Lance's eyes widen slightly when he sees me, recognition flashing across his face. “Officer Edwards. What a coincidence.”
For a split second, something flickers across his face. Anger, maybe. Or calculation. Then it's gone, replaced by that easy smile.
“That’s right. And you’ll need to move your vehicle.”
“Interesting.” Lance looks me up and down, his expression shifting—surprise, calculation, maybe a hint of worry. He's clearly reassessing everything about our interaction at the library, probably wondering what else he doesn't know. “Of course,Officer Edwards. Just waiting for someone, but I can move.”
He starts the engine but doesn’t put it in drive yet. Instead, he looks directly at me. “You know, this is a nice little town. Quiet. Safe.” He pauses. “I can see why Ali wanted to hide here.”
The way he says her name—like he owns it—combined with the fact that he’s been sitting outside her workplace for over an hour, watching her through those windows, sets every instinct I have on edge.
He’s marking his territory.
“Have a good day, sir,” I say, my voice flat.
Lance nods and finally puts the SUV in drive. But not before saying, “See you around, Sawyer.”
Not Officer Edwards. Sawyer. Like we’re friends. Like this is all some casual encounter.
My hand instinctively moves toward my radio. Every cop instinct I have is screaming that this guy is dangerous.
I watch the SUV pull away and disappear around the corner. Then I walk over to the bank entrance.
Through the glass doors, I can see Alice at her teller station, helping a customer. She’s smiling, professional, completely unaware that Lance has been sitting out here for over an hour watching her every move.
I head back to my cruiser and radio in that the suspicious vehicle has been moved. But I make a detailed note in my log about the incident. Lance Carlston, loitering outside Alice's workplace for over an hour. Previous contact at library event. No visible license plate—suspicious as hell. I also note the time: 3:47 PM. Alice's shift ends at 5:00. He was here waiting for her.
Combined with what Chris found about the domestic disturbance calls, this is starting to look like a clear pattern. A guy doesn’t sit outside his ex-girlfriend’s job for an hour unless he’s stalking her.
The rest of my shift passes without incident, but I find myself driving by the bank more often than usual. Just checking. Making sure that black SUV doesn’t come back. I should be focused on my patrol route, but I can’t get the image of Lance sitting there, watching Alice work, out of my head.
At the end of my shift, I pull into the bank parking lot just as Alice is walking to her car. She sees me and waves, and some of the tension in my shoulders eases.
“Hey,” she says, walking over to my cruiser. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you got to your car safely.”
She tilts her head, and I notice she’s adjusting her glasses—that nervous habit I’m learning to read. “Well, that’s sweet of you, but why?”
I should tell her about Lance sitting outside for an hour, watching. About the domestic disturbance calls. About how serious this is.
But not here. Not in a parking lot at the end of her shift when she already looks exhausted.
Soon. But not now.
“Just being careful.”
But looking at Alice standing here, completely unaware of the danger she’s in, I know this isn’t about playing hero anymore. This is about keeping someone safe.
“Drive safe, Alicat.”
I wait until her taillights disappear. Check the street. The parking lot. No black SUV.
For now.
As I watch her drive away, I'm already planning my conversation with Chris tomorrow. We need to figure out exactly what Lance Carlston is doing in Pine Hollows, and we need to do it soon.
Because guys like Lance don’t just give up and go away.
