Chapter 6
Carson’s apartment was exactly what he’d left it that morning—sparse, functional, devoid of anything that might reveal who he actually was.
Which was exactly the problem.
He stood in the doorway with Nora behind him, suddenly seeing his space through her eyes. The bare walls. The minimalist furniture. The single photo on the bookshelf—him and his dad at his police academy graduation, both trying to smile despite Lily’s absence haunting every family moment.
The place looked like a man who didn’t let himself get comfortable. Who didn’t put down roots. Who kept everything temporary because permanent meant vulnerable.
“It’s not much,” Carson said, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. “But it’s secure. Dead bolts, reinforced locks, security system on all entry points.”
Nora wheeled her suitcase inside, looking around. “It’s fine. Better than fine. Thank you for letting me stay here.”
Letting her. As if he’d had a choice. As if the moment she’d said she trusted him, something in his chest hadn’t cracked open and demanded he keep her close.
“Guest room’s down the hall,” he said, gesturing. “Bathroom’s next to it. Kitchen’s open if you get hungry. I’ll be working from here mostly—laptop set up at the dining table.”
“I don’t want to be in your way.”
“You’re not.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended. He forced his voice to soften. “I want you here. Where I know you’re safe.”
Their eyes met, and Carson felt that dangerous pull again. The one that had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with the way she looked at him—like he was someone worth trusting. Someone who could protect her.
Someone who wouldn’t fail.
He broke eye contact first. “Let me show you the room.”
***
By the time Carson got Nora settled and ran through the security protocols—don’t answer the door, keep her phone charged, his number on speed dial—it was nearly five PM. His phone had been buzzing nonstop with messages from the station.
He pulled it out once Nora disappeared into the guest room to unpack. Three texts from Patterson, two from Finn, one from Captain Holloway.
Holloway’s was the most direct: My office. Tomorrow morning. 8 AM sharp.
Great. Another lecture about boundaries and professional conduct. About how bringing a victim to stay in his apartment crossed about fifteen different lines.
But what choice did he have? The hotel had been compromised. Someone had tipped off Eugene. And until Carson figured out who was feeding information to the stalker, Nora needed to be somewhere completely off the grid.
Here. With him.
Where he could watch over her. Protect her. Make sure nothing happened.
Where you can blur every professional boundary you’ve ever had, a voice in his head added. Where you can pretend this is just about the case and not about the way she looks at you.
Carson shoved the thought away and focused on Patterson’s texts: Eugene’s lawyer is stonewalling. Won’t let us search his apartment without a warrant. Judge denied it—insufficient evidence.
Finn pulled Eugene’s phone records. Nothing unusual. Either he’s using burners or he’s not our guy.
Captain wants to know why you took the victim to your apartment. FYI.
Carson swore under his breath. Of course Holloway knew. The man had eyes everywhere in the department.
He was typing a response when Nora emerged from the guest room, looking uncertain.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Fine. Just work stuff.” He pocketed his phone. “You get settled?”
“Yeah. Your guest room is nice. Very...clean.”
Clean. That was one way to describe it. Empty was more accurate. A bed, a dresser, a lamp. Nothing personal. Nothing that made it a home.
Because this apartment wasn’t a home. It was just a place Carson slept between shifts. A holding pattern while he waited for the next case, the next victim to save, the next chance to make up for failing Lily.
“I’m going to make coffee,” he said. “You want some?”
“Please.”
She followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he measured grounds into the ancient coffeemaker. He could feel her watching him. Could sense the questions she wasn’t asking.
“You can ask,” Carson said without turning around.
“Ask what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking so loudly I can practically hear it.”
A small laugh escaped her. “I was just wondering...do you live alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s a lot of nos.”
“I’m not good at relationships.” Carson turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. “I work too much. I get too involved in cases. I’m not great at letting people in.”
“I noticed the photo,” Nora said softly. “You and your dad. At your graduation.”
Carson’s jaw tightened. He didn’t talk about his family. Didn’t let people into that part of his past. But something about the way Nora looked at him—understanding without pity—made the words come easier.
