16. Maggie
MAGGIE
I’m so frustrated with the growing security around me that I nearly throw my phone across the shelter office after Alexei sends another vague text refusing to explain what’s actually happening.
Alexei: Be careful today.
That’s all he says. He doesn’t explain the strange men circling the shelter, or why unfamiliar cars keep showing up outside Mama’s diner. He doesn’t say why armed men, pretending to be regular people, appear every time I leave Second Chance Savannah.
Just be careful.
I stare at the text while irritation burns through me hard enough to make my jaw ache.
Outside the office window, the morning sunlight shines through the old oak trees lining the street while volunteers carry donation boxes through the front courtyard.
Someone laughs near the kennels. Dogs bark loud enough to echo down the hallway.
On a good day, all this familiar noise would calm me right away. Today, every sound grates against my nerves. Even here, inside the shelter that’s always been my safe place, I don’t feel alone anymore.
“You keep glarin’ at that phone like it insulted your entire bloodline,” Jules says from the doorway.
I glance up to find him balancing two iced coffees in one hand while a clipboard rests beneath his arm.
“He refuses to answer me.”
“Oh honey, I could’ve told you that before caffeine.” Jules hands me a coffee before leaning one shoulder against the frame. “Men like Alexei don’t explain things until they absolutely have to.”
“That’s not comfortin’.”
Jules takes a long sip of his iced coffee. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
I take a sip of mine, letting the cold coffee cut through the frustration clawing at my chest. Then I glance out the office window again, and my irritation flares up.
The same black SUV from yesterday is parked across the street under the hanging Spanish moss.
It’s far enough away that most people wouldn’t notice, but close enough that I spot it right away.
Jules notices my expression change before I say anything. “Still there?”
“Mhmm.”
“Well bless their hearts,” he mutters. “At least they’re committed.”
The SUV pulls away almost right after, as if the driver knew we were watching.
It makes my skin crawl. The problem is the constant feeling of being watched without ever fully knowing which vehicles belong to Alexei and which belong to the people circling closer around us.
Every unfamiliar face makes me wonder now, and every parked car catches my attention.
And I’m getting real tired of feeling nervous in the one place that’s always felt safe to me.
I hate it. I hate even more that I’m already starting to get used to it. And the morning keeps getting worse.
The first suspicious call comes shortly after ten. A man with a smooth voice asks whether I personally oversee weekend adoptions, and as I start explaining our process, his questions move entirely away from animals.
“What time do you usually leave?”
“Do you work late often?”
“Are evenings busy there?”
I hang up without answering the rest of his questions, then stare at the receiver uneasily.
The second call arrives less than an hour later—different voice, different number, same questions. By lunchtime, my patience has worn paper-thin.
“This is insane,” I mutter while dropping paperwork onto the desk.
Jules glances up from the volunteer schedule. “You know what really concerns me?”
“The stalkin’?”
“The lack of creativity.” He waves his pen in the air. “At least pretend to ask about a Labrador before investigatin’ your schedule. Lord have mercy.”
I almost smile, but then another volunteer hurries into the office, looking so nervous that anxiety gets a hold of me.
Carrie twists her hands together. “Maggie?”
Every muscle in my body braces automatically. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened exactly.” She swallows hard. “I just thought it felt weird.”
I exchange a look with Jules. That sentence has become the theme of my life lately.
“What felt weird?” I ask carefully.
“There was a man outside earlier asking questions about the adoption event.” Carrie hesitates. “Then he asked which nights you usually stay here alone.”
Jules straightens beside me, all traces of humor disappearing from his face. “What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Expensive clothes maybe?” She shakes her head uncertainly. “Honestly, he looked normal except for the questions.”
That almost makes it worse. Predators rarely look dangerous at first glance.
“Did you tell him anythin’ specific?” I ask gently.
“Oh, absolutely not.” Carrie looks horrified. “I just said schedules change.”
“Good.”
She leaves a minute later, but the tension in the office doesn’t go away. I lean back against the desk and run a hand through my hair as the anxiety builds. Things are getting worse fast.
Jules watches me before speaking. “Have you told Alexei about the calls?”
“He won’t tell me anythin’ useful even when I ask directly.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I exhale hard. “Kind of. I told him about one of them.”
“You probably should tell him about all of them,” Jules urges.
