Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Four-thirty in the morning came too damn early, especially when my head had hit the pillow at one-thirty. But my body was done pretending to sleep. I'd been lying there for the past two hours, staring at the ceiling of the LeeHy Motel, replaying last night's nightmare on an endless loop.
The sound of splintering wood. Tactical teams flooding our bedroom. Joy's terrified face in the strobing red and blue lights.
The double bed barely contained my six-foot-four frame.
My feet hung off the end, and every time I shifted, the springs creaked loud enough to wake half the floor.
Joy was curled against my side, her blonde hair spilled across my chest, one small hand fisted in my t-shirt like she was afraid I might disappear.
Joy had slept. But not well. Every little sound in the hallway made her tense up. I figured that she was waiting for boots to come thundering through another door.
This bastard had escalated beyond harassment. Beyond threats. He'd weaponized the police against us.
I carefully eased out from under her, my muscles protesting the cramped sleeping position. Joy murmured something in her sleep but didn't wake. Good. She needed rest, but if I didn’t get a chance to move around a bit, just a little bit, I might go insane.
The small chair by the window looked about as comfortable as a concrete block, but it would have to do.
I settled into it and cracked the curtain just enough to let in some pre-dawn light.
The parking lot below was empty except for a few scattered cars and the security patrol that Simon had arranged.
Every shadow could hide a threat. Every parked car could contain surveillance equipment. The SWATting had proven this psycho was willing to use any tool at his disposal.
My phone felt heavy in my hands as I pulled up the group text with the team.
GRAHAM: Anyone awake?
The response came faster than I expected.
SIMON: Yes, unfortunately. Little Drake's got the stomach bug from hell. Been up most of the night holding his head while he puked. What's up?
I switched to a private message thread. No need to wake up everybody with my churning thoughts.
GRAHAM: Can't stop thinking about last night. This bastard played us perfectly.
SIMON: The SWATting was smart. I'll give him that. But it also means he's desperate.
GRAHAM: Or getting bolder. Testing our responses. Seeing how we react under pressure.
SIMON: Could be. But he made a mistake too.
GRAHAM: How do you figure?
SIMON: He showed his hand. Now we know he's willing to involve law enforcement. Limits his options going forward.
I stared out at the empty parking lot, turning Simon's words over in my mind. The typing indicator showed he was responding again.
SIMON: Your truck's ready, by the way. Roan said that Thatcher’s finished the paint job yesterday. Looks good as new.
GRAHAM: Thanks. I need to pick it up today. Carpooling with Joy has been okay, but I’m antsy for my truck.
SIMON: I’ll have Roan swing by. He’ll come pick you up in it, then you can drive him back to the shop and come back to LeeHy. Sorry that’s where you ended up. Been there.
GRAHAM: Wasn’t too bad. Joy’s cousin dropped off sheets and pillows from her place. She insisted.
There was a pause in the texting. I could almost hear Simon chuckling.
SIMON: How are Joy’s brothers holding up?
GRAHAM: I’m beginning to like them. Seth's been helpful with security planning. Randy's stopped questioning every decision I make.
SIMON: Nothing like armed deputies breaking down doors to put family squabbles into perspective.
GRAHAM: No shit. When do you think Roan will be by?
SIMON: We’ll shoot for an hour.
I set the phone aside and rubbed my face.
The stubble on my jaw felt like sandpaper, matching how my eyes burned from lack of sleep.
In the field, I could function on two hours of rest for days at a time.
But this wasn't the field. This was personal.
The stakes were higher than any mission I'd ever run.
The woman sleeping ten feet away was my entire world. The thought of losing her, of failing to protect her after last night's clusterfuck, made my chest feel like it was caving in.
Last night had been a warning shot. A demonstration of power. This bastard was telling us he could reach us anywhere, anytime, using any method he chose.
Fifty minutes crawled by before my phone buzzed.
ROAN: Five minutes out.
I texted Randy, he and Seth had both checked into the LeeHy last night with us. They were in the rooms on either side of us. I’d hoped to get us into the Whispering Pines Inn, but this was their busy season.
Randy responded. I explained he needed to get over here and watch Joy while I went out. He was already waiting for my text and was on his way over.
