Chapter 5
Nora woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and forgot, for one blissful moment, why she wasn’t in her own bed.
Then reality crashed back. The hotel. The stalker. The text message about her blue sweater.
Someone watching her. Knowing what she wore. Following her movements.
Nora stared at the messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What could she say? I’m hiding in a hotel because someone’s stalking me and only one person believes me and he’s the intense detective everyone warns me about?
Lila would just worry. Would probably call Dr. Kim. Would suggest Nora increase her medication or take some time off work to “get her head together.”
She set the phone down without responding.
The hotel room was generic and sterile—beige walls, floral bedspread that had probably been here since the nineties, furniture bolted to the floor. But it was safe. No one knew she was here, except Detective Black.
Carson.
His first name felt strange in her mind, too familiar for someone who was just doing his job. But the way he’d looked at her last night—fierce and protective, like he’d physically stand between her and danger—that hadn’t felt like just a job.
That had felt personal.
Nora pushed the thought away as she got out of bed. She couldn’t afford to read too much into his actions. He was helping her because that’s what good cops did. Because he’d known her father. Because he was dedicated to his work.
Not because he felt anything for her beyond professional concern.
Even if the way his jaw had clenched when he’d read that text message had made her stomach flip. Even if his voice had gone rough and protective when he’d promised to catch whoever was doing this. Even if she’d caught him looking at her like—
Stop it.
She couldn’t develop feelings for the detective investigating her case. That was a recipe for disaster. For more heartbreak. For hoping for something that could never happen.
Nora had learned a long time ago not to hope for things she couldn’t have.
She showered quickly, keeping the bathroom door cracked so she could hear if anyone tried to enter the room. The hot water helped ease some of the tension in her shoulders, but it couldn’t wash away the persistent feeling of being watched.
Even here. Even in this anonymous hotel room. She felt eyes on her.
You’re being paranoid. No one knows you’re here.
But her instincts had been right before. About the parking garage. About her apartment. About everything people told her she was imagining.
So if her instincts screamed that she still wasn’t safe, maybe she should listen.
Nora dressed in jeans and a soft gray sweater—nothing bright, nothing memorable. Trying to be invisible. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her phone, willing Carson to call with good news.
The call came at 7:30.
“Nora? It’s Detective Black. How’d you sleep?”
His voice was rough, like he’d been up all night. It sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“Okay,” she lied. She’d barely slept at all, jerking awake at every sound in the hallway. “Did you find anything? About Eugene or the text or—”
“I’m still working on it. But I wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay. Have you eaten?”
The question caught her off guard. When was the last time someone had asked if she’d eaten? Cared about something as basic as whether she was taking care of herself?
“Not yet.”
“There’s a diner two blocks west of the hotel. The Sunrise Cafe. Good food, lots of people, safe. I can meet you there in twenty minutes if you want company.”
If you want company.
The casual offer made her chest ache. She did want company. Desperately. The isolation of this hotel room was suffocating.
“You don’t have to do that,” Nora said automatically. “I’m sure you’re busy—”
“Twenty minutes. Order the French toast. It’s the best in town.”
He hung up before she could argue.
Nora sat there for a moment, phone in hand, feeling something warm and dangerous bloom in her chest. He was going out of his way for her. Making time in his schedule. Checking on her like she mattered.
He’s just being thorough. This is part of the investigation.
But it didn’t feel like just part of the investigation.
It felt like he cared.
***
The Sunrise Cafe was exactly what Carson had promised—bright, busy, the kind of place where families came for weekend breakfast and the waitresses knew everyone’s names.
Nora slid into a booth by the window and ordered coffee, watching the door. Her heart did a stupid little jump when Carson walked in.
He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times. But his eyes scanned the restaurant with automatic precision, cataloging exits and potential threats before he even approached her table.
Always the cop. Always on guard.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “You look better than last night.”
“I look like I slept in a hotel and spent half the night jumping at shadows.”
A smile almost touched his mouth. “Fair enough.”
