Chapter 4
Chapter four
Noah
Jackson led me out to the parking lot, and I stopped short when I saw the car.
It was a classic muscle car. I had no idea what kind. Cars weren’t exactly my thing. All I knew was it was big, with a shiny black paint job and glistening chrome trim. It was beautiful but tough. Kind of like Jackson himself.
“This is… your car?” I asked, staring.
He glanced at it, then at me. “Problem?”
I shook my head, a laugh slipping out before I could stop it. “No. Just… of course it is.”
I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door, the solid thunk grounding in a way I hadn’t expected.
Crowe started the engine, and it came to life with a low, hungry rumble.
Yeah. Of course this was what he drove.
The drive to my apartment seemed to take forever. Every red light stretched too long. Every car behind us felt closer than it should’ve been. I kept replaying Wolfe’s words in my head, turning them over like a scab I couldn’t leave alone.
He’d said the search was more invasive. More persistent. That didn’t sound good.
I rubbed my hands against my jeans and forced myself to breathe. I’d been free for six months. Six months of therapy. Six months of rebuilding a routine. Six months of convincing myself that what happened to me was over.
And now this.
Crowe pulled into the small lot behind my building and cut the engine. “We’ll be quick,” he said as we walked to the front door of my building. “Grab what you need. We don’t want to hang around any longer than necessary.”
I nodded, opened the main door, and walked in. I climbed the stairs, Crowe half a step behind me, his presence solid and deliberate. He didn’t crowd me, didn’t rush me, but I was aware of him every second.
When we reached my door, something cold slid down my spine. It was open. Not wide. Just a few inches.
“I locked it,” I said immediately. “I always lock it. I check it twice. Sometimes three times. I’m always careful.” The words came out sharp, defensive, like I expected him to doubt me.
He didn’t. His hand lifted, palm out, stopping me without touching me. His eyes tracked the door, the frame, the shadows inside. “I believe you.”
Relief hit hard and fast, followed by fear that clawed its way up my throat. Someone had been in my apartment.
My stomach twisted. “Someone’s been in there.”
“Yeah,” he said evenly. “And that’s exactly why we won’t hang around. Let me make sure no one’s inside, and then you can grab essentials only. Be quick, and let’s not waste any time.”
I stood there in the hallway and waited for him to come back. It didn’t take him long.
“Okay, it’s all clear. Let’s get packed up and get on the road.”
I looked around. The apartment looked… the same. But not. Nothing was overturned. No drawers were dumped out. No obvious signs of a struggle, but what had been a safe space suddenly felt wrong somehow.
Crowe’s gaze flicked over everything, cataloging. “You don’t have much stuff.”
“I never really unpacked,” I said. “Didn’t see the point.”
He glanced at me then, something thoughtful passing over his face. “Feels like you were already planning to leave.”
I shrugged and crossed to the bedroom, my movements stiff. “I told myself it was temporary. Just somewhere to sleep. Somewhere… safe.” A wry chuckle escaped. “Obviously, that was an illusion.”
The bedroom was the same. A bed. A dresser. A closet with clothes arranged carefully but without personality. No pictures. No extra blankets. Nothing that said home.
I grabbed a duffel from the closet and started shoving clothes into it without much thought. Shirts. Jeans. Socks. Enough to last a few days. My hands shook, and I hated that they did.
“What do you think them breaking in here was about?”
Jackson shrugged. “Maybe they were looking for you. It’s a Saturday, so maybe they didn’t expect you to be at work. Maybe they just wanted to see how easy it would be to get in. Doesn’t much matter. We won’t be here when they come back.”
I zipped the bag and turned, scanning the room one last time. Six months of my life reduced to a single bag I could carry under one arm.
Jackson took the bag from me without asking. “All right. Let’s go.”
We didn’t linger. He ushered me out, locked the door behind us, and didn’t let me look back. As we headed for the stairs, the weight of it finally settled in my chest. Whoever had paid for me still believed he owned me. He hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t let it go.
Jackson didn’t talk much as we pulled out of the lot. He drove like it was a normal day, not like we were heading for Three Bears HQ because my worst nightmare had come true. Like we were just running an errand or going for a drive.
I folded my hands together in my lap and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound scared or weak, and I finally decided on generic road chat. “It’s what, about five hours to Vesper?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sure, once we get out of Houston. The city alone adds another hour.”
