Chapter 7
Nora woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Carson’s voice in the other room, low and authoritative as he talked on the phone.
For a moment, she lay in the unfamiliar bed, disoriented. Then reality settled over her like a weight. She was at Carson’s apartment. Her own apartment had been destroyed. Someone had written FOUND YOU on her bedroom wall.
Eugene was looking for her.
And Carson was out there, already working, already fighting to keep her safe.
She pulled herself out of bed and padded to the bathroom, catching her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair a mess. She looked like someone running from danger.
Because she was.
Nora splashed water on her face and tried to pull herself together. She couldn’t fall apart. Couldn’t be a burden. Carson was already doing too much—letting her stay here, protecting her, putting his career at risk.
The least she could do was not be a complete mess.
She changed into jeans and a soft green sweater, then ventured out into the main living space. Carson stood at the kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear, his back to her. Even from behind, she could see the tension in his shoulders.
“I don’t care what his lawyer says,” Carson said into the phone. “Get me that warrant. Find a judge who’ll sign it. Eugene broke into her apartment last night—that’s escalation, that’s intent.” A pause. “No, she’s secure. She’s...” His voice dropped lower. “She’s safe. That’s all that matters.”
Something in Nora’s chest warmed at the fierce protectiveness in his tone.
Carson ended the call and turned, stopping when he saw her. “Hey. I was trying not to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I should be up anyway.” She gestured to the coffee pot. “Can I?”
“Help yourself. Mugs are in the cabinet above.”
Nora poured herself a cup, hyperaware of Carson watching her. The kitchen felt smaller with both of them in it. More intimate.
“Any news?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Judge is considering the search warrant for Eugene’s apartment. Should have an answer by this afternoon.” Carson leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Until then, I need you to stay here. Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t answer the door. Don’t—”
“I know the rules.” She took a sip of coffee. “Stay invisible. Stay safe. Wait.”
“I know it’s hard.”
“It’s necessary.” Nora met his eyes. “I get it. I just...I hate feeling helpless. Like I’m hiding while you do all the work.”
“You’re not helpless. You’re smart. You trusted your instincts, you reported what was happening, you’re taking precautions. That takes courage.”
The compliment made her face warm. “I don’t feel very courageous. I feel scared and isolated and like my entire life has been turned upside down by some guy I’ve never even had a real conversation with.”
Carson’s jaw clenched. “When I get the warrant, when I search his place and find evidence—and I will find evidence—he’s going away for a long time. I’ll make sure of it.”
There was something dark in his voice. Something almost dangerous. It should have scared her.
Instead, it made her feel protected. Valued. Like someone was finally on her side, willing to fight for her.
“Thank you,” Nora said softly. “For everything. For believing me, for protecting me, for...” She gestured around the apartment. “For all of this. I know it’s not protocol. I know you’re taking risks.”
“You’re worth the risk.”
The words hung between them, heavier than they should be. More meaningful.
Nora’s pulse quickened. “Carson—”
“I need to make some calls,” he said abruptly, straightening. “About the case. You’ll be okay out here for a bit?”
She recognized the deflection for what it was. Him pulling back. Maintaining distance.
But she’d seen the way he looked at her. Heard the roughness in his voice when he’d said she was worth the risk.
This wasn’t just professional. Not for either of them.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
Carson nodded and disappeared into what she assumed was his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Nora stood alone in his kitchen, coffee growing cold in her hands, wondering how long they could keep pretending this was just about the case.
***
By noon, Nora was going stir-crazy.
She’d tried working on her laptop, but couldn’t focus. Tried reading a book on her phone, but the words blurred together. Tried watching TV, but every show felt frivolous compared to the danger lurking outside these walls.
She ended up pacing the living room, restless energy building with nowhere to go.
Carson emerged from his bedroom, laptop under his arm. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just...restless.”
He studied her for a moment, then set his laptop on the dining table. “Come here.”
Nora approached cautiously. Carson pulled up a chair and gestured for her to sit.
“What are we doing?”
“You said you hate feeling helpless. So don’t be helpless. Help me with the case.”
He turned his laptop screen toward her. A document filled with names, dates, connections—everything he’d compiled on Eugene.
