Chapter 18
Izzy sat curled in the passenger seat of Mitch’s truck, her arms hugging her waist so tightly it felt like the only thing holding her together.
Her heartbeat hadn't slowed, not even after Mitch had gotten there and wrapped her in those strong, steady arms. That brief moment of safety was already fading, replaced by the memory of the figure in the alley and the voice that had carved a warning straight into her bones.
Stop digging.
She hadn’t even realized how deeply she’d gone. She wasn’t an investigator; she arranged flowers. But somehow, she’d stirred up something ugly. Something dangerous.
Mitch’s truck rolled to a stop in his driveway, and she barely registered the motion until he shut off the engine and came around to open her door. She slid out like a ghost, numb and silent.
Inside, the familiar scent of him, clean soap, coffee, and a hint of pine, grounded her more than anything else had all day.
He locked the door behind them and handed her a glass of water.
She took it, her hands trembling so badly some of it sloshed over the rim.
He didn’t say anything. Just pressed a light touch to the small of her back and guided her to the couch.
“I’m going to do another sweep outside,” he said softly. “Won’t be long.”
She nodded, clutching the glass like a lifeline. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, the floodgates opened.
Tears spilled over, silent and hot. She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound, but it didn’t stop the shaking. She hated how scared she felt, how powerless. She hadn’t cried when the shop was vandalized. She hadn’t cried when the funeral flowers were ruined. But this?
This had been personal. Deliberate. That person had waited for her. Watched her.
She was being hunted, and she didn’t even know why.
After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes and stood, needing to move.
To do something. Her gaze landed on the bag she’d brought from the shop; inside were delivery slips, invoices, anything she thought might help Mitch piece this together.
Her fingers skimmed through them absently… until one caught her attention.
It didn’t match the others.
The handwriting was uneven. The ink was smeared slightly, like it had been written in a rush. The supplier was Clearway Supply , a name she didn’t recognize. And it was time-stamped for 11:37 a.m. yesterday.
But no one had come at that time. No deliveries. No drop-offs. No memory of seeing anyone.
Her heart lurched. A chill raced down her spine.
She pulled out her phone with shaking fingers and texted Mitch:
Do you recognize ‘Clearway Supply’? There’s a slip for a delivery we never received.
His reply came almost instantly.
Never heard of it. I'll be right in.
She padded quietly to her bedroom. She changed her clothes.
Even though it was in the nineties outside, she was chilled.
She pulled on a loose sweater and a pair of jeans.
She heard the door open and shut, and jumped behind the door for a moment.
She peered around the door frame to see Mitch walking from the living room to the kitchen.
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped from her room and met him at the dining room table.
She handed him the slip wordlessly. He examined it, turning it over in his hand.
He typed into his computer and read his screen before he said anything. “This is a fake,” he muttered. “Not only is the supplier unknown, but this isn’t your handwriting. And it sure as hell isn’t Ms. Jillie’s either, is it?”
"No."
His lips turned down for a moment as he stared at the slip. "I'll get this to Jayson. Where did you find it?"
Izzy’s mouth went dry. “It was on my desk. Why forge a delivery slip?”
Mitch’s jaw clenched. “To create an excuse to be there. Whoever wrote this wanted to appear like they belonged.”
“They could’ve planted something,” she whispered. “Or stolen something. Or...” her voice faltered, “I don't know how it got there.”
He looked up, their eyes locking. “You didn't find anything else?”
She shook her head. "I'll go through everything I brought again."
"I'll call Jayson right now. We'll look at the security videos and see when this person came into the shop."
She cleared her throat lightly; there seemed to be a clog in it right now. “I thought this was someone being petty. Someone jealous or angry. But this feels like… like we’re on someone’s radar for a reason I can’t see.”
“You are,” Mitch said quietly. “And I hate that you’re in their crosshairs.”
Her eyes burned again. “I feel like I’m unraveling. Like no matter how hard I try, someone is always one step ahead. And I’m just waiting for the next hit.”
He stepped around the table and pulled her into his arms, this time slower, more deliberate. “You’re not alone in this, Izzy. Not anymore. We’ll use this, this forged slip, to track them down. Every move they make is going to leave a trail. And we’ll follow it.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against him, drawing strength from his certainty.
Because she didn’t have any left of her own.
But maybe… just maybe… with him beside her, she didn’t have to.