Chapter 4
DAMIEN
Ican’t get her out of my head. It’s been four days since I felt her pulse beneath my fingers, watched those terrified eyes lock onto mine—and I still can’t stop thinking about her.
My finger taps against the steering wheel as I sit parked three cars down from her apartment building. This is the second night I’ve been here.
The background check was disappointingly clean. No restraining orders. Just a woman who moved here five years ago and kept her head down. The only interesting thing was her sudden relocation from two states away. People don’t just pick up and move without reason.
No boyfriend. No male visitors at all.
I want to believe this is about protection, not obsession. But I’m not sure I know the difference anymore.
The building’s door swings open at six thirty-two PM. Morgan steps out in black leggings and a fitted athletic jacket, hair pulled back in a high ponytail. My pulse quickens.
She turns left and out of my sight. Without thinking, I’m out of the car, pulling up my hood. I shadow her from fifty feet, the evening crowd providing me the perfect cover.
The way she walks—her shoulders slightly hunched, her eyes constantly scanning—tells me everything. She’s afraid. Always. Even in this safe neighborhood. The wounds she carries are written in the way she moves—too alert, too careful. I don’t know who did it, but I already want to hurt them.
My eyes are locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Those leggings leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, clinging to the curve of her ass like they were painted on. Each step she takes sends a ripple effect through her body, causing my mouth to go dry.
Fuck.
I can’t tear my eyes away. The way her ponytail bounces against her neck, how her waist narrows before flaring into those hips. I imagine my hands gripping them, pulling her back against me.
My cock stirs, growing uncomfortably hard against my jeans. I adjust myself discreetly, grateful for the cover of early evening shadows.
She’s in my blood. Every night, she takes over—face, voice, body—and I give in like a man with no control. I haven’t jerked off this much since I was a teenager. Three times yesterday alone. Once in the station bathroom between calls.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m thirty-two, a professional with a mission—and yet here I am, following a woman I barely know, hard just from watching her walk.
She pauses at a corner, checking her phone.
The streetlight catches her profile—full lips, the delicate curve of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest. My fingers twitch with the memory of how her skin felt.
How it would feel to trace those same fingers down her throat, between her breasts, lower. ..
I clench my jaw and force myself to focus. This isn’t about sex. I’m here to determine if she needs my protection.
She veers right at the next intersection, heading toward a commercial strip.
I hang back, cutting through a parallel alleyway before emerging half a block behind her.
The fitness center’s neon sign glows against the darkening sky.
Elite Training Center. It appears to be a mid-range gym with tinted windows and a sleek frontage.
Morgan stops outside the entrance. She checks her watch, shifts her weight nervously. Waiting for someone.
I duck into a recessed doorway of the closed vintage clothing shop next door, sliding behind a decorative pillar. From here, I can see her without being spotted. She looks... nervous. Fingers twisting the strap of her gym bag, eyes darting to each person who walks past.
Five minutes pass. Ten. She’s still waiting, still anxious.
Then a tall woman with long golden hair approaches her. I recognize her from the party—the one who gave me Morgan’s insurance card.
Morgan’s posture relaxes instantly. “Basia!” she calls out. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
Basia pulls Morgan into a quick hug. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught in that mess on Fifth Street.” She steps back. “You ready for self-defense class? Apparently, we’ll be focusing on escapes from holds today.”
My jaw clenches so hard I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek. Of course.
The pieces fall into place with nauseating clarity. The way she startles at sudden movements. She constantly scans her surroundings. The panic attack at the work Christmas party.
Someone hurt her. And whoever it was left scars deeper than any I could see when I was treating her.
My hands curl into fists. I know her type of damage. I’ve seen it so many times before. And the scumbag who caused it is exactly the kind of man I like to target.
I pull out my phone and call Ethan. He picks up on the third ring.
“What’s up?” His voice is muffled, probably has an energy drink pressed to his face.
“I’ve got a target. Need you to look into it.” I keep my voice low, though I’m far enough away that Morgan and her friend can’t hear me. “You home?”
Ethan snorts. “When am I not home? The sun burns my delicate programmer skin.”
“Your pasty ass could use some vitamin D.”
“That’s what supplements are for. Besides, I went outside yesterday to get the mail.”
“Congratulations. Want a medal?” I start walking back toward Morgan’s apartment building, where I left my car. “I need everything you can find on someone. Moved here about five years ago from two states away.”
“Running from something?”
“Someone,” I correct him. “That’s what I need you to find out.”
Keyboard clicks punctuate the silence. Ethan’s already at it. “Name?”
“Morgan Cole.” The syllables feel intimate on my tongue. “Works at Aegis Ironclad Insurance.”
“The asthma girl from the other night?”
I tense. “How’d you know that?”
“Because you texted me to run her basic info four days ago at two AM. Jesus, Damien, take a cold shower.”
“It’s not like that.” I don’t even believe my own words.
“Sure, it isn’t. I’ll have something by the time you get here.”
I reach my car and slide into the driver’s seat. “I’m on my way. Dig deep on this one, E. Social media, previous addresses, old boyfriends. Just find what you can.” I start the engine. “And order some food. I’m starving.”
“Your wish is my command, oh mighty EMT god.” He hangs up before I can respond.
I pull away from the curb, wondering how her self-defense class is going. Too little, too late. But I can do what she can’t.
I’ll find him. And I’ll teach him what fear feels like.
Once I get to Ethan’s building, I find a parking space in the underground car park and get out. I ride the elevator up to the penthouse apartment on the thirty-second floor, scanning my fingerprint on the biometric reader to gain access.