“I need to find the pattern,” Carson said. “Eugene’s been targeting women in your building for at least eighteen months. But I think it goes back further. I think he’s been doing this for years, in different places, under different names.”
Nora leaned closer, scanning the document. “How do I help?”
“You’re an accountant. You see patterns in numbers, in data. Look at this.” He pulled up a spreadsheet. “These are the women I’ve identified so far who might be Eugene’s victims. Different buildings, different cities, but all in Washington state. All within a two-hour drive of Blackridge.”
Nora studied the spreadsheet. Eight women, spanning five years. Each one had reported similar incidents—feeling watched, things moved, unexplained intrusions. Each one had eventually moved or broken their lease.
“The timing,” she said slowly. “He stays at each building for about six to eight months, then moves on. Like he’s cycling through locations.”
“Exactly. But why? What’s the pattern?”
Nora pulled the laptop closer, her analytical mind engaging despite her fear. She added columns, reorganized data, looked for connections.
“They all worked in finance or accounting,” she said after a few minutes. “Look—this woman was a bank teller. This one worked for an insurance company. This one was a CPA.”
Carson leaned over her shoulder, so close she could feel his warmth. “He’s targeting women in financial professions.”
“Because of what happened to his father. The embezzlement. He blames accountants for his dad’s arrest and suicide.” Nora kept typing, pulling up more information. “And look at this—three of these women worked for companies that were clients of Morrison & Associates.”
“Your firm.”
“My firm.” The realization made her stomach turn. “He’s been targeting women connected to the firm that fired his father. Building up to me.”
Carson’s hand landed on her shoulder, grounding. “You’re brilliant. This is exactly what I needed.”
The praise shouldn’t have mattered so much. But it did. Because for the first time in days, Nora felt useful. Capable. Like she was doing something instead of just being a victim.
“Let me keep digging,” she said. “There might be more connections we’re missing.”
Carson squeezed her shoulder once, then moved to grab his phone. “I’m calling Finn. If you’re right about this pattern, we can predict where Eugene might have been before Blackridge. Find more victims, more evidence.”
He stepped away to make the call, and Nora dove deeper into the data. This was what she was good at—finding patterns, connecting dots, making sense of chaos through numbers and analysis.
She could do this. She could help catch the man who’d terrorized her.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Nora felt a flicker of hope.
***
They worked together for hours, Nora at the laptop, Carson on his phone coordinating with other detectives. The afternoon sun shifted across the living room, and somewhere along the way, the distance between them shrank.
Carson would lean over her shoulder to point at something on the screen. Nora would turn to ask a question and find him inches away. Their hands would brush when reaching for the same document.
Small touches. Accidental proximity. The kind of tension that built slowly, degree by degree, until the air felt charged.
Around four PM, Nora’s stomach growled loudly.
Carson looked up from his phone. “When did you last eat?”
“Breakfast. The toast you made.”
“That was twelve hours ago.” He stood, pocketing his phone. “I’m making you lunch.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do. You can’t help solve this case if you pass out from hunger.” He moved to the kitchen, opening cabinets. “How do you feel about grilled cheese?”
“I feel very positive about grilled cheese.”
Nora closed the laptop and joined him in the kitchen, watching as he pulled out bread and cheese with efficient movements. He’d rolled up his sleeves at some point, and she found herself staring at his forearms—strong and corded with muscle, with a thin scar running along his left wrist.
“How’d you get that?” she asked, gesturing to the scar.
Carson glanced down. “Knife fight. Three years ago. Suspect didn’t want to be arrested.”
“Did you catch him?”
“Eventually.” He buttered bread with careful precision. “After he stabbed me and ran. I chased him for six blocks before Finn tackled him.”
“You chased him after being stabbed?”
“It was just a scratch.” But the way he said it—dismissive, like getting stabbed was no big deal—told Nora everything about how Carson Black operated.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t give up. Not even when he was bleeding.
“You’re kind of intense, you know that?” she said.
A smile almost touched his mouth. “I’ve been told.”
“Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? Because you’re too intense?”
The question came out before she could stop it. Too personal. Too probing.