Which was silly. But she felt something so different that she didn't have a word for it.