"And then what?" My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "We just wait for him to make a move?"
Cole and Will exchange a look. The kind of look men give each other when they're deciding how much to tell the woman in the room.
"Don't do that," I say sharply. "Don't protect me from information. I'm not fragile."
Will squeezes my hand. "We know you're not. We're just trying to figure out the play."
"Then include me. I'm not a piece of furniture."
Another look between them. Then Cole nods, a grudging respect in his eyes. "Fair enough."
Shaw arrives twenty minutes later, still in civilian clothes but with the focused energy of someone who's switched into operational mode. Tate calls a few minutes after that, and Will puts him on speaker.
"Craig's rental was spotted at a gas station in Coos Bay," Tate says. "Forty miles north. He filled up, bought coffee, sat in the parking lot for an hour before heading south again. He's taking his time. Probably trying to figure out what he's walking into."
"Good," Will says. "Let's keep it that way."
The next few hours are a blur of planning and logistics. The brothers move around me with practiced efficiency, each one slotting into their role without being asked. Shaw coordinates with local law enforcement, calling in favors, making sure the restraining order petition gets flagged as urgent. Tate monitors Craig's movements through traffic cameras and a network of contacts I don't ask about. Cole stays close to me, a silent wall of protective anger.
And Will. Will watches everything, directs everyone, and never lets go of my hand.
I'm grateful—I am—but I also feel useless. The object of their protection rather than a person with agency. And that feeling is too close to how Craig made me feel for four years.
"I want to help," I say during a lull in the planning. "Tell me what I can do."
"You're already helping," Will says. "You're staying safe."
"Staying safe isn't helping. It's hiding."
He studies my face for several seconds. "What did you have in mind?"
I've been thinking about it since the moment Will told us Craig was coming. Turning the scenario over in my head, looking for angles, looking for a way to take back some control.
"He's taking his time because he doesn't know what he's walking into," I say. "He thinks I'm alone. Vulnerable. That's his playbook—he waits until he has the advantage, then he strikes."
Cole's jaw tightens. Will nods slowly, listening.
"So we use that. Let him think he has the advantage." I take a breath. "I'll be the bait."
The silence that follows is deafening.
"Absolutely not," Cole says flatly.
"Hear me out. He's never going to approach if he thinks I'm protected. He'll start circling, watching, waiting for an opening. We could be doing this for weeks. Months." I shake my head. "I can't live like that. And neither can any of you."
"She's right," Shaw says. Everyone turns to look at him. "About the waiting, at least. Stalkers escalate when they feel like they're losing control. If he thinks she's untouchable, he might do something desperate. Something we can't predict... something we might not be able to stop in time."
"So your solution is to dangle her in front of him?" Cole's voice rises. "That's insane."
"My solution," I cut in, "is to control the situation instead of letting him control it. Pick the time, pick the place, have you all positioned around the perimeter. He shows up, he approaches me, you step in before he can do anything. And then we have him on violation of the restraining order."
"The restraining order isn't finalized yet," Will points out.
"Shaw said it should be processed by tomorrow afternoon. We wait until it's in place, then we move."
More silence. But this time it feels different. Less dismissive, more considering.
Will is watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Pride, maybe. And something else. Fear, carefully controlled.
