Chapter 4
Several weeks later, the drive into town was peaceful as the Nebraska landscape rolled past her windows. She needed to go to the grocery store, but decided to stop at the small indie bookstore on the way.
She loved this drive, remembering the first time she’d visited. The endless sky, the simplicity of rural life, and the way people here treated her like just another neighbor rather than a former celebrity were just what she needed.
After browsing the shelves, she made her purchases and chatted for a few minutes with the owner.
Then, once inside the grocery store, she moved efficiently through the aisles, selecting fresh produce, pantry staples, and the imported coffee beans that had become one of her indulgences.
The elderly clerk chatted pleasantly about the weather and her granddaughter's upcoming wedding.
It was the kind of everyday conversation that had drawn Willow to this quiet corner of the world.
But as she loaded her groceries into the back of her small SUV, that familiar prickle of awareness crept up her spine again.
She paused, her hands still on the shopping bags, and slowly scanned the parking lot.
A few other cars sat scattered across the asphalt, their owners presumably inside the store or the adjacent diner.
Nothing seemed out of place, and no one appeared to be watching her, yet the feeling persisted, growing stronger.
Her training from those early Hollywood days, when overzealous fans had occasionally crossed lines, kicked in automatically.
She finished loading her groceries with deliberate casualness, fighting the urge to hurry.
As she drove home, she checked her rearview mirror more frequently than necessary, noting every vehicle that appeared behind her with a paranoid attention to detail.
A dark SUV had maintained distance behind her for the past several blocks and was still in her sight.
This wasn't the first time she’d felt like she was being followed.
She had passed a dark SUV on her road when she’d left earlier.
And now this vehicle following her from the grocery made it impossible to ignore.
It always stayed two or three cars back, never getting close enough for her to see the driver clearly, but maintaining visual contact in a way that felt deliberate. Or maybe I’m losing my mind!
By the time she turned into her long gravel driveway, the dark SUV was no longer in sight, but her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
The feeling of being observed had intensified rather than faded, and she knew that with modern telephoto lenses, someone didn't need to be close to capture detailed photographs.
But why now? Why would anyone care enough to follow me around rural Nebraska?
As she approached her house, another detail made her stomach clench with anxiety. The two rocking chairs on her front porch, which she always left facing outward toward the view, had been turned to face each other, as though ready for two people sitting there to have a conversation.
She pulled directly into her garage, immediately pressing the button to close the heavy door behind her. Only when she heard the mechanism click into place did she allow herself to exhale, her shoulders sagging with relief at being safely enclosed within her own space.
Moving quickly, she carried the cold items inside first, shoving milk, cheese, and frozen vegetables into their proper places with urgency born of fear rather than organization.
The rest of the groceries could wait. Right now, she needed to figure out what to do about the possible escalating situation.
Standing in the kitchen, she looked around, rooted to the floor.
Check the house… do that first. She hastened from room to room, examining windows and ensuring all locks were secure.
Everything appeared normal until she reached her office at the back of the house.
Glancing out the window toward her backyard, her heart nearly stopped.
Fresh footprints were pressed into the soft earth directly beneath her office window, and scattered around them was a small pile of red silk rose petals.
Someone had been standing right outside her office, close enough to peer through the glass and see her desk, her computer, and her most private workspace.
The violation felt like a physical assault.
She refused to go outside to inspect either discovery further.
Whatever evidence might be gathered could wait until she had professional help.
She snorted at the thought of calling the police. Once again, there would be nothing to actually report. Her mind raced, then she hurried back to the kitchen to dig her phone out of her purse. She hit Aaliyah's number, her fingers slightly unsteady as she placed the call.
"Aaliyah, I need you to find a phone number for me," she said without preamble when her assistant answered.
"Lionel Parker. Everyone calls him Leo. He used to work in personal security in LA, but I think he's moved on to some other job now.
But I remember hearing something about him still being in security. "
"Of course, Willow. Can you give me any other details that might help me track him down?"
"He was one of the good bodyguards back then. Professional, discreet, really knew his stuff." She paced to her kitchen window, peering through the curtains at the empty landscape beyond. "I need his number as soon as possible."
"I'll get right on it," Aaliyah assured her. "Should I clear your afternoon schedule?"
"Yes, please. And Aaliyah? This stays between us for now."
"Understood completely."
Twenty minutes later, her phone rang with Aaliyah's callback. "I found him. He now works for a security company run by Carson Dyer, based near Big Sur, California. It’s called Lighthouse Security Investigations West Coast. I'm texting you his direct number."
"Thank you," Willow said, already dialing before the text message finished loading.
"Leo Parker." His voice was exactly as she remembered when he came to their studio, and the calm sound was instantly reassuring.
"Leo, it's Willow Thorton. I know it’s been years, and you may not remember me, but—"
"Willow!" Genuine pleasure warmed his voice. "This is a wonderful surprise. How are you doing? I heard you had left LA, right?"
"I've been better," she admitted, some of the tension leaving her shoulders just from hearing his familiar professionalism. "And yes. I live in Nebraska now. I needed to get away.”
“I’m glad, Willow. LA can be a hard place to live, so I’m glad you got away.”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. Leo, I think I might have another problem…
well, I'm not really sure. I get the feeling that someone is watching me.
It started as just a feeling, but today at the grocery store.
.." She trailed off, realizing how paranoid she might sound. “Shit… I don’t actually have any proof.”
"Trust your instincts," he said immediately, his tone shifting to pure business mode. "They're usually right about these things. Tell me everything."
She outlined the past months of receiving packages that contained silk roses or a rose necklace.
Nothing weird or threatening, other than the fact that they knew her address since they were sent directly to her.
Then she detailed the weeks of feeling as if she were being observed during her morning routine, the increasing frequency of the feeling, and today's certainty that someone had been watching her at the store.
“It’s not constant. It’s not every day. In fact, a few weeks can go by with nothing, and then I’ll feel it. Plus, there are the hang-up phone calls that have started.”
Leo listened without interruption, occasionally asking clarifying questions that demonstrated he was taking her concerns seriously.
Then she told him about the footprints and roses underneath the office window.
"Fuck! I wish I could get out there myself," he said when she finished, "but my wife is due any day now with our first baby, so I can't leave her."
"Oh, congratulations! And of course you can’t come now," Willow said quickly. "I wouldn't ask you to do that. I just needed to talk to someone who would understand—"
"I’ll call my boss and see what we can do. We’ve got a fuckin’ flu going through the office, but if we can’t make it, then my boss can—”
“No, Leo. Please… I don’t think I need that. I just… I just needed some advice about a security system.”
“We do the system design and have installers we trust to put it in.
But now that I think about where you are, our co-security company is in Montana…
closer to where you are. They would know the best installers near you," Leo said.
"I'm going to talk to my boss and then call Lighthouse Security Investigations in Montana.
They're good people, just like those I work with here.
Former military, top-notch training, and they can get to you sooner than we can.
Their boss is Logan Bishop, a former Navy SEAL.
You'll get a call from him within the hour. "
Relief flooded through her, calming the racing of her heart. "Thank you, Leo. I can't tell you how much this means to me."
"Just doing my job, even if it's from a distance. And Willow? Until they get there, keep your doors locked and trust your gut. If something feels wrong, it probably is. If you feel threatened, call 911 and get to safety!"
After they hung up, Willow moved through her house like a woman possessed, checking every window latch and testing every lock.
They hadn’t thought she’d need security when she’d moved to rural Nebraska.
But now just locked doors and windows felt woefully insufficient against whatever threat might be lurking in the prairie shadows.