Then it hit her.
That computer she’d used.
Garrick had bought it. He’d set it up for her. She’d taken it with her after the divorce.
What if . . . what if he somehow had access to her search histories? To her emails? