Chapter 4
Carson pulled up outside the Starbucks on Fifth and scanned the street, every sense on high alert.
A text threatening Nora. Someone watching her closely enough to know what she was wearing today. This had escalated from concerning to dangerous in the span of a few hours.
He spotted her through the window—hunched over a cup of tea at a corner table, looking small and scared and utterly alone. Something in his chest tightened.
Focus. She’s a victim in a case. That’s all.
But the protective instinct that surged through him felt like more than professional concern. Felt like the same desperate need to shield someone that had consumed him since Lily disappeared.
He couldn’t save his sister. But maybe he could save Nora Bell.
Carson pushed through the door, and Nora’s head snapped up. Relief flooded her face when she saw him, raw and unguarded. Like he was a lifeline in a storm.
“Detective.” She started to stand.
“Stay.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat, keeping his voice low. “Show me the text.”
Her hands shook as she unlocked her phone and slid it across the table. Carson pulled on latex gloves from his jacket pocket before touching it—evidence handling was automatic after nineteen years on the job.
The message stared up at him: You looked beautiful today. The blue sweater is my favorite.
His jaw clenched. The sweater she was wearing right now—pale blue, soft-looking, the kind of thing that probably made her feel safe and comfortable. The stalker knew exactly what she’d worn today. Which meant they’d seen her. Followed her. Watched her.
“When did this come in?” he asked.
“About ten minutes ago. Right after I got here.”
So the stalker knew where she was. Right now. Could be watching them through the window at this very moment.
Carson’s instincts screamed at him to move her somewhere safer, somewhere without windows, somewhere he could control the environment. But first, he needed to secure the evidence.
“I’m going to forward this to my phone,” he said. “Then we’ll contact your carrier, get the number traced. Don’t delete anything.”
“Okay.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He forwarded the message to himself, noting the timestamp, then handed back her phone. “Has this number contacted you before?”
“No. I’ve never seen it.”
“Any other messages? Calls? Emails?”
“Just this.”
Carson pulled out his own phone and called the station. Patterson picked up on the third ring. “Detective?”
“I need an emergency trace on a phone number. Texted a victim in an active stalking case.” He read off the number from Nora’s phone. “Get me a name and location ASAP.”
“On it.”
He ended the call and focused on Nora. She’d wrapped both hands around her teacup as if she needed something to hold onto. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than they’d been at lunch yesterday. She looked exhausted. Terrified.
And she was wearing the blue sweater the stalker had complimented.
“Tell me about your day,” Carson said. “Everywhere you went. Everyone who might have seen you.”
She took a shaky breath and started talking. Work. The weird interaction with her coworker Dan. Lunch with her friend Lila. Therapy appointment. Straight home.
“Your therapist’s office,” Carson said. “Where is it?”
“Downtown. The Harrison Building.”
“Security cameras?”
“I...I don’t know. Maybe?”
He made a note. Someone could have followed her from work to lunch to therapy to home. Could have been watching all day, waiting for the right moment to send that message.
“The photo in your apartment,” he continued. “You’re sure it was moved?”
“Positive.” Her voice was stronger now, more certain. “I never touch that frame. Ever. It’s the last photo of my parents before they died. I keep it exactly the same way, always.”
The conviction in her voice told Carson everything he needed to know. This wasn’t paranoia or anxiety. Someone had been in her apartment.
Which should have been impossible. Her door had been locked. No signs of forced entry.
Unless someone had a key.
“I need to check your apartment,” he said. “Look for signs of entry, dust for prints, see if anything else was disturbed. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. Please.”
“And I need you to think about who might have access to your apartment. Building staff, maintenance, anyone you’ve given a spare key to.”
“I’ve never given anyone a key. I don’t...” She trailed off, her expression crumpling slightly. “I don’t really have anyone to give keys to.”
The loneliness in those words cut deeper than it should have. Carson pushed away the instinct to reach across the table, to offer comfort that would cross professional lines he couldn’t afford to cross.
“Building staff then,” he said. “Who has master keys?”
Her shoulders lifted slightly. “Maintenance, I guess. The security guards. Eugene works nights—he’s always friendly. And there’s a daytime guard, Albert something.”
