Chapter 3 #2
You’re getting ahead of yourself. She hasn’t forgiven you for not telling her the truth yet. She might never forgive you. And even if she does, that doesn’t mean she wants anything more than to help with Beckett until she can get her own life sorted out.
Up ahead, Jewel’s car signaled to turn back toward the lodge. He followed, keeping his distance, lost in his own thoughts.
That’s when he noticed it.
A dark sedan, sandwiched between two other cars, kept pace with her vehicle. There was nothing unusual about it. It was a typical four-door, but from this distance, he couldn’t identify the make or model.
At first, he thought nothing of it; it was just another car heading in the same direction. But then, one of the cars between them turned off, and the sedan changed lanes, moving closer to Jewel. Not tailgating, but closer than necessary given the light traffic.
His pulse quickened, and he watched it closely, trying to make out details. Tinted windows obscured the driver. New York plates were visible, but he was too far away to read the numbers.
As they continued down Main Street, the sedan remained directly behind her car. When she changed lanes to avoid a slow delivery truck, the sedan followed, maintaining its position.
It could be nothing. Just someone taking the same route.
But his instincts were screaming otherwise.
He slowed down slightly, letting another car pull ahead so he could get a better angle to see the sedan’s plates. The car that passed him created more distance between him and Jewel, but it also gave him a clearer view without being noticed.
The sedan never wavered. It stayed locked to her car, as if tethered to it.
As they left town, the road narrowed and wound through stands of pine trees. There was even less traffic here, with fewer cars to blend in with. The sedan stayed close to her, and now there was no one between them.
He wanted to call her to warn her. But what would he warn her about? That there was a car behind her that seemed to be following her for reasons he couldn’t even begin to guess?
She’d think he was being paranoid. Or worse, controlling.
They approached the turnoff for the lodge, and his hands clenched tighter on the wheel. Two more miles. He watched her brake lights flash as she slowed for the turn onto the private road.
The sedan slowed, too.
His heart pounded against his ribs. This was it. If the sedan was simply going the same way, it would keep going straight. If it was following her…
She made the turn onto the private road that led to his mother’s property.
The sedan’s turn signal came on.
His breath caught. He was too far back now, with a car between him and the sedan. He couldn’t make the turn in time to stay close.
But then, just as the sedan was about to turn, it straightened out again. The turn signal clicked off, and it kept going straight down the main road, speeding up a little before it disappeared around the bend ahead.
He sat at the intersection for a long moment, his truck idling, his heart still racing.
Had the driver realized they were being followed? Had they seen him trailing and decided to abort? Or had they seen what they needed to see? Where she was going, where she was staying, the route she took?
You’re losing it and reading into nothing.
He made himself breathe, loosen his jaw, lift his foot off the brake, and follow her car up the private road toward the lodge.
But he couldn’t shake the image of that sedan, especially how it tracked her movements so precisely.
The way the turn signal came on suggested the driver fully intended to follow her up the private road but then changed their mind at the last second.
As he drove, the trees closed in around him, their shadows growing longer in the afternoon sun. Ahead, he saw her car parked in front of his mother’s house and heard Beckett’s distant laughter from somewhere in the backyard.
Normal. Safe. Home.
He pulled in beside her car, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, watching through the windshield as Sylvie stepped out from the passenger side, laughing at something Jewel had said.
His brother appeared on the porch, moving to help with the grocery bags, and for a moment, he saw them as someone else might—a family. Brothers working together, wives laughing, children playing.
It was the life he had walked away from four years ago. The one that Conrad had never forgiven him for leaving. And the life he’d built here was fragile, complicated, and hanging by a thread.
He climbed out of the truck, grabbed a couple of the grocery bags from Jewel’s car before Conrad could take over the task, and went inside.
“Did you get everything you needed?” Jewel asked him as he walked past her on the porch steps.
It was such a normal question—so casual, domestic, and filled with the kind of easy familiarity he desperately yearned for. “Yeah. Feed’s in my truck. I’ll unload it later.”
She nodded, but her eyes were already moving past him, scanning the driveway and the trees beyond.
“What?” He tried to keep his voice casual.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw something earlier. On the drive back.”
His stomach dropped. “What kind of something?”
“Probably nothing. Just a car that seemed to be…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m being paranoid.”
No, you’re not.
He wanted to tell her about the sedan, about watching it follow her movements and how it had almost turned onto the private road before pulling away.
But Conrad was already calling from inside, asking where they wanted the canned goods; Sylvie was laughing at something, and Beckett’s voice was rising with excitement about showing Della the barn cats.
The moment passed.
Jewel went inside with her bags, and he stood on the porch alone, looking back down the empty driveway.
Someone had followed her. He was sure of it now.
The question was why.
And the more important question was what they were planning to do with the information they had gathered.
He took a deep breath and followed everyone inside, feeling the weight of everything he couldn’t control, couldn’t predict, and couldn’t protect against.
But he’d try anyway.
Because that’s what you did when you had people depending on you.
You tried.