Chapter 6 #2
“No thanks. This won’t take long.” I was already measuring distances, marking spots with blue tape.
Two hours later, Raina’s house had four cameras with night vision and motion detection, all feeding to a secure server I would monitor remotely.
The front and back doors had new deadbolts.
Window sensors were installed throughout.
The security system connected directly to the police station and my phone.
“These panic buttons go in every room. One press sends an alert to both police and my team. Response time should be under four minutes,” I explained, handing Raina small devices that looked like keychains.
She took them, expression softening. “You always did look out for her, even when she didn’t realize it.”
I ignored the comment, not wanting to get caught up, focusing instead on programming the final camera. “Here’s the system’s user manual. Call if you have any questions.”
That night, I sat in my car parked half a block from Raina’s house.
It was the first of what would become nightly drive-bys, though I told myself it was only to verify the new security system was functioning correctly.
The camera feeds looked clear on my tablet, but technology could fail. Eyes on the ground never did.
This isn’t stalking, I reminded myself as I scanned the quiet street. This was protection. A professional assessment of security parameters. A standard procedure for high-risk clients.
Except Aven wasn’t a client. And there was nothing standard about the way my chest tightened when I thought of those origami birds. Nothing standard about the rage building in me when I pictured Morales watching her sleep in Buenos Aires, invading her privacy, making her feel hunted.
Movement at the corner of my vision snapped me to attention. A figure in dark clothing approached Raina’s house from the side street. Their baseball cap was pulled low, hands in pockets, moving with purpose toward the property line.
Training kicked in. I was out of the car in seconds, moving silently across lawns, keeping to shadows. The figure reached Raina’s fence, paused, looking for something on the ground.
“Hands where I can see them,” I ordered, voice pitched low but carrying in the night air.
The figure startled, head snapping up. Hands emerged from their pockets and raised defensively. “Yo, man, you good?”
“Step away from the fence,” I ordered, closing the distance between us.
Streetlight illuminated the figure. It wasn’t Leo Morales, but Mrs. Evers’ son from three doors down.
He’d grown a beard since I saw him last, but the startled eyes were the same as the kid who used to deliver newspapers in this neighborhood.
“Langston Black?” he asked in recognition.
I slowed my approach, adrenaline still pumping. “Kevin?”
“What the fuck? You neighborhood watch now?”
“Something like that,” I replied, scanning him for threats out of habit. The only thing in his hand was a leash. Its other end was attached to a small dog now emerging from the bushes.
“Max got away from me. I thought he ran behind this fence,” Kevin explained, gesturing to the dog.
I nodded. “My bad.”
Kevin glanced at Raina’s house, where a light came on upstairs. It was probably Aven, woken by our voices. “I heard Aven Compton’s back in town, staying with her sister. Still looking out for her after all these years, huh?”
“It’s not like that.” I smirked.
He tugged on Max’s leash. Kevin held his hand out, and we gave dap before he walked away.
Kevin was right though. I did look out for Aven.
Just like senior year. The memory surfaced without permission — Dalvin’s hand on Aven’s arm, her smile fading as she tried to pull away, the red haze that descended when I saw her discomfort.
I’d crossed the gym in ten seconds flat and inserted myself between them with a calm fury underneath.
Nothing dramatic. There were no thrown punches, only a quiet promise in Dalvin’s ear that made his face go pale.
Back in my car, I started the engine but didn’t drive away.
Kevin’s words looped in my mind. Still looking out for her after all these years, huh?
Was that what this was? The same protective instinct whenever anyone messed with Aven back in school?
Or something deeper, something I’d spent fifteen years pretending didn’t exist?
On my tablet, I checked the security camera feeds one more time. All clear. The new system worked perfectly. There wasn’t a logical reason to stay.
Yet I lingered. This was about protection, not feelings. It was about repaying a debt, not reopening old wounds.
After going home and being unable to sleep, I headed to the office, which was quiet at 1:37 a.m. Hell, I might as well get some work done. That was when I noticed Aven, still at her desk with her head resting on a stack of files, her breathing deep and even in sleep.
I moved closer. She was facing away from me, her profile illuminated by the computer screen.