Eugene. The security guard who’d been too interested in the security footage. The one Carson’s instincts had flagged yesterday.
“I looked into Eugene,” Carson said carefully. “Ran his background. He’s using an alias. Real name isn’t Eugene Morrison. It’s Francis Whitmore.”
Nora’s face paled. “Why would he use a fake name?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out. But until I do, I want you to avoid him. Don’t engage in conversation, don’t let him corner you alone. He has access to your apartment, Nora. He could be our guy.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. “He sees me every day. He—oh God, he knows my schedule. He knows when I leave for work, when I come home...”
“Hey.” Carson kept his voice steady, authoritative. “We’re going to figure this out. But I need you to stay calm and stay smart. Can you do that?”
She nodded, dropping her hand. “What do I do?”
“First, we check your apartment. Then I’m getting you a hotel room for tonight. Somewhere safe, somewhere no one knows about. Tomorrow, we’ll work on next steps. But tonight, you’re not staying in that apartment.”
Relief and something else—gratitude, maybe, or trust—flooded her expression. “Thank you. For believing me. For helping me.”
“It’s my job.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended.
Liar. This stopped being just a job the moment she looked at you with those scared eyes and you wanted to protect her from everything.
He stood abruptly. “Let’s go check your place.”
***
Nora’s apartment was exactly what Carson expected from someone who’d grown up in foster care—minimal, carefully organized, nothing out of place. Every item had a specific spot. Every surface was clean. The kind of order that came from never feeling secure enough to be messy.
It reminded him of his own apartment after Lily disappeared. The way he’d controlled his environment because he couldn’t control anything else.
“Show me the photo,” he said, pulling on fresh gloves.
Nora led him to the bedroom, pointing to the nightstand. “There. That frame.”
Carson examined it carefully. Silver frame, standard size, professional photo of a young couple with a child. The glass was clean. No fingerprints visible, but he’d dust it anyway.
He pulled out his evidence kit and got to work, methodically checking the frame, the nightstand, the surfaces around it. Looking for any trace of whoever had been here.
Nora stood in the doorway, hugging herself. “I sound crazy, don’t I? Getting upset about a photo being turned around.”
“No.” Carson didn’t look up from his work. “You sound like someone who knows her own space. Who pays attention to details. That’s not crazy. That’s smart.”
He moved to the bedroom window, checking the lock. Secure. No scratches or signs of tampering. Same with the door—both the main entrance and the sliding door to the small balcony.
Whoever had gotten in had used a key.
“Your building’s security system,” Carson said, straightening. “The cameras. I reviewed the footage from the parking garage yesterday. There were gaps. Sections that looked erased or corrupted.”
Nora’s eyes widened. “Someone tampered with them?”
“That’s what it looks like. Which means either someone with technical skills hacked the system, or someone with access to the security room deleted footage.” He paused. “Eugene has that access.”
“Oh God.”
Carson watched her process this information, saw the fear and realization wash over her face. She was smart. She’d already connected the dots.
“I need you to pack a bag,” he said. “Enough for a few days. I’m getting you out of here tonight.”
“Where?”
“Hotel. I’ll arrange it. Somewhere off the grid, paid in cash, no paper trail.”
She moved to her closet, pulling out a small suitcase. “This feels surreal. Like I’m running from something I can’t even see.”
“You’re being smart. Cautious. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Carson continued processing the scene while she packed.
Dusting for prints, photographing everything, documenting the layout.
By the time he finished, his phone buzzed with a text from Patterson: Number came back to a burner phone.
Purchased with cash three days ago at a convenience store on Maple. No cameras. Dead end.
Of course. Their stalker was careful. Organized. This wasn’t some impulsive obsession. This was planned.
Which made Nora even more vulnerable.
“Ready?” she asked, wheeling her suitcase to the door.
Carson looked at her—this small, scared woman who’d had the courage to report her fears despite no one believing her. Who’d grown up without anyone to protect her and still managed to trust him with her safety.
Something fierce and protective surged through him. Something that had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with the way she looked at him like he could keep her safe.
Don’t. Don’t get attached. Don’t make this personal.
But it already was personal. Had been since the moment she’d sat across from him in that coffee shop and said everyone thought she was crazy.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”
***