“That was right after I graduated from the academy. Dad was proud. But you can see it in our faces—my sister Lily had been missing for two years by then. Every family moment was shadowed by her absence.”
“I’m sorry.” Nora’s voice was gentle. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“It’s like having a wound that never heals. You learn to function around it, but it’s always there.” He crossed his arms, defensive. “That’s why I became a cop. Why I push so hard on cases like yours. If I can’t save Lily, maybe I can save someone else’s sister. Someone else’s daughter.”
“Someone else,” Nora repeated quietly. “Is that all I am to you? Just another victim to save?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Carson met her eyes and saw the vulnerability there. The need to understand what this was between them.
He should lie. Should tell her yes, she was just a case. Keep the boundaries clear. Stay professional.
But looking at her—standing in his kitchen, trusting him with her safety, asking him to be honest—he couldn’t do it.
“No,” he admitted. “You’re not just another victim.”
“Then what am I?”
Those doe-like eyes took hold of him completely, and Carson felt the internal pull to cross the room and take her into his arms—
The coffeemaker beeped, breaking the moment. Carson shifted gears fluidly and turned to pour two mugs, buying himself time to figure out what the hell to say.
What was Nora Bell to him? A victim he was protecting. A woman who made him feel things he shouldn’t feel. Someone who looked at him like he was worth believing in.
Someone dangerous to his carefully controlled life.
“You’re someone I don’t want to see hurt,” Carson said finally, turning and handing her a mug. “Someone I’m going to make sure stays safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
It wasn’t the whole truth. But it was all he could give her.
***
They ate dinner at Carson’s small dining table—Chinese takeout he ordered from a place that didn’t deliver, that required him to pick it up himself so there’d be no record of his address.
Paranoid? Maybe. But someone had tipped off Eugene. Someone knew more than they should. And until Carson figured out who, he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Tell me about the other women,” Nora said, picking at her lo mein. “You said three others in my building reported feeling watched.”
Carson had been hoping to avoid this conversation until he had more information. But she deserved to know.
“I talked to them this afternoon before I picked you up,” he said. “Two were willing to talk. The third moved out of state last month—her friend said she was ‘spooked’ but wouldn’t say why.”
Nora set down her fork. “What did the other two say?”
“Same story as yours. Feeling watched. Things moved in their apartments. Reporting it to building security and being told it was nothing.” Carson pulled out his phone and opened his notes.
“Avery Shone, 27, apartment 3B. She lived there for eight months before she broke her lease and moved. Said Eugene gave her ‘creepy vibes’ but couldn’t articulate why. ”
“And the second woman?”
“Jessica Brown, 31, apartment 5D. Still lives there. She filed three reports with building security about someone being in her apartment while she was at work. Eugene investigated each time, found nothing, told her she must have forgotten locking up.”
Nora had gone pale. “How many women?”
“That I found? Three besides you. But I’m betting there are more who didn’t report it. Who convinced themselves they were being paranoid.”
“Oh God.” Nora pressed her hands to her face. “This isn’t just about me. He’s been doing this to multiple women.”
“That’s what it looks like.” Carson’s voice hardened. “Which means Eugene has a pattern. A system. And that makes him even more dangerous.”
“But you can’t prove it’s him.”
“Not yet. His lawyer blocked the search warrant. Without physical evidence—the cameras, proof he was in the apartments—I can’t touch him.
” Frustration burned in Carson’s chest. “But I’m working on it.
Finn’s pulling every piece of data he can find.
Phone records, financial records, anything that might give us leverage. ”
Nora dropped her hands, and Carson saw the fear in her eyes. “What if you can’t prove it? What if he just keeps doing this?”
“I’ll prove it.” Carson leaned forward, holding her gaze. “I promise you, Nora. I’m going to get this bastard. One way or another.”
There was that word again. Promise. The one Holloway had warned him not to use.
But looking at Nora—scared and brave and trusting him despite every reason not to—Carson couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
***
After dinner, Carson set up his laptop at the dining table and dove into the case files while Nora curled up on his couch with her own laptop, working on something for her job.
It felt strangely domestic. Comfortable. As if they’d done this a hundred times before.
Which was exactly the problem.