20. Chapter 20
SEAN
THE STREETS ARE PACKED WITH Saturday shoppers simultaneously in a rush and taking their time.
It's the eternal Manhattan paradox of being too important to slow down but too indecisive to actually move.
The sky's spitting a gentle mist that's not quite rain, just enough to make everyone hunch their shoulders and glare upward occasionally.
I'm twenty yards behind Londyn, watching her carefully weave through the crowd.
"—and then Mateo says, 'Dad, I think I want to be an astronaut-doctor-ninja.'" Mike's enthusiastic voice crackles through my earpiece. "Kid's got ambition, right? Mona says he gets it from her side, but I don't know. Her brother's been working on the same screenplay for a decade."
"Mm-hmm," I respond, eyes tracking Londyn as she pauses outside a candle shop. She studies the window display before stepping inside.
I move to a café across the street, ordering an herbal tea I don't want just to blend in. I settle down at a table outside and take a sip. Not bad but I've been thinking I should visit an Asian market and see if they have barley tea. Haven't had that in years.
Through the window of the candle shop across the street, I can see Londyn examining different candles, holding them close to inhale their scents. There's something strangely intimate about watching her do this. It's a simple, normal thing that reveals preferences I'd like to discover.
Of course, I'm too far away to see what she's picking up, but which scent does she like? Which one make her wrinkle her nose?
Mike continues, undeterred by my minimal responses. "Noah might need glasses. Kid's been squinting at everything. Got an appointment next week."
My attention drifts back to Londyn and the poetry book we share between us.
Last night, I read through it again, cover to cover, stopping at passages I remember connecting with years ago.
Words that once spoke to loneliness now described longing.
Lines about isolation suddenly felt like invitations.
I kept wondering: what does she see in the same words?
She exits the candle shop with a small bag dangling from one wrist. I leave the café table to follow along. Her steps are lighter now, her shoulders slightly less tense. I watch as she moves down the street and then stops to examine a bookstore window display.
I smile. She's a secret book lover waiting to get out. Just needs a little nudge that I'm happy to provide.
"You doing your job?" Mike's tone cuts into my earpiece.
My eye twitches because the question irritates me. Of course I'm doing my job. I've been gathering intel on every person who's passed within ten feet of Londyn. I've assessed their body language and their intentions. My mind does this on auto-pilot.
The fact that I'm also thinking about the way Londyn touched my hair, or the warmth of her palm against my chest, or what poems might touch her soul, doesn't mean I'm not focused.
I've also completed thorough checks on everyone in Londyn's life—Raven, Stacy, her coworkers. Nothing suspicious.
And I sent out queries for Alan Miller. So far, nothing concerning came back from my contacts.
His background check was clean. But that doesn't sit right with me.
It was too clean. He has a famous dad, so he grew up with money, but no DUIs?
No failing grades for any college class?
No questionable social media posts? Everyone has something , even something minor like one single speeding ticket.
I wonder if someone's been covering up his messes. Because I know in my gut that a guy like that has 'messes.'
So, to answer Mike's question: yes, I've been doing my fucking job.
"Yes," I snap at him. "Get back to yours."
Mike falls silent, but the tension buzzes through my earpiece. I know why he's concerned. Emotions cloud judgment. They create blind spots. A distracted bodyguard is a useless one.
I won't lie; I am a bit distracted.
I'm feeling something for Londyn. It started the moment I saw her at that convention.
It was concern at first and a need to protect.
Stepping into her apartment for the first time, it grew as I surveyed her space, found those little things we had in common—humor, books, the way she sees the world.
It surprised me when I got jealous during her date.
Overwhelmed me when I realized how much I craved her to see me as I am, like her view and opinion of me matters.
Then book club made it impossible to turn back; I discovered our shared understanding of what it's like for a tragic past to insert itself into your brain. Even her loneliness feels so similar to mine.
When I'm with her, something inside me relaxes. She sees me. Not as a weapon or a shield or a tool. Just a person. Now, I only want to see more of her and everything that makes her tick.
The other night, I watched her Sundance film. I couldn't help myself after learning who she used to be. I needed to see it and understand that part of her.
Holy hell, she was phenomenal.
The way she inhabited that character, a woman unraveling after her twin's suicide, was like watching someone peel back their own skin. In one scene, she's reading her sister's journal and something breaks open in her expression that made my chest physically ache.
No fucking wonder she was headed for an Oscar.
Even hidden away in Manhattan, living this phantom life, I can see that brilliance in her. That light hasn't been extinguished. Just dimmed.
I want to see more of it.
And fuck, I want to kiss her.
The memory of the hallway makes my hands clench.
If Mike hadn't interrupted, I'd have pressed her against that wall and explored every inch of that beautiful mouth.
I need to learn the sounds she makes when pleasure takes over.
