Chapter 17
Grace
The sedan was parked halfway down Maple Street, dark paint swallowing the last of the evening light. It hadn’t been there when she’d walked to Morton’s. She was sure of that. She had a habit of noticing cars now—where they sat, how long they stayed, whether they belonged.
Her grip tightened on the grocery bag.
It’s nothing, she told herself. Someone visiting. Someone lost. Someone waiting.
Grace kept walking.
She was almost home—the familiar white siding, the porch light she’d left on glowing soft and steady.
She climbed the sagging steps and shifted the grocery bag to her other hand, fishing her keys from her pocket.
That was when she heard footsteps behind her. Heavy and deliberate.
Grace’s pulse jumped. She turned, keys held out like they would be any sort of weapon.
The man stood at the bottom of her porch steps. He was thin but wiry, all angles and narrow lines, skin catching the porch light with a faint, greasy sheen. His hands were loose at his sides. His face was half-shadowed beneath the porch light, features indistinct but intent.
“Evening,” he said.
Her stomach dropped.
“Can I help you?” Grace asked, keeping her voice even. Trying to project calm authority. Like every woman learned to do when fear crept up her spine.
He smiled slightly. It wasn’t a friendly smile.
“You live here,” he said. Not a question. He took a step closer.
Grace’s heart began to hammer.
“I was hoping to catch you alone,” he said.
Her skin prickled. “You need to leave.”
He didn’t move.
“You’ve got a brother staying with you,” he continued casually. “Eli.”
Grace’s breath caught before she could stop it. “I don’t know who you are.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I know who you are.”
He was close enough that she could smell him. Oil and smoke and something sharp beneath it.
Grace backed up until her spine hit the door.
“Step away from me,” she said, louder now.
He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re calmer than I expected.”
Her fingers shook around her keys.
“People like you usually scream,” he went on. “Or cry.”
“I said step away,” Grace repeated.
Instead, he lifted his hand.
Grace flinched despite herself.
His fingers brushed her hair—just a light touch near her temple, tucking it back, behind her ear. The gesture was intimate in a way that made bile rise in her throat.
Grace’s fear snapped into something sharp and blinding.
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice cracked.
He smiled again, wider this time. Satisfied.
“Tell your brother,” he said quietly, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosted across her ear, “that hiding doesn’t make things go away.”
Grace twisted sideways and jammed the key into the lock, hands shaking so badly she missed it the first time. The man stepped back just far enough to let her move—like he wanted her to know he was allowing it.
The door finally gave.
Grace shoved herself inside and slammed it shut, throwing the deadbolt with a violent snap. She leaned her full weight against the door, chest heaving, ears ringing with the sound of her own blood.
Outside, footsteps retreated.
Unhurried.
Confident.
Grace slid down until she was sitting on the floor, back pressed to the door, grocery bag spilling onto the tile beside her. An apple rolled free and bumped softly against the wall.
Her hands were shaking so badly she had to press them flat to her thighs to still them.
This wasn’t vandalism.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This was a warning.
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and dragged in a shaky breath.
“Eli,” she called, her voice sounded wrong even to her own ears.
Footsteps thundered from the living room.
“I’m here,” he said, already moving. “What happened?”
Someone knew where she lived.
Someone had touched her.
This fear didn’t feel abstract or distant or manageable.
And it wasn’t going away.
“…so you didn’t recognize him.”
Grace looked up from the table, the words catching her a half-second late.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
Officer Mercer stood near the counter, not sitting, not relaxed—one hand on his belt. Officer Sullivan lingered by the back door, flashlight in hand, though his attention was toward Eli more than the backyard.
Mercer tapped his pen against the notepad. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“And he knew your brother’s name,” Mercer said. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“And knew he was staying here.”
“Yes.”
Mercer exchanged a look with Sullivan.
Eli interjected. “You need to make sure Grace is safe.”
Mercer’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. “Sounds like you’re the one who brought the danger to her door. Maybe you need to move on, bud.”
Grace heard the judgment. “That’s not fair,” she said.
Mercer turned toward her, expression polite in the way that meant nothing. “Miss Hart, with respect, your brother is a criminal and now he’s back in Crystal Lake and he’s brought more of his kind with him.”
Grace pushed her chair back and stood. “A man waited for me outside my home. He touched me. He threatened my family.”
Mercer’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “How did he threaten you?” he asked.
Grace stared at him. “He told me to tell my brother that hiding doesn’t make things go away.”
Mercer closed his notebook. “Miss Hart, I’m not happy that there’s a criminal element in my town.” His eyes moved to Eli. “And I’m not just talking about the man who spoke with you this evening.”
Eli stepped forward. “What the fuck are you saying?”
Mercer’s gaze snapped to him. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” Grace said, sharp enough that both officers looked back at her. “You watch yours.”
“I called you because a man I do not know waited until I was alone and cornered me on my porch,” she said. “And you’re standing in my kitchen telling me this is inconvenient for you because you don’t like who my brother is.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
She gestured to the door. “You haven’t asked for a description. You haven’t asked which direction he left. You haven’t asked how long he waited or what kind of car he drove.”
For just a moment, she thought Mercer might argue. Might dismiss her again. Might do what cops in this town always did when they were dealing with a Hart.
Instead, he exhaled through his nose.
“What did he look like?” he asked.
Grace didn’t relax. Not even a fraction.
“Thin,” she said. “Late thirties, maybe forties. Dark jacket. Smelled like cigarette smoke. He parked a dark sedan halfway down the street.”
Sullivan’s snorted. “There’s lots of cars on this street. You said you didn’t see him get in his car. Can you be sure it was his?”
“Yes,” Grace said. “Tinted windows. It wasn’t there earlier.”
Mercer cleared his throat. “We’ll put out a BOLO.”
Grace folded her arms. “Good.”
Sullivan clicked off his flashlight and headed for the front door. “Lock up,” he said to Grace. “Call if he comes back.”
When the door closed behind them, Grace sank back into her chair, exhaustion crashing into her all at once.
Eli crouched in front of her. “I’m sorry.”
Grace wrapped her hands around her mug again, the ceramic warm against her palms.
The cops hadn’t solved anything. They hadn’t made her feel any better.
She thought of Luke—of the way she used to feel safe in his arms.
Then reality settled back in. He’d been very clear where they stood. He'd come if she called—but only for sex. He wasn’t hers when she needed comfort or protection.