Chapter 2
Two
Ava
Eyes on the clock as it shifts another digit, I bump the heater up on the dash and rub my hands together. Despite my cashmere-blend coat and leather gloves, I can’t warm up.
The police left an hour ago. They swept the house top to bottom, but didn’t locate anyone. Their parting advice was the same as last time Reagan stepped onto my property—stay somewhere else tonight.
Only this time, I can’t. Silas Hightower is en route. And I’m not going to call him back and be responsible for him talking and driving. I’ve treated too many patients whose lives changed because of a moment’s distraction on the road.
So I stay where I am—parked across the street, engine running, watching my own house from a distance.
A chill runs down my spine. Is this what he does? Where he sits and watches? Under the old maple tree, beside the fence—hidden from view.
None of the security cameras has ever picked him up. Not one of my neighbors has mentioned seeing him.
He’s a phantom. Not a single footprint left in the snow.
My fingers twist in my lap as I replay the conversation with the police until it’s burned into my working memory: “We’ve documented the birds,” “no one located inside,” “no signs of forced entry,” “stay somewhere safe until your friend arrives.”
Like last time when he put my trash cans back after collection, or the time before that when he salted the pavement outside my front steps, they’re powerless.
A yawn overtakes me, and I know it’s not just fatigue pulling at me. I’ve seen enough acute stress reactions to recognize one when it’s staring back at me.
The shaking, the shallow breaths, the way sound feels too sharp—classic signs. My nervous system has decided we’re still in a threat zone, and no amount of wool coats or heater vents will convince it otherwise.
I knew it before I called Silas Hightower, and the officers’ well-meant reassurances only reinforced it.
Reagan isn’t going to leave me alone unless something—or someone—stops him.
My phone vibrates on the dash. I hug my coat tighter and pray it’s not Johns Hopkins asking me to come in for a stroke alert as I check.
The first deep breath I’ve taken in an hour leaves me as I scan the message lighting up the screen.
Pulled up around the corner. Checking perimeter first. Stay in your car. Doors locked. I’ll come to you in ten.
Relief warms me in a way I’m not ready to examine. He came. Thank you, Lord.
Seconds pass into minutes as I wait for him to appear. When ten minutes slide by with no sign of anyone, doubt steals a little of my confidence.
What if the police missed something? What if Silas—
Rat-a-tap-tap.
With a stifled yelp, I twist in my seat as over six feet of controlled strength—dressed in an elegant black suit and a long wool greatcoat—leans down and raps his knuckles on my passenger window.
How did I not see him?
I hit the unlock switch, and he opens the door and climbs in, bringing with him the icy air outside.
For a moment, my breath flutters as he adjusts his coat, and I catch a glimpse of the weapon holstered at his side.
“Perimeter’s clear,” he says, voice low and certain. His gaze sweeps over me—my hands, my face, the way I’m gripping the wheel. “You okay?”
The question is simple, but it hits the part of my brain still firing in threat mode, steadying it just enough to think.
“I’m fine. Thank you for getting here so fast.”
He nods, eyes locked onto me. Assessing. “Would’ve been sooner, but I hit traffic on I-95 coming down from Philly.”
“That’s where you were when we spoke—Philadelphia? You drove all that way?”
I leave the just to check on me unspoken.
A faint smile flickers at his lips. “You said you needed help.”
My mouth slackens. “I… I…” But it’s no use. I’m not fooling him, and I’m too tired to pretend.
“How about we get a cup of chamomile tea,” he says—quiet, sure, offering steadiness the way other men offer apologies. “Then we plan the next step.”
I blink. “Tea?”
He nods, his eyes drifting back to the Manor. “Are you working tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “I’m off until the end of next week.”
His gaze returns to mine. “Good. You okay to drive, or would you prefer I take the wheel?”
I glance at my house. “It’s nearly midnight. I need to—”
“Sleep?” he finishes gently. “Not something you’ve been doing much of lately, I’d guess. This isn’t the first time someone’s trespassed, is it?”
Heat prickles along my neck, and I’m grateful for the dark. “Well… no.”
“Alright then.” His voice is calm, immovable. He reaches for his seat belt, the movement steady, certain. “Let’s get out of here.”
Silas
I knew she was rattled before I got in the car.
What I didn’t know was that she had good reason to be.
Even if I hadn’t already contacted the local precinct, identified myself, and advised them I’d be on scene at the homeowner’s request, I saw the birds myself.
Whoever this joker is, he has had uninterrupted access to her property.
He moved around the exterior of a Guilford mansion—a historic, expensive neighborhood—and no one questioned him.
Using my peripheral vision, I run a quick inventory check as she guides the Volvo XC60 through the quiet Guilford streets and onto Charles.
Physically, she seems okay. Blonde hair pulled back into a knot, glasses, features composed despite the strain around her eyes.
Polished. Refined. Even rattled, she carries herself with precision, her posture straight against the leather seat.
I keep my eyes moving—scanning the side mirrors, the cross-streets, the car that falls in behind us for a block, then turns off. Nothing sticks. No pattern.
“There’s a drive-through up ahead,” I say, nodding toward the bright lights on the corner. “Pull in. We’ll grab something and find somewhere quiet to talk.”
A few minutes later, we’re loaded up with two takeaway teas. I direct her toward the far edge of the lot, where the shadows are deeper.
“Back into that space,” I say. “Facing the road.”
She reverses into the spot. The Volvo settles with its nose toward Charles Street, engine idling, the vents humming as the heat pushes back the midnight cold.
Snow drifts through the parking lot lights and skims across the windshield.
I take a slow look around the perimeter, checking the empty spaces before turning back to her.
Ava turns the paper cup slowly in her hands, watching the steam curl from the lid. I glance at the side mirror to check the road behind us once more before looking at her.
“Tell me how it started,” I say. “Is he a patient?”
She swallows and gives the slightest shake of her head. “I met him at a veterans clinic I help out at. Unity, in Dundalk. I’m only there one night a week. I didn’t think…” Her voice catches. “I didn’t think he was dangerous.”
“But you do now?”
“He was a complicated case to begin with. I assumed it was a harmless crush. He lingered after appointments, but that isn’t unusual there. A lot of the veterans are lonely.” She shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the dashboard. “I should have seen the warning signs.”
“You were doing your job,” I say. “Don’t take the blame for his behavior.”
She removes her glasses and rubs her eyes, exhaling slowly as the windows begin to fog at the edges.
“Tell me what else you noticed. Other signs.”
“Questions,” she says quietly. “About my schedule. Whether I lived alone. If I liked the neighborhood.”
A cold knot forms in my gut. “And you answered?”
“Not directly. I redirected the conversation. But…” Her voice drops. “He listens. He remembers everything.”
My gaze shifts to the dark street beyond the windshield as I think that through, watching the wipers twitch once against the accumulating flakes.
“Did you ever tell him where you live?”
“No.”
“Anything about the house?”
She hesitates. “I complained once about the starlings outside my bedroom window.”
That explains the birds. He hadn't just listened; he’d done the reconnaissance.
Her eyes meet mine in the dim, amber glow of the dashboard. “I should have seen it. Maybe I could have stopped this?”
“No.” I keep my voice level. “You won’t be his first. But I'm going to make sure you're his last.”
“What will you do?”
I run the logistics—the clinic, his background, the distance, and the steps I’ll have to take. Personal protection isn’t my lane anymore, but the protocols are already clicking into place.
“I'm going to find him,” I say. “And I’m going to end it.”