3. Super Spy Knowledge
Chapter three
Super Spy Knowledge
Melina
My phone rings, and an unfamiliar number flashes across the screen.
I hesitate. Normally, I’d send it to voicemail, but it could be the officer who took the report about my tire. I called them as soon as I got home from my meeting with James.
Sighing, I swipe to accept. “Hello?”
There’s a flicker of silence. Then a low, familiar voice: “Melina. It’s Matt.”
I blink. “Who?”
“Matthew Mason.” A quiet beat. “I changed your tire.”
Oh.
Realization hits, warm and unexpected. My heart does this strange little lurch—because of course it does.
“Oh, right. Hey.” I shift, suddenly aware of how I’m tucking my legs underneath me, like I’m settling in for a conversation I haven’t even agreed to have. “Um. What’s up?”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice drops—lower, more serious.
“Listen, I don’t want to freak you out, but when I left my place earlier, there was a guy parked in front of your house. When I called out to him, he bolted.”
I freeze. “What?”
Matt exhales, calm and steady. “Black sedan. Tinted windows. He was just sitting there, watching your house.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I make myself breathe, clutching the phone so hard my knuckles hurt. “When? How long ago?”
“Maybe… two hours?”
A pit forms in my stomach. “I wasn’t home,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“Yeah.” His voice is unreadable. “I figured.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing. “You’re sure he was watching my house? Maybe he was waiting for someone.”
“I yelled to him,” his voice gentle but firm. “He didn’t stick around to answer.”
I shut my eyes, willing my pulse to slow.
“It’s probably nothing,” I say, though even I’m not convinced.
“Could be,” Matt admits, but there’s doubt in his voice. “Could also be something.”
“Do you think it’s related to my tire?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Well, I’m not crazy about the timing. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I.”
Silence lingers between us—heavy, but not uncomfortable. I shift slightly, then level my voice a bit drier. “How’d you get my number, exactly?”
With a hint of amusement, he says, “I have people.”
My brow lifts. “Please tell me that doesn’t mean you hacked some federal database.”
His silence is deliberate—just long enough to be suspicious.
“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
“Something like that.”
His voice is kind, playful, and the fear dissipates—just a fraction.
Then his tone shifts again. “Look, I don’t want you to be scared, okay? I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Something in the way he says it—genuine, not just a polite throwaway—sends a slow warmth through my chest.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
“I got a plate,” he adds. “I’ll run it. See if anything comes back.”
I let out a quick breath, shaking my head. “Of course you did.”
Matt makes a sound—somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”
I raise an eyebrow, even though he can’t see me. “Isn’t that a serious misuse of government resources?”
“We don’t work for the government, Melina.”
I smirk. “Right. Private sector. So… misuse of corporate resources, then?”
Matt exhales as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’ll be sure to take it up with HR.”
I should feel unsettled that he can just..
. do that. But all I feel is an unexpected sense of security.
For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel completely alone.
I hesitate. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I say, “It’s not just me I have to think about, you know.
I have to make sure my kids are safe. They’ve been through a lot. ”
His voice softens. “Yeah, I remember Spencer. Sharp kid. That sarcasm’s gonna be dangerous when he’s older.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Yeah. He keeps me on my toes.”
Matt’s voice is lighter now. “I bet.”
Then, quieter, I add, “I actually have three.”
“Three?”
“Yeah. Three kids.” I swallow, suddenly nervous, which is ridiculous. “Harper’s seventeen. And Declan—he’s away at college in NYC.”
I’m not sure why I tell him. Maybe because this moment feels like a turning point—like if I’m letting Matt into my life even a little, he should see the whole picture.
“I didn’t realize.”
I wait for something—anything. A reaction. A change in tone. But the silence that follows isn’t awkward; it’s weighty, thoughtful. Like he’s turning my words over, like something about them hits deeper than either of us expected.
“And it’s just you?”
I bite my lip. “Yeah, I know it’s a lot.”
His voice deepens. “That’s a lot to carry. You must be strong as hell.”
My throat tightens. Not pity. Not surprise. Just quiet respect.
“You’re doing a hell of a job, Melina.”
The words hit me right in the chest—unexpected and unshakable. It takes me a second to find my voice. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be out of the country for a few days, but I’ll check in when I’m back,” he explains.
His words land deeper than they should. He doesn’t owe me this. We’re practically strangers. And yet—he’s looking out for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Stay safe, Melina.”
