She shook her head and slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, shoulders hunched. The way she glanced around before speaking told me this wasn’t a casual drop-in—it was one of those moments where she’d already decided I’d be the one to fix whatever it was and all of this beforebreakfast. I nudged the mouse to one side and waited, because with Molly, I didn’t push—she needed space to find the words, and I let her have it.
“I never said before…” she began and then straightened. “I thought it was nothing, but then I saw him again.”
“Who?”
“There was this man at Walmart two weeks back, I saw him in the store and then out in the parking lot, and I didn’t like the look of him, and then I saw him again when we went to Costco yesterday,” she began.
“Someone who lives around here, maybe?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t fit.”
“Tell me more.”
“It was the way he was staring at Mom. And he had all this scarring on his face and neck.”
“Like acne?”
“No, like Freddy Krueger but not all over, just on one side.” She paused. “It might be nothing, but he wasn’t looking at Mom as if he wanted to kiss her, but as if he wanted to lick her.” She shuddered, and her description of someone licking my sister made me shudder as well. “I didn’t like it. So, I thought you should know.”
“What do you have on him?”
Shoulders back, she made her report. “Six-foot, beard, didn’t get a good look at his eyes, never heard him talk. But, I have a photo.”
“Send it over and I’ll?—”
“Done,” she said, my family phone vibrating with its arrival before I could even finish the thought.
A blurry shot came through; the grainy picture, next to a display of dog food in a well-lit store, showed a man in jeans. Jacket. Baseball cap pulled low. Too old to be one of the idiots her twin, Bradley, had been hanging around, gray in his beard.My spine tingled, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. There was something about the way he held himself, how he was skulking, and it made me pause. My instincts had kept me alive this long—telling me when to duck, when to run, when to disappear. They hummed now, quiet but insistently, the same warning that always came before something went wrong as I traced corners of the photo for details that didn’t fit.
“Did I do okay?” she asked.
“You did amazing, Mols,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’ve got it covered.” I reached into my drawer and tossed her the tiny GoPro from my supply. “Maybe clip this on you.”
She caught it easily, clipped it to her shirt, and grinned at me. “Okay.”
“And, Mols?”
“Yep?”
“Take your panic button with you everywhere, yeah?” Both kids had one, as did Marisol, despite Bradley whining and Marisol seeming to think danger had been left behind. “Let me worry about danger,” was all I’d said to her. I could map my family’s routines blindfolded and knew enough to keep them safe, and that was the point.
Maybe that didn’t leave room for loving them the way I should, but the loving part of me had burned out a long time ago. I’d die for all of them, and that was my version of love. Not words or touch—just keeping them safe. My chest tightened, a pull that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with guilt. I rubbed at it, trying to ease the ache, head throbbing the way it did when I thought too much about what I’d turned her into.
The rational side of me understood that my niece shouldn’t be bringing me intel. She should be talking about friends, homework, and makeup, or whatever fourteen-year-old girls want—not learning how to spot a tail or take a photo without being seen. That was on me. I’d made them all that way. Still,when I looked at that photo, fear shouted louder than guilt—because my instincts said something was wrong, and they’d never lied to me.
“Also, Mom says to tell you breakfast will be ready in thirty.”
“I have a call to make, then I’ll be out.”
She headed out, and I caught her smile—she loved observation and what she called spy stuff, and that would stand her in good stead when she was away from my protection. One day, she’d be out there alone, and I’d tried my hardest to make sure she wasn’t as vulnerable as other teenage girls. She knew self-defense and how to watch for the bad people of this world. She would have a long and happy life because I’d taught her what to be wary of.
After escaping hell and starting a new life in the States, I would doanythingto keep them safe. If this stranger was perving on my sister, then he was gone and warned off. Dealt with—I’d get Novak on that.
I sent the photo, for what it was worth, to a hacker who’d done some small things for me, and knew he’d laugh me out of the room, but still, it was something to get it off my desk and onto someone else’s to see what they could track down.
Next was the fact that Novak still couldn’t find Alex Dryden-Wells to discuss the small matter of organ trafficking and profiting from my clients. Rufus might well have given us the name under torture. Still, Dr. Dryden-Wells was suspiciously absent from the hospital, despite my digging deep and Novak’s trawling of all known associations.
I put out a dark web contract for information, then finished my coffee and stretched.
