My mind does this thing where it puts her in Dahlia’s place. Where instead of a stranger, it’s Alex and he is?—
Alex fits his type. Blonde, blue eyes, petite. She could have been any of the women he was hunting tonight. Could have been Dahlia.
Alex. In an alley. With a man. Alone. At night.
In the exact scenario that got Dahlia murdered.
What if she’d asked the wrong man for a cigarette? What if she’d followed the wrong man into an alley? She fits his victim profile perfectly.
And I wasn’t there. Couldn’t protect her. Didn’t know.
No.I do not need my anxiety supplying more nightmare fuel.
But my hands are shaking.
And I can’t tell her. Not like this. Not when she’s drunk and won’t remember in the morning. Not when she’s happy and safe and I’d be destroying that.
Tomorrow. Somewhere public—loud enough that our conversation disappears into background noise, quiet enough we can hear each other. Somewhere Dom doesn’t have cameras or connections. We’ll talk tomorrow.
“Did you use a condom?” I hiss, because that’s what normal-Dylan would say. The Dylan from yesterday, before I knew my boss covers up serial killings. The Dylan who worried about regular things like STDs and pregnancy instead of whether her best friend matches a killer’s victim profile.
Fuck. Did I really just think that?
“Girl.” Alex blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I have, of course.
“I know.” I look down at the dandelion. “An alley?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Yes.” She smiles. “That Chinese restaurant?—”
“The one with the good egg rolls?”
“You know it,” she finishes. “They have this planter outside their back door.”
“The one the neighbor guy keeps pouring bong water into?”
“Yep.” She nods, her movements dramatic. “It’s huge and there are all these dandelions at the bottom. I stuffed a few in my purse so I can dry them out later.”
“Bong water dandelions.” I nibble on the same spot on my cheek. The one that will never heal because I chew it like it’s my job.
Dandelions growing in impossible places. Through concrete. In January. In bong water.
Beautiful. Resilient. Unstoppable.
Just like Alex.
Because she’s my dandelion. And dandelions don’t die easily.
The driver pulls up to our apartment and we get out. I already know Dom took care of payment.
I follow Alex slowly as she chatters about her newest boy obsession. I nod along as she unlocks the door. While I look around and wonder if we need a security camera.
Dom knows where we live. He’s been here—sent those puppy packages for my fictional dad. He could send him here. Or come himself.
I need to keep Alex safe. Cameras. Better locks. Something.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll figure it out.