The waitress appeared with coffee for Carson and took their orders. Nora got the French toast like he’d suggested. Carson ordered eggs and bacon, no toast, extra coffee.
“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” Nora observed when the waitress left.
“I slept some.”
“That’s a lie.”
His eyes met hers, sharp and assessing. “You’re observant.”
“I spent most of my childhood learning to read people. It was a survival skill.” Nora wrapped both hands around her coffee mug. “Foster care teaches you to notice when adults are lying.”
Something shifted in Carson’s expression. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy he was trying to hide.
“Your case file mentioned you grew up in foster care,” he said carefully. “Seven different homes.”
“Eight, actually. They missed one.” Nora took a sip of coffee to avoid his eyes. “I wasn’t an easy kid to place. Quiet. Anxious. Scared of everything. Most families wanted someone...lighter.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I know that now. Took years of therapy to believe it.” She set down her mug. “But it’s why no one believes me when I say something’s wrong. I’ve got a history of anxiety. Of seeing threats that aren’t there. Of not trusting people.”
“Except those threats are real this time.”
The conviction in his voice made her eyes sting. “You really believe that.”
“I know that.” Carson leaned forward slightly. “I ran Eugene’s background deeper last night. Francis Whitmore. His father worked at your accounting firm fifteen years ago. Got fired for embezzlement.”
Nora’s breath caught. “I don’t remember anyone named Whitmore.”
“You wouldn’t. You were still in college. But the firm your father—Francis’ father—worked for? Same one you work for now.”
The pieces clicked together in her mind, forming a picture that made her stomach turn. “You think he’s targeting me because of my company?”
“I think there’s a connection. I just don’t know what it is yet.” Carson’s jaw clenched. “But I’m going to find out.”
The food arrived, and they ate in relative silence. Nora couldn’t taste anything, her mind spinning with this new information. Francis Whitmore. A connection to her company. A reason to target her specifically.
It was real. All of it. Not her imagination. Not her anxiety. Real.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Carson looked up from his eggs. “For what?”
“For not giving up on this. For believing me when everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Nora.” His voice was firm. Final. “And anyone who made you feel that way is wrong.”
The intensity in his eyes made her pulse skip. Made her aware of how close they were across the small table. How his hand was just inches from hers on the worn Formica.
She pulled back slightly, breaking the moment. “What happens now?”
“Now I talk to ‘Eugene.’ Officially. Bring him in for questioning.” Carson’s expression hardened. “And I dig into every aspect of his life until I find what I’m looking for.”
“And if he’s not the one? If it’s someone else?”
“Then I find them too.” He held her gaze. “I meant what I said last night. I’m going to catch whoever’s doing this. I promise.”
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Nora wanted to say. But the certainty in his voice, the determination in his eyes? She believed him.
For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of hope.
***
Carson walked her back to the hotel after breakfast, his hand hovering near the small of her back without quite touching. Protective. Watchful.
“Stay inside today,” he said when they reached her door. “Order room service if you get hungry. Don’t answer the door unless you know it’s me. I’ll call before I come by.”
“How long do I have to hide here?”
“As long as it takes.” His expression softened slightly. “I know it’s hard. But you’re safe here. That’s what matters.”
Nora nodded, fishing her key card from her purse. “Will you tell me? When you talk to Eugene? What he says?”
“I’ll keep you updated. I promise.”
There was that word again. Promise. Like he was binding himself to her with something stronger than professional obligation.
“Carson—” She stopped, not sure what she wanted to say. Thank you seemed insufficient. I trust you seemed too revealing. I’m scared seemed too vulnerable.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. If Eugene is dangerous—”
“I’ve been doing this a long time.” But his expression shifted, something warm flickering in his eyes. “But I appreciate the concern.”
He left, and Nora locked herself in the hotel room, engaging the deadbolt and chain like he’d instructed.
Then she stood in the middle of the room, feeling the walls close in.
This was what safety felt like now. Four walls and a locked door and isolation. No work. No friends. No normal life.
Just waiting for someone to catch the person who’d stolen her sense of security.