“Dylan.”
A man calls my name.
And my body knows before I turn. Knows before I see him. Knows before my brain can catch up and try to rationalize.
The serpent at my spine goes still. Not relaxed—still. The way prey animals freeze when a predator locks on. That animal recognition of the thing that wants to kill you.
Marcus.
My body screams his name before he says another word.
I scream. Actually scream. And jolt toward the door like my life depends on it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Marcus slides into view just as I’m gearing up for a haymaker. He’s holding up his hands with a sly smile that is not at all disarming. “It’s just me.”
Just.
My new intuition rejects the word violently. Nothingjustabout him. Nothing harmless about the serial killer at my door. Nothing casual about a man who knows where I live without being told.
Just me, like he’s my boyfriend stopping by. Just me, like I should be relieved. Just me, like his presence is normal and welcome and safe.
My body knows better.
He’s holding fucking flowers.
Daisies. Pink and white. Pretty. Wrapped in cellophane with a bow.
But it’s not the flowers that set my new intuition off.
It’s the fact that he’s at my apartment building. That he knows where I live. That he’s been here long enough to know which door is mine. Maybe long enough to watch me leave fordinner. Maybe long enough to follow Alex’s drive home and calculate exactly when I’d be walking home alone.
And my intuition does not like him. At all.
Everything in my body screamsdanger. The serpent at my spine thrashes. My throat completely closes. That ringing in my ears gets so loud I can barely hear him talking.
“Marcus.” Even I can hear the fear in my voice. The way it shakes. The way I can’t hide it anymore.
My new intuition won’t let me.
Lucky for me, the glass door swings open and smacks Marcus directly in the side of the face.
“Oops,” Alex says innocently, standing in the doorway. “I did not see you there.”
Lie. It’s a glass door. She absolutely saw him.
Marcus rubs his cheek. Still smiling. Like getting hit in the face is charming. “No worries. I was just?—”
“Leaving.” Alex’s voice drops all the sweetness. Dead serious. “You were just leaving.”
“I was bringing Dylan flowers?—”
“And now you’ve brought them.” Her hand is still on the door. Ready to slam it again if needed. “So you can go.”
Marcus looks at me. Ignoring Alex entirely. Like she’s not even worth acknowledging. Like she’s furniture.
“Dylan, I just wanted to?—”
“She said you can go.” Alex steps between us. Physically blocking his view of me. Five-foot-three of blonde fury standing between me and a serial killer. “Now.”
