Striker adds one more line before the thread goes quiet.
Striker: You’re welcome. Just wanted to mention—there was no trace of an ex. No custody filings, no financial ties. Whoever’s after her isn’t domestic. Be careful, brother.
His final words chill me to the bone. If the man stalking her isn’t an ex, then who the hell is he, and what does he want?
I lock the screen and slide the phone into my pocket. My chest feels tight from the realization that she’s not been truthful to me. I’ve been treating this like a personal matter, thinking it was a pissed-off ex or a custody fight. But it’s now clear there is more going on here than meets the eye.
I go in search of Christina because we’ve got to talk. I find her and Katie in the main room finishing up their breakfast. My ma is pouring orange juice for Katie, who’s perched on a chair, her feet swinging as she eats. Christina sits beside her, her eyes still sad from everything that’s happened.
Katie laughs when she sees me, mouth full of toast. Queenie smiles. “Look who’s back, sugar. You gonna tell him good morning?”
Katie waves with both hands. “Morning, Slate!”
“Morning, Miss Katie,” I say.
Christina looks up, and her smile is soft but tired. “How’s Rivera?”
“He’s sleeping,” I answer. My voice sounds rougher than I meant it to. “Need a word with you, if you’ve finished eating.”
Queenie glances between us. “Katie can hang out with me for a while. Husk is bringing the puppies for us to play with this morning. He wants to get them socialized before they go to their new homes.”
I point at her to punctuate my words. “We’re not keeping one, so don’t ask.”
Ignoring me, she turns to Katie. “Would you like to play with some puppies, sweetie?”
Katie scrambles down from the chair, needing a helping hand to keep from hitting the ground. “Can I feed them carrots?”
“I don’t think puppies eat carrots,” Queenie coos. “Let’s take a few pieces of bacon instead.”
We end up being the only ones left at the table. Christina looks around uneasily. “What’s wrong?”
“Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”
She gets to her feet, and I lead her to my suite and kick the door closed behind us. She stands with her arms wrapped around her waist like she’s bracing for bad news.
I pull out my phone, scroll to Striker’s message, and hand it to her. “Got this message on my way in.”
She reads in silence. The color drains from her face. By the time she reaches the last line and hands the phone back, her hands are shaking.
She looks away, staring out the window. “I didn’t lie to you, exactly.”
“I didn’t say you did.” I keep my tone steady, trying not to sound angry.
“You just assumed it was an abusive ex, and I didn’t correct you.”
“Rivera is the one convinced your stalker talks like a jealous ex. I didn’t exactly know what to think, and that seemed like a realistic guess. I’m just done guessing at this point. Whoever this man is, he’s organized, careful, and slippery as fuck.”
She’s silent for a long moment before exhaling. “I was going to tell you.”
“When exactly?” I shoot back.
“Today. I was going to tell you today.”
I blink at her, using my poker face. “Then I guess we’re right on schedule.”
That pulls a nervous laugh from her. The tension breaks just enough for her shoulders to drop.
Gesturing for her to sit down on the sofa, I say, “So, tell me what’s really going on here.”
