He wasn’t exactly thrilled that the first thing I did after waking up—post-shower and scrounging up something to eat—was dive back into the files. However, he didn’t try to pull me away or tell me to stop. Instead, he stayed by me.
Throughout the day, he took care of me in ways that never demanded my attention. A fresh mug of coffee would appear beside me when the last one went cold. A glass of water pressed into my hand when he noticed I hadn’t taken a singlesip in hours. Food nudged within reach when time slipped by and I forgot to eat altogether. A blanket adjusted around my shoulders when I started to shiver without realizing it. He never interrupted my thoughts, never asked what I was looking at or what I’d found. He was just there—steady, patient, and unwavering.
He sat with me—or rather, I sat on him—pulling me into his lap every chance he got, and I wasn’t one to complain. His presence grounded me, anchored me to something solid while my mind stayed buried in the past. It was comforting, calming, and just distracting enough to keep me from spiraling. His fingers drifted through my hair in slow, absent-minded passes, a quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone in this, even when the weight of the files threatened to pull me under. And honestly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I lift my mug off the table and take a sip, savoring the sweet flavor of the hazelnut and mocha. I go back in for another sip but freeze mid-swallow when I realize something.
Emilio feels it immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been ignoring the biggest fucking clue of them all,” I mutter as I set the mug back down on the coffee table.
“How do you mean?” he asks, shifting under me. I half turn, and his brows pull together. “Rae? What is it?”
I drag in a breath that trembles at the edges and stare down at the faces on the table. “The clue is me, Emilio.”
“I don’t follow.”
I slide off his lap and stand, restless energy fizzing in my legs. “Me. They all knew me.”
“We already know this, baby…”
“Yes, but how doesheknow that?” My voice snaps sharper than I intend. I gesture to the photos. “Khloe was my best friend; she was always around me. But Liam? Bailey? I barely talked to them. Hell, Liam and I haven’t said more than four words toeach other since we stopped being friends a couple of years ago. The most that has been said was ‘Hello,’ and that was in passing! How the hell would someone know to target them, unless they knew something about me that I didn’t tell anyone?”
Emilio lifts a file, thumb tapping the paper’s edge. “You think he’s watching you,” he says slowly. “That he’s been watching for a while.”
“Hehasto be,” I say, the words spilling faster now, my pulse thudding in my throat. “There’s no other way he could know about Liam or Bailey. I didn’t post about them, I didn’t hang out with them in public—hell, I didn’t even mention them to you until after they were killed!”
He straightens, the file forgotten in his hands. “So either he’s digging into your life through someone on the inside, someone with access to reports, records…”
“Or he’s close enough to have seen it himself,” I finish.
His jaw works. “Or he has access himself,” he adds, quieter.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence presses down, thick and suffocating.
Finally, Emilio stands, his decision made in one swift motion. “I’m taking this to Rodriguez and Meyer. Now. They need to know.”
I nod, gathering the files into a stack even as dread crawls up my spine. The realization sits like lead in my stomach. There’s a possibility that whoever this is, it’s someone I know. Someone I trust, someone within my circle… or it’s someone who has been standing just outside it where I never thought to look.
I hug the files to my chest and nod, though dread crawls up my spine like cold water, and follow Emilio as he starts down the hall to his room. I set them down on the dresser, open it, and grab a pair of leggings from inside. They are halfway up my thighs when Emilio turns to me.
“No, you’re staying here.”
I blink, then haul them up the rest of the way. “What? No. Fuck that.”
“Rae, listen to me,” he says, his tone clipped and controlled. “If he’s out there watching you, I’m not risking it. I’ll take the files, talk to Rodriguez, and come back. It shouldn’t be more than an hour tops.”
I take a step towards him and fold my arms over my chest. “If he’s watching me, then he already knows where I am. You’re just as much a target as I am, maybe more, because he knows you won’t let him get near me. So no, I’m not staying. You’ll have to handcuff me to the bed again if you want to keep me here.”
He hesitates—just long enough to tell me he’s considering my argument.
“If he’s been waiting for a chance, separating us is what he’d want,” I say, softer.
His jaw flexes, and after a tense beat, he exhales a sharp, resigned breath. “Fine. You win. But you’re not leaving my fucking sight. Get your shit.”
I nod and grab a pair of socks from the drawer, tugging them on with shaky hands before slipping into my boots. The leather creaks softly as I lace them, the sound swallowed by the hum of the air conditioner and the low thud of my heartbeat. I sling the files under my arm and follow Emilio out of the bedroom.
He’s already by the door, sliding his gun into its holster. Without a word, he grabs a sweater off the coat hook and tosses it to me, and I pull it on. My bag waits by the door—one of the few things I was able to gather from my apartment before coming to stay here—I pick it up and shove the files into its front pocket before slinging it across my shoulder.
