13. Chapter 13 #2
I cross the street at the next intersection, falling into a natural gait that keeps me behind Navy Cap.
My senses heighten, paying attention to the details: the slight bulge in his right pocket (phone?
weapon?), the way he keeps his head angled down but eyes up, the deliberate casualness in his gait.
Could be nothing. Could be another guy struck stupid by Londyn in that dress. Or could be someone who's been waiting for an opportunity.
It could be that my fears are coming true; if Mike hadn't been here actually paying attention, this guy could've made a move on Londyn, and it would've been my fuck-up that caused it.
I'm so focused on Navy Cap that I almost miss the moment Londyn stops walking. She and Marcus have paused in front of a building with a neat row of potted plants along the steps. It's nowhere near her actual apartment.
"This is me," she says cheerfully, her voice carrying just enough for me to catch it.
I smirk. She's ditching him by using a fake address.
Smart woman.
The relief that floods me at the cellular level is so immediate, so intense, it's almost embarrassing, but I can't forget about Navy Cap.
"Keep an eye on our guy," I tell Mike. "I'm staying with Londyn until this resolves." I won't risk leaving her alone; her safety is my top priority.
"Rodger," Mike says.
I cross the street and then hang back, blending into the shade of a storefront as her date looks at the building with obvious disappointment. I'm close enough to hear them clearly and take action if needed.
Something about the guy rubs me the wrong way.
"I had a nice time," Londyn says, her tone polite but final. "Thanks so much for dinner."
He steps closer, crowding her space. "Let me walk you inside."
"That's, um, really not necessary," she says, but he's already moving toward the door, leaving her little choice but to follow.
I inch closer, grinding my teeth. She said 'bye' so just fucking leave already.
Through the heavy wooden door with its brass fixtures and small windows, I can see a narrow entry hall—simple tile floor, mailboxes lining one wall.
Londyn's shoulders are high and tight again as her date follows her in, hovering too close as she stops in front of the mailboxes.
Many of the buildings in this part of Manhattan are old and don't have elevators, so he might expect to walk her up the stairs.
She pretends to dig in her purse for her keys as she says something to the guy, likely another attempt to get rid of him.
They disappear from view as they head toward what must be a stairwell, and I lose visual contact completely.
"Mike," I say, "I've got a situation with the date, so I'm moving in."
"Copy that," Mike responds. "I've got eyes on our guy. He's standing at the corner checking his phone. Nope. Wait. He's crossing at the light. Walking away. Could be a false alarm. I'll follow a few blocks."
"Thanks." I move into the apartment building quickly, passing the mailboxes. The hallways are narrow and sound carries easily, so I can hear Londyn's voice around the corner and down the hall a bit. I pull out my phone so it looks like I'm texting.
Her date mumbles something. When I turn the corner and see them, they're standing near the bottom of the stairwell and his face is too close to Londyn's. Her spine is rigid and she's pressed against the wall like she's trying to melt into the brick.
Every instinct I have is firing red alerts. This isn't right.
Her date places his hand on the wall beside her head. It's the classic move of assholes everywhere. He's trapping her in place without technically touching her.
Her eyes dart to the stairs, looking for an escape route.
My heartbeat picks up as blood rushes to my ears. We're supposed to be keeping a low profile during this date, not drawing attention. But the way he's looming over her…
Then it happens. The guy leans in with obvious intent, his free hand snaking around her waist and pulling her closer. Londyn makes a small, distressed sound—not quite a scream, more like a panicked yelp—as she tries to push him away.
Something in me snaps.
I'm down the hallway in five quick strides. My hand closes around her date's wrist, yanking it away from Londyn's body with enough force to make him stumble.
"What the—" he starts, but I'm already pivoting, using his momentum to spin him around.
His chest hits the wall with a satisfying thud. I twist his arm behind his back, applying just enough pressure to control him. Then I add a specific torque to his index finger. There's a soft pop as the joint dislocates.
Marcus howls, his body going rigid with pain.
"You need to learn," I growl near his ear, "that when a woman says no, you stop immediately ."
"Who the fuck are you?" he gasps.
I release him with a hard shove toward the exit. "Doesn't matter. Get the fuck out of here and away from her."
He cradles his injured hand, shooting Londyn an appalled look and me a venomous glare. "Crazy bitch," he mutters as he stumbles toward the door.
The rage in my blood is cooling now, satisfaction replacing it as I watch him retreat. But when I turn to Londyn, that satisfaction evaporates.
She's pressed against the wall, eyes wide with terror. Not relief. Not gratitude. Pure, unfiltered fear etched across her pale skin. And it's directed at me.
"Hey," I say softly. "Are you okay?"
She flinches like I've raised a hand to her, shrinking against the wall. "Stay away from me!"
I freeze, completely blindsided by her reaction. The bloodless terror in her eyes doesn't match what just happened. It's deeper somehow.
"I'm sorry," I manage, utterly confused. "Was he not—"
"Where's Mike?" she interrupts, her voice rising with panic. "P-please, send Mike. I need to go home. Please leave."
I back away, hands raised in surrender. Her reaction cuts deeper than I expected, like a blade slicing my tendons. I keep my voice steady despite the storm of confusion making the world foggy. "I'll get him."
I hurry out the door, the cool night air hitting my flushed face. My cover's already compromised; any stalker in the vicinity just witnessed me playing hero.
Amateur. Fucking amateur move.
"Mike, where'd that guy in the baseball cap go?"
"He's long gone," Mike responds. "I followed him a block until he went down the subway steps. What happened?"
That's a lucky break. If Navy Cap was our stalker, he probably didn't witness my intervention.
But the relief is overshadowed by the sight of Londyn exiting the apartment building.
She collapses on the steps, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, fingers pressed against her mouth like she's trying to hold herself together.
"I'll call a cab," I say, already pulling out my phone. "Just come back and pretend you're taking a phone call. Tell her a cab will be here soon and you'll meet her back at the apartment."
"What about you?"
"I'll check the area for anyone suspicious, make sure Navy Cap doesn't return, then be back later."
"Alright," he says through my earpiece, no questions asked again. That's why I trust him with my life.
I linger across the street until I see the cab arrive, watching as Londyn quickly darts into the backseat. She doesn't look back as the yellow car pulls away from the curb. Mike follows in a second cab a minute later.
The city exhales around me, oblivious to the thunderstorm in my head.
Manhattan at night is a lot of soft blurs: bright signs reflecting in puddles, steam rising from grates like urban ghosts, the distant wail of sirens dancing with taxi horns.
A couple stumbles past, laughing too loudly, wrapped around each other.
A food vendor closes his cart, the smell of roasted nuts and hot dogs fading with him down the street.
I start moving, no real destination in mind, just scanning side streets and alleyways for any sign of Navy Cap or anyone else that stands out. My mind replays Londyn's reaction on an excruciating loop.
The pure terror in her eyes. The way she recoiled from me like I was a beast.
I thought we were on good terms. She's the one who sought me out, insisted it had to be me . She said she trusted me. So what the hell was that reaction about?
It connects with the way she can barely look me in the eye sometimes and the extreme measures she takes to feel safe.
Something terrible happened. Something that goes beyond ordinary caution.
A cold droplet hits my face, then another. The sky has opened without warning, a sudden downpour that sends pedestrians scurrying for cover. The city blurs around me in dark strokes with spots of red lights. Eyes always watching. Like one of Sienna's watercolor paintings left in the rain.
I keep walking, letting the rain drown me. Maybe it'll wash away the image of Londyn's colorless, terrified face. That's something I never want to see again.