A pen had slipped from her fingers, leaving a small blue mark on the edge of a paper.
Her face in sleep looked younger. The worry lines that sometimes appeared between her brows were smoothed away, and her lips were slightly parted.
For a moment, I prayed over her. That was the kind of man I was. I should’ve woken her, told her to go home, and get proper rest. Yet the dark circles under her eyes had been getting worse this past week, and this was probably the first real sleep she’d had in days.
I removed my suit jacket without overthinking it and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric settled, smothering the slight shiver I hadn’t realized was running through her.
“Mmm… Langston,” she mumbled, the sound barely more than a sigh as she burrowed deeper into the warmth of the jacket.
I froze, my hand still on the collar where I’d been adjusting it.
My name on her sleeping lips shot straight through me, unlocking a door I’d kept firmly shut for years.
Suddenly, I was watching Aven doze off beside me on her parents’ couch.
We were seventeen again, textbooks scattered between us as we crammed for finals.
Back then, I’d been too afraid to move, too scared to breathe, terrified of waking her but equally fearful of what it meant that watching her sleep made my heart beat double time.
Now, as a grown man, I was caught in the same paralysis, my fingers still touching the jacket that touched her, creating a connection that was dangerously close to something I couldn’t afford to want.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened, confusion clouding her gaze for a moment before she registered my presence. She sat up abruptly, my jacket sliding halfway down her back as she blinked away sleep.
“Shit. What time is it?” Her voice was husky and disoriented.
“Almost two. Why are you out this time of night? I thought you were home.” I stepped back to restore a professional distance.
She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and looked down at my jacket with sudden understanding. A flush crept up her neck. “Sorry. I was just reviewing the—”
“It’s fine. You should go home and get some real sleep,” I interrupted, not needing her explanation.
Aven straightened in her chair, rolling her shoulders. “Raina’s kids were having a sleepover. Nothing like trying to sleep through ten kids laughing and playing.” She made a face.
Despite myself, I chuckled.
She gestured to her screen. “Besides, I was making progress on this timeline. If we could establish a pattern to his movements, maybe we could predict where he’ll—”
Her words were cut short by the loud growl in her stomach. Embarrassed, she pressed a hand against it. “Guess I forgot to eat too.”
Before I knew it, I was reaching for my phone.
“Golden Palace delivers until three. Still like kung pao chicken?” I asked, already pulling up the number.
Her eyes widened slightly, surprised at the personal detail I shouldn’t remember but did. “You remember my order?”
I shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “You got it every time we studied at my grandparents’ place. Some things stick.”
Twenty minutes later, we sat on the floor of my office, backs against the wall, surrounded by white takeout containers.
I had dimmed the overhead lights, leaving my desk lamp on for mood lighting over our impromptu picnic.
The scent of soy sauce and ginger filled the air, which was surprisingly comforting in the sterile office environment.
“God, this is good. Nothing in South America comes close to good American Chinese food,” Aven stated around a mouthful of noodles.
“I thought the whole point of traveling was experiencing authentic cuisine,” I replied, using chopsticks to snag a piece of kung pao chicken from her container, something we used to do from our high school days that happened before I could stop myself.
Aven didn’t seem to mind; she returned the gesture by stealing a spring roll from my container in retaliation.
“That’s what I thought too. The Facepage version, right?
Beautiful local markets, exotic street food, cooking lessons from smiling grandmothers?
The reality was more like me crying in a bathroom after I’d thrown up for three days straight after eating some sketchy empanadas. ”
The casual admission caught me off guard. This wasn’t the glamorous world traveler I’d pictured, the fearless woman chasing stories across continents. “That bad?”
She set down her chopsticks as vulnerability crossed her face.
“Sometimes worse. Don’t get me wrong. There were amazing moments — sunrises over Machu Picchu, dancing until dawn in Rio, and making friends despite language barriers.
Yet, there was also loneliness. It hit me one day when I realized no one would notice if I… disappeared.”
The raw honesty in her voice struck something in my chest. “I would have noticed,” I replied quietly, the words escaping before I could evaluate them.