I stood, every joint protesting the uncomfortable night, and moved to the bed. Joy had rolled onto her stomach, her face buried in the pillow I'd vacated. Even in sleep, tension lined her shoulders. The events of the past few days were taking their toll.
I brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.
“Joy.”
She stirred but didn't wake. I tried again, my voice a little louder.
“Baby, I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes fluttered open, immediately alert in that hypervigilant way she'd developed since the flowers arrived. The way I recognized from my own sleepless nights after Africa.
“Graham? What's wrong? Are they back?”
The fear in her voice cut through me like a blade.
“No, sweetheart. Nothing's wrong. I need to go pick up my truck. Roan is giving me a ride over to Thatcher’s so I can pick up my truck.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, blue eyes scanning my face for deception.
“How long will you be gone?”
“An hour, max. I'm getting Randy to come down and stay with you.”
“I'll be fine by myself.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended, colored by the memory of tactical teams and splintering wood. “You're not going to be alone. Not for five minutes. Not after last night.”
She studied my face in the dim light, reading the tension I couldn't quite hide.
“You're thinking about the SWATting.”
Not a question. An observation. Joy had gotten good at reading the shadows that crossed my face when memories hit.
“Hard not to think about it.”
“That's not what I meant.” She scooted closer, her hand finding mine. “You're blaming yourself for not seeing it coming.”
How could I explain the failure that gnawed at my gut? The certainty that I should have anticipated this move, should have prepared for the possibility that our stalker would use law enforcement as a weapon?
“I should have thought of it. Should have warned you it was a possibility.”
“Graham, how could you have known? Nobody expects something like that.”
“I'm supposed to think of everything. That's my job.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“Your job is to love me and keep me safe. You're doing both. What happened last night wasn't your fault.”
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of her honeysuckle shampoo mixed with the fear-sweat we'd both been carrying since the police invasion.
“Get some more sleep if you can.”
The knock on the door came as I was pulling on my boots. Joy was already up, moving around the small room with the efficient motions of someone who'd learned not to get too comfortable anywhere.
“That'll be Randy.”
I opened the door to find Joy's brother looking rumpled and worried. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles, and his eyes carried the hollow look of someone who'd seen too much in too short a time.
Randy peered around me and waved at his sister. “Morning, JoJo. How'd you sleep?”
“Like someone who got raided by SWAT,” Joy replied dryly. “So hardly at all.”
“Yeah, that sucked. Seth's still processing the whole thing. Keeps muttering about ‘psychological warfare.’”
I grabbed my wallet and room key from the nightstand. Joy appeared at my elbow, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my lips.
“Be careful. Watch for anything suspicious.”
“Always do. Especially now.”
Her snort said exactly what she thought of my ability to avoid trouble.
Roan was idling in the parking lot when I made it downstairs, my truck was idling in the quiet pre-dawn stillness.
It looked pristine despite the hell it had been through.
Fresh paint covered the stalker's message, and new tires gleamed under the parking lot lights.
Roan got out so that I could climb behind the wheel.
I immediately relaxed into the familiar comfort of sitting next to another special operator who understood the weight we carried.
“You look like you've been through a meat grinder.”
“Feel like it too. How's Lisa?”
“She’s fine. Got some good news. Simon called on my way over. Aiden, Evie, and the kids returned to San Diego. You’ve got their house.”
I felt a huge sense of relief. “That’s really great of them.”
“Yeah. That’s just how they roll.”
“If you talk to them, tell them I appreciate it.”
“Will do.” I pulled out of the parking lot, taking a route that avoided main streets. We were all thinking tactically now, assuming surveillance and planning accordingly.
“Hell of a thing last night,” Roan said after a few minutes of silence.
“Bastard's smarter than we gave him credit for.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he's getting desperate, taking bigger risks.” He glanced over at me. “How's Joy handling it?”
“Better than I am, probably. She's tough as hell.”
“And you're beating yourself up for not predicting it.”
The observation hit too close to home. I stared out the window at the passing storefronts, trying to organize thoughts that were all over the place.
“It was a smart move. Use law enforcement against us. Turn the cops into his weapon.”
“Graham.” Roan's voice carried the authority of someone who'd been in impossible situations. “You can't anticipate every possible attack. This psycho's proven he's willing to escalate beyond normal stalker behavior.”
“I should have seen it coming.”