Feel her fingers dig into my shoulders as I lift her, wrapping those long legs around my waist…
Jesus . I suck in air, forcing my attention back to the street.
"Seen anyone suspicious?" Mike's voice crackles through my earpiece.
I take another deep breath and drink some damn tea. "Nothing yet." I scan everything in my field of vision. "She's still browsing books."
"Good. Keep looking around."
My jaw clenches. I don't need Mike babysitting me.
To add insult to injury, Mickey's face surfaces in my mind. Those smokey eyes are so wide that the delicate skin around them threatens to rip.
She's there in my memories, frantically clawing at my clothes, trying to tear them off. "Where is she, Sean? Where's my Wunmi? WEREN'T YOU WATCHING HER?"
I blink hard, forcing the image away. Willing my heart rate to steady, I remind myself where I am. What I'm doing.
I won't fail again. Personal feelings won't interfere with keeping Londyn safe.
She's too important to me.
Movement across the street grabs my focus. There he is. Five-foot-ten. Round face. Bulging neck muscles. Navy baseball cap.
Every nerve in my body snaps to high-alert.
"Mike. Navy Cap is back. East side of the street, twenty yards behind Londyn."
"Copy that," Mike responds, immediately all business. "Can you confirm it's the same guy?"
I study him from behind my tea cup. Same height, same build, same distinctive hunching of the shoulders. His face is shadowed but I'm certain it's him. "Same guy. He's maintaining distance but definitely following her pattern."
Londyn exits the bookstore with a small paper bag clutched to her chest and heads toward a boutique three doors down. Navy Cap pauses, checking his phone. When she disappears inside, he lingers near a food truck, occasionally glancing toward the boutique entrance.
"He's stopping when she stops," I tell Mike, already standing. "Following when she moves."
"Think it's time for a closer look?"
I cross the street at the next corner, keeping my movements casual despite the adrenaline pounding through my limbs. "Yeah. Bump into him. Distract him after Londyn leaves the shop. I want to see if he picks up her trail again."
When Londyn emerges from the boutique, Navy Cap straightens and follows.
Mike strolls directly into his path and collides with him.
Mike has a soda in his hand and 'accidentally' spills it on our target.
I watch as Mike tries to pat him off and apologizes profusely, making a show of helping straighten the guy's shirt, patting his shoulder, grabbing napkins from the food truck counter.
It's enough time for Londyn to turn a corner, disappearing from Navy Cap's line of sight.
Mike keeps him busy a bit longer and then disengages, walking away with purpose like he has places to be. Navy Cap glances around, visibly searching. For a moment, I'm certain we have our answer.
He changes direction, heading down a side street completely opposite from Londyn's route.
I grind my teeth because I thought we had him.
Now I'm again wondering if he's just someone who lives in the area and I'm seeing a threat that's not there.
I've noticed other regulars—the woman with the yappy Chihuahua who's always out at 6 PM, the old man who buys a bottle of Pepsi from the same store every afternoon, the jogger with the neon shoes who never seems to break a sweat.
I quicken my pace to move closer to Londyn as she starts browsing another window display.
"Still have sight of him?" I ask Mike.
"I followed, but he got on a bus. He's heading away now."
I'm about to text Londyn and suggest we head back to the apartment, since I'm still unsure whether Navy Cap is a stalker, but then my eyes land on an ominous figure.
Navy Cap.
"You sure he got on the bus?" I ask Mike.
"Positive. I kept my eyes on him the entire time. Watched him go."
I study the new figure closely. Same baseball cap. Same build. But this guy is a little taller, his jaw more square. He's a doppelganger, but not a perfect copy.
He's standing across the street, watching Londyn with unmistakable focus.
Then he notices me.
Our eyes lock.
Instant recognition passes between us, and my nerves are conducting their own symphony. How long has he been watching? Did he notice Mike, too, and his run in with the other Navy Cap?
The guy's posture changes, chest puffing out. He pats his hip, right where a gun is probably hiding. He's deliberately telling me to back off. In response, I pat my own holster hidden under my shirt. He smiles.
In that split second, I know two things with absolute certainty: he's not just some random guy; now he knows who I am.
"Mike," I say urgently. "Second guy. Navy cap, same outfit. Corner near Starbucks."
"I don't see him," Mike replies, frustration edging his voice. "I'm too far down. Heading back now."
The second Navy Cap disappears into the crowd like a pro and I lose sight of him. Shit. I could chase him, but I'm not going to leave Londyn alone with Mike so far away. What if there's a third Navy Cap waiting to strike?
My instincts are screaming. Londyn is definitely being followed and not by some obsessed man with boundary issues. One man is a run-of-the-mill creep stalking a woman. But two men in similar outfits who are coordinating their surveillance? That's targeted.