“You too, Matt.”
Then—the line goes dead.
I sit there for a long time, just staring at my phone with my thoughts tangled in ways I can't quite understand. Eventually, I get up and head to my office, sinking into my oversized chair as I open my laptop.
Okay, here we go. I pull up the Ring app and scroll back through the doorbell footage from two hours ago.
The timestamp reads 1:08 p.m. I hit play.
A man enters the frame wearing a low ball cap, hoodie pulled over his head, and dark sunglasses obscuring most of his face. No clear view, but it doesn’t matter—it’s him. The same guy from the tire footage. He’s been watching the house. My stomach twists as I stare at the screen.
I grab my phone, pull up Matt’s contact, and type before I can talk myself out of it. I chew the inside of my cheek as I hit send, already second-guessing myself.
Sorry to bother you, but I caught that guy on my cameras lurking around. Do you mind taking a look? Maybe you’ll see something I missed with all your... super spy knowledge?
My phone buzzes almost instantly.
Of course. Send it over.
I blink. No hesitation. Of course. Something low and unwelcome stirs in my gut. I ignore it, switching apps to hit share.
He had to be delivering something, right? DoorDash? Amazon?
Three dots pop up. Then disappear. A second later, his reply:
He’s not carrying anything, Melina. He’s scoping out the place.
My stomach drops, and I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a slow breath to steady the rising panic.
You think so?
I know so.
I swallow hard.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
His response is immediate.
Fuck. I hate that you’re there alone.
My heart does a silly little flutter, and I immediately hate myself for it—because this isn’t flirting, idiot. He’s just being protective.
Do you have someone who can stay with you? A friend, a... boyfriend?
My fingers hover above the keyboard. Boyfriend? Was he prying—or was I reading into it? It’s just a question. Practical, not leadng. Still, I can’t help myself.
Are you prying, Matthew?
He begins typing, pauses, then starts again—like he’s choosing his words carefully.
Just being thorough.
I smirk, biting my lip. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was just being cautious, but something about the way he hesitated before answering makes my pulse quicken.
Uh-huh. Thorough.
Dots again. Then a longer pause.
You didn’t answer the question.
Oh, he’s definitely prying now. And I don’t even mind. But if I tell him the truth, will it mean something?
If I did have a boyfriend, would that bother you?
My nerves spark like live wire under my skin.
I’d still tell you to have him come over. Preferably armed. I want you alive, if it’s all the same to you.
Not yes. Not no. Just a clean deflection wrapped in tactical concern. And somehow, that says more than anything else could. My heart gives another flutter—slow and low, curling into the pit of my stomach like it owns the place.
Mm-hmm.
I can practically hear the smirk behind his silence.
So?
Just say it, Melina.
No boyfriend.
His reply is immediate:
Noted.
Guess I’ll sleep with a butcher knife under my pillow.
Jesus, Melina
What? It’s practical.
It’s reckless. What if you roll over and stab yourself? Or worse—he gets to it first?
Well, what do you suggest?
Don’t be brave. Be smart.
The way he says it hits differently—sincere, not patronizing or bossy. Like he sees right through the part of me that always pretends I’m fine.
Brave’s kind of my default setting.
That’s what worries me.
I smile softly at the screen.
I’m not alone, you know. I have the kids.
Right. Spencer will probably outsmart the guy before he even makes it through the door.
Yep. He’s a full-time menace with a PhD in sarcasm.
Sounds like someone I’d like.
You say that now. Just wait until he starts quoting Die Hard and asking if you’ve ever taken down a terrorist.
…Have you met me?
A quiet laugh slips out before I can stop it.
And Harper... she’s terrifying, in the best way.
Like mother, like daughter.
Are you saying I’m terrifying?
I’m saying I’m not foolish enough to answer that.
A beat.
Lock your doors and windows. Keep the outside lights on. Curtains closed. And for the love of God—no sleeping with knives.
Copy that.
I mean it.
So do I. Come home safe, soldier boy.
Always do.
I stare at my phone, waiting, but nothing else comes. Still, I know it’s not over. I take a slow breath. The tension hasn’t fully eased, but there’s enough space to think now. I lean back in my chair, eyes drifting to the security footage still playing on my screen.
He moves close to the house. Not just watching—he steps out of frame like he’s checking something. Is he looking for a way inside? A shiver runs down my spine.