My condolences for your late wife. I'll be visiting soon.
The edges of my vision went gray. My lungs seized, not a gasp, just a complete cessation of breathing. The card fluttered from my numb fingers onto the marble counter. I heard it land, heard Mrs. Rosa saying my name, but I couldn’t speak back.
He's out. He was here.
The thoughts were bullet points of pure terror. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I stumbled out of the kitchen, down the hall, toward Jack's office.
I didn't knock. I shoved the door open.
He was at his desk, on a video call with a room full of serious-looking people on the large monitor. "...Q3 projections clearly indicate..."
He stopped mid-sentence. His gaze snapped to me, and I watched his entire demeanor change. The controlled CEO vanished.
"We'll reconvene." The words were steel. He hit a button, and the screen went black, cutting someone off mid-protest.
"What is it?"
I couldn't speak. My throat had closed completely, my tongue petrified in my mouth. I just held out the florist's card, my hand trembling so violently that the card shook like a leaf in a storm.
He took it, his fingers brushing mine, warm. His eyes scanned the two lines, and I watched the transformation happen in real time. The color drained from his face, starting at his forehead and spreading down. His face tensed up, and I could see his grip on the card. His eyes went from concerned to dangerous in the space of a heartbeat. His calm demeanor was replaced by a grim, calculating coldness that was somehow more frightening than any anger I'd ever witnessed.
This was the Jack Spencer who built billion-dollar empires. Who destroyed competitors with a signature. Who could ruin lives with a phone call.
And he was looking at that card like it was a declaration of war.
He didn't question it. He didn't ask if I was sure. He picked up his phone and hit a speed-dial number.
"James." His voice was flat, to the point. "A delivery just arrived at my home. White tulips. A card. Handwritten. It says,'My condolences for your late wife. I'll be visiting soon.'"
He put the phone on speaker, setting it on the desk. I could hear typing through the line, James accessing something. The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. I wrapped my arms around myself, holdingthe pieces of my composure together by sheer force of will.
James's voice came back, grim and heavy. "Jack. I just accessed the system. Three days ago. Carter Wilson was being transferred to a different facility for a psych eval. The transport was ambushed on a rural road. Two guards were injured. He's gone. The U.S. Marshals are issuing a nationwide alert. He's considered armed and extremely dangerous."
Three days.
Reality hit me like a fist. Three days he'd been out. Three days of watching. Planning. Finding me. Sending flowers to mock Jack, to let me know he could reach me anywhere.
A high-pitched whine started in my ears. The room felt insubstantial, like I was looking at it through warped glass.
"Why didn't I know?" Jack's voice was a low growl, dangerous and controlled. The kind of quiet that was more terrifying than shouting.
"It was kept quiet to avoid panic and to give the marshals a head start without tipping him off through media coverage. His name wasn't released to the public. They were keeping this under wraps," James paused. "Jack, I'm so sorry. If I'd known sooner?—"
"Not your fault," Jack cut him off, his tone making it clear the blame lay elsewhere. With the marshals. With the system. With the guards who'd failed to keep Carter locked away.
Jack's eyes found mine across the desk. They werethe color of a winter sea, storm-tossed and merciless. When he spoke, his voice was flat, stating a fact. "He's coming for her."
"Yes." James didn't sugarcoat it. "His pattern suggests intense fixation, rage at perceived betrayal. You and Daisy are likely targets as well. He holds a grudge with you for putting him behind bars."
Perceived betrayal.The words unlocked my voice, dragging it up from the depths of my terror. "He'll think I told. About everything. The accident, the threats, the things he did to me in private." My voice was barely a whisper, raw and shaking. "His anger won't just be about getting caught. It'll be about punishment. About making an example. About proving he still owns me."
Those last words tasted like ash.
A small sound at the door made us both turn sharply. Daisy stood there, having slipped away from Mrs. Rosa's distracted attention. Her little face was pale, drained of its usual rosy color, her gray eyes huge in her small face. She looked impossibly young and impossibly old all at once.
But she didn't cry. She is stubborn and fierce, and unbreakable, just like Jack. She walked right up to me with the determination of a soldier marching into battle and wrapped her arms around my legs, pressing her face against me with surprising strength.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice muffled but fierce. A tiny, defiant soldier who didn't understandthat monsters don't stop for five-year-olds. "If not, I can protect you."
