He was checking my property like it was his own.
Because somewhere, somehow… Iwas.
“It’s raining. And I don’t have a fence.” I pulled the strings to the hood around my neck, securing it tightly around my face.
He kept walking, tunnel-visioned.
“I don’t have a fence,” I repeated, louder this time.
“A perimeter is the continuous line that encloses the boundary of something.”
“Ijust saidI don’t have a fence.” I yelled over the rain as I caught up to him.
“Are you familiar with property lines, Miss Flower?”
“Don’t call me that, and I thought we agreed to be less condescending.”
“You. You agreed to be less condescending.” He slid out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like soap and pine. Likehim.
“And you agreed to work on your communication,” I reminded him, breathless as I kept pace. “So communicate. What are you checking for?”
“Tracks.”
Behind us, the headlights clicked off, plunging us into sudden darkness. My hand shot out instinctively, catching the damp fabric of his T-shirt. He paused just long enough for me to latch on.
The rain fell in steady sheets around us, and I had no idea how Phoenix could see anything, let alone track footprints in this mess. But he moved like he did—deliberate, confident. Like his body remembered things even when his mind couldn’t.
“I want you to pull together a list of everyone who knows where you live.”
We began walking slower this time. I kept my grip on the back of his shirt, soaked and clinging to the muscle beneath it. Like a lifeline. Like a child clinging to their mother.
Or maybe more like a woman clinging to the one man she didn’t want to trust—but somehow already did.
He continued, “And anyone or any business that has access to your address.”
“That’s going to take some time.”
“Get it done. And spend some more time thinking of anyone who could have an obsession with you. Think beyond the obvious. Any fan mail? Messages on social media?”
“Fan mail?” I scoffed, caught off guard.
He didn’t answer.
“You… you know about my podcast?”
A low grunt.
I blinked.Of coursehe knew. It wasn’t a secret—butsomehow, the idea ofhimlistening unsettled me. Like he already knew parts of me that I hadn’t realized.
I stumbled over a tree limb just as the thought struck—and crashed right into him.
His arms caught me with the kind of reflexes you don’t lose, no matter how broken your body is. He didn’t just catch me—heheldme. Tight. One hand on my waist, the other against the small of my back, grounding me.
Warm.
Steady.
Too close.