“Right?” I asked. “Traffic here is crazy.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I never really was a big city guy. Vesper is the largest place I’ve ever lived.”
“Me, either, but when I left six months ago, all I wanted was to be anonymous, and I figured a city this big would be the best place for that.”
“I can see that.”
I looked back out the windshield. “It’s been good, though. I mean… I’m better. Therapy twice a week, and my work keeps me busy. Flowers don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“They don’t,” he agreed.
“They do make me calm, always have,” I added, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Which probably sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t.”
The highway opened up in front of us as we finally left the city behind. Lanes stretching long and clear, and for a second, I let myself believe we were already past the hard part.
“Wolfe says it’s temporary,” I said. “Staying there. Until they figure things out.”
“That’s the plan.”
“And then what?”
Jackson was quiet for a beat too long. “Then we take it one step at a time.”
I nodded, even though my chest felt tight. One step at a time was better than spiraling, and I was trying very hard not to spiral.
I settled back into the seat, watching out the window as the area around us slowly shifted from urban sprawl to something less congested and more open.
We’d been driving for about an hour when Crowe’s posture changed. It was subtle. A tightening through his shoulders, his hands shifting on the steering wheel, not gripping harder, just… adjusting. Like he’d moved from casual to on-guard.
“Seatbelt,” he said.
I blinked and looked down. It was already fastened. “I—”
“Check it,” he repeated, calm but firm.
I tugged it anyway, my pulse jumping. “Okay.”
He didn’t look at me. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then to the side mirror, then back to the road ahead. The radio went silent as he reached out and shut it off.
“Jackson?” I asked.
“We’re being followed,” he said, like he was telling me the weather.
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“That sedan behind us. Dark gray.”
I twisted in my seat, instinct screaming at me to look, and sure enough, there was a generic-looking gray sedan back there.
“I mean, we’re on the interstate, right? They could just be going the same way,” I said hopefully.
“Could be. But I don’t think so. They’re being too careful to stay the same distance behind us, like they’re pacing us. It’s just a feeling, but I’ve learned to trust my gut.”
My hands curled into the fabric of my jeans, and my heart was already pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs.
“For how long?” I asked.
“A few miles at least. Probably longer, but until the traffic thinned out, I couldn’t be sure.”
He eased us into the next lane like nothing was wrong. The sedan followed.
Okay. Okay. This was happening. Not in my apartment. Not later. Now.
“So it’s them.” My voice wobbled, and I stopped, swallowing hard. “The guys who are after me?” I rolled my eyes at the stupid comment. Who else would it be?
“I assume so.”
Crowe cut across two lanes of highway and took the next exit for some little town. He did it without signaling, smooth and sudden. I braced myself, breath hitching. The sedan took it, too.
My chest tightened. “They stayed with us.”
“I know.”
“What do we do?”
He glanced at me then, just long enough for me to see it. Not fear. Focus. Total, unshakeable certainty.
“We drive.”
He accelerated as we merged onto the frontage road, the engine responding with a low growl.
He didn’t take the turn to the town, staying on the frontage road as gas stations gave way to open stretches, warehouses, and a store selling farm equipment, but still, they stayed behind us.
Crowe didn’t push the car to its limits, not yet. He kept driving, feeling things out.
The sedan closed the distance.
“They’re getting closer,” I said, unable to stop myself.
“I see it.”
“Jackson—”
“Hang on,” he said.
He punched the gas.
The force shoved me back into the seat, breath tearing out of my lungs as the scenery blurred. The road curved, and Crowe took it fast, the tires screaming in protest. The sedan fishtailed behind us but recovered quickly.
My hands trembled, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, grounding myself the way my therapist had taught me.
You’re here. You’re alive. You’re not trapped.
Crowe blew through a stop sign, barely missing a delivery truck, then took a hard left back onto the interstate, but somehow, they’d managed to stick with us.
“They know what they’re doing,” I said.
“So do I.”
Another burst of speed. The sedan stayed with us.
My breathing came shallow and fast, panic clawing at the edges of my vision. This wasn’t like before. This time I wasn’t bound. I wasn’t alone. But fear didn’t care about logic.
“Hey,” Crowe said sharply.
I focused on his voice, dragged my attention back. “What?”
“Breathe for me,” he said.
“I… okay.” I inhaled deeply and then let it out.
“Good. Keep doing that.”