I hammer on Ethan’s door three times, the sound echoing down the marble hallway.
The lock clicks with a sophisticated electronic hum, and the reinforced door swings open.
I push past him. “What’d you find?”
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” Ethan shuts the door.
“Sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, realizing how manic I must look. “What’d you find on Morgan?”
Ethan gestures to his workspace—three massive monitors surrounded by empty Red Bull cans. “Chinese is on the counter. I got your usual.”
I grab a container of beef and broccoli and chopsticks, shoveling some into my mouth as Ethan drops into his chair. The wheels squeak as he rolls back to his keyboard.
“I dug through everything I could find on Morgan Cole.” He pulls up a series of documents. “Credit history, employment records, social media, the works.”
“And?”
“And I found something interesting.” His voice loses the sarcastic edge. “So we know she lived in Connecticut before moving here. She’s been in town for five years now, yeah?”
He clicks through her credit card statements. “But here’s something weird—she bought a bus ticket to New Haven two nights ago. It leaves on the 23rd, returns on the 26th.”
I frown. “She’s going back? Does she have family there?”
Ethan types a bit more. “Yes, her parents still live in Madison as far as I can tell. So, no doubt a holiday visit, but it’s the first time she’s returned since moving here, at least according to her records.”
I take another bite of beef and broccoli, mind racing. “What else did you find?”
“Three hospital visits in New Haven over two years before she relocated. Broken wrist. Concussion. Two cracked ribs.”
The food turns to ash in my mouth. I set the container down.
“Police reports?” I inquire.
“Filed twice. Dropped twice.” Ethan swivels to face me. “Classic pattern, man.”
I feel my pulse in my temples throb harder. “Who?”
“Marco Delacruz.” Ethan pulls up a mugshot on the left monitor. “Her boyfriend for nearly three years. The pattern starts about six months in. Classic escalation timeline.”
I step closer to the screen, studying the face of the man who hurt Morgan. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, dark eyes with the dead look I’ve seen in so many predators. The kind of conventionally handsome that probably helped him charm his way out of consequences.
“What’s his record look like?” I ask, my voice unnaturally calm even as heat spreads through my chest.
Ethan clicks through several windows. “Impressive rap sheet. Domestic disturbance calls at three different addresses before Morgan. Charges filed by Jessica Winters in 2015, dropped a week later. Restraining order filed by Alyssa Chen in 2016, expired and never renewed.”
My jaw tightens. “Where is he now? Did he do time for what he did to Morgan?”
“Nope. All charges dropped.” Ethan glances up at me.
“What’s he doing now?”
“He’s still in Madison, as far as I can tell. Works construction.” Ethan’s expression darkens. “Here’s where it gets interesting. His last girlfriend, Tanya Loman, died about a year ago. The official cause was complications from a miscarriage, but...”
“But what?”
“Hospital records show she came in multiple times before that with injuries consistent with abuse. The doctors suspected the miscarriage itself might have been caused by physical trauma.”
My hands curl into fists. “Let me guess—no charges filed.”
“Not one.” Ethan clicks through more files. “Since then, he hasn’t seemed to latch onto another target. But here’s the really concerning part—”
He pulls up a series of search records. “I dug into his digital footprint. The guy regularly searches for Morgan online. Every couple of weeks, like clockwork. He looks at her social media profiles even though she’s got everything locked down. He’s keeping tabs on her from afar.”
Deadly certainty settles in my bones. “So, he’s not truly let go.”
“Seems that way. And with her heading back to Madison...” Ethan trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.
I stare at the screen, thoughts forming. “When did you say Morgan’s bus leaves for New Haven?”
“The 23rd. Returns the 26th.” Ethan narrows his eyes at me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m off for four days over Christmas. I was going to spend it with Killian and Emily, but...” I trail off, mind already mapping routes to Connecticut.
“Oh no. Damien, don’t even think about it.”
I straighten up. “I need everything on him. Address, workplace, hangouts, routine. Everything.”
Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Whoa there, Avenger. You’re really worked up about this one.”
“When am I not worked up about a mark?”
“Don’t even try, man.” He cracks open another energy drink. “I’ve been your personal cyber-stalker for what, three years now? Never seen you this intense about one of your targets.”
I pace across his cluttered living room. “She had a severe panic attack at a fucking Christmas party.”
“Right.” Ethan nods slowly, exaggerating the motion. “And you’re definitely not requesting this intel because you’ve been obsessing over her since that Christmas party. Your texts were descriptive.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I just asked for a background check.”
“At two in the morning. With three follow-up messages about how she looked vulnerable but resilient.” He mimics my voice. “Just admit it—you’ve got a thing for this damsel in distress.”
“She’s not some fragile damsel—she’s rebuilding. Every self-defense class, every glance over her shoulder, is proof.”
Ethan holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. Not a damsel. Just a hot chick you want to bang who happens to have an abusive ex you can conveniently eliminate. Two birds, one stone, right?”
My hands clench into fists. “That’s not what this is.”
“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” He turns back to his screens. “Though based on those dark circles under your eyes, not much is helping in that department lately.”
He doesn’t understand. This isn’t just about attraction. It’s something deeper that started when I saw that terror in her eyes and recognized it.
“Just find everything you can on Delacruz,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Standard procedure.”
Ethan types rapidly but throws me a sideways glance. “Nothing standard about the way you’re acting, D. But hey, I get it—she’s hot, you’re single, playing hero might get you laid.”
If only it were that simple.