“I know.”
Except frustration keeps tangling with concern every time I think about calling him.
Part of me understands why Alexei refuses to explain everything.
Men like Alexei don’t walk through life waiting for bad things to happen.
They walk around expecting them. I know that, at least in my head.
But emotionally, I’m getting tired of everyone making decisions for me while pretending it’s for my own protection.
The afternoon drags on. Volunteers prepare for the adoption event while dogs bark nonstop from the kennels.
Somebody accidentally drops an entire container of tennis balls across the hallway floor and three puppies immediately lose their minds chasing them while Jules yells empty threats about workers’ compensation and emotional trauma.
Most days, I’d laugh. Not today. Today, every unfamiliar face makes me tense.
Around three o’clock, I step into the office and notice Jules’s iced coffee abandoned beside the computer. My stomach drops immediately. Jules doesn’t abandon caffeine voluntarily.
I grab my phone and call him, but the call goes straight to voicemail. Terror pounds hard enough in my chest to make it ache. I start freaking out. I call him again. No answer, straight to voicemail.
I’m on the verge of a breakdown when he walks through the shelter doors looking overheated and irritated. I nearly launch myself across the lobby toward him.
“Where were you?”
His eyebrows lift. “Well hello to you too.”
“Jules.”
He exhales heavily before motioning toward the office. Once the door closes behind us, he drags a hand through his hair and finally says, “I followed somebody.”
Pure horror moves through me. “You what?!” I whisper scream.
“The same guy who’s been outside the shelter three separate times this week.” He lowers his voice. “I wanted to know where he went.”
“You followed a suspicious man through downtown Savannah by yourself?”
He waves one hand like I’m being ridiculous. “I wasn’t tryin’ to tackle him in an alley, Maggie.”
“That’s not the point.” I fold my arms tightly across my chest while panic pounds harder beneath my ribs. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”
Jules’s expression becomes gentle. “Oh honey.”
“I mean it.” Emotion clogs my throat unexpectedly. “You have no idea who these people are.”
“I know exactly who they probably are,” he says quietly. “That’s why I followed him.”
I stare at him helplessly because beneath all the frustration and panic sits another realization neither of us says out loud. This danger is no longer circling only Ivy and me anymore. It’s reaching everybody close to me now. Jules included.
He steps closer and squeezes my shoulders gently. “I only followed him a few blocks. He headed toward River Street and disappeared in traffic before I could see where he went.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Believe me, my survival instincts kicked in eventually.”
Outside, late-afternoon sunlight bathes the sidewalk as tourists wander through Savannah, unaware. Meanwhile, my whole life feels like it’s tipping sideways, one unsettling detail at a time.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
“You hate not knowin’,” Jules points out.
“Yes.”
“And you hate that Alexei refuses to let you fully inside whatever’s happenin’.”
That one stings, because under all the anxiety is another feeling I don’t entirely know what to do with.
Hurt.
It’s not that Alexei owes me every secret. It’s that this danger keeps getting closer, and he keeps standing between me and the truth.
Jules rubs my arm gently. “For what it’s worth, that man looks at you like he’d burn the whole damn world down before lettin’ anybody touch you.” He sighs deeply. “And so would I, honey.”
My stomach clenches because deep down, I already know. That’s exactly what scares me.
I glance out the office window again at volunteers setting up tents. Somewhere down the hallway, one of the puppies starts shrieking with excitement over absolutely nothing. I feel like my nerves got stretched too tight sometime during the last two days, and I’m praying they don’t snap.
Jules expression softens even more. “Mags.”
I exhale and drag both hands down my face. “I’m tired, Jules.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean really tired.” I lean back against the desk, struggling to take a deep breath. “I hate walkin’ around blind. Every conversation feels half-finished lately, like people keep hidin’ pieces from me because they think I can’t handle them.”
Jules goes quiet, which tells me he’s more worried than he wants me to see.
“There’s more,” I admit.
His eyes narrow. “What do you mean more?”
I push away from the desk and start pacing the small room, hugging myself tight.
“Maggie.”
“I didn’t tell you yesterday because everythin’ already felt insane enough,” I admit. “But after the break-in…” I let out a small breath. “I found one of Ivy’s drawings inside my mailbox.”
His forehead creases instantly. “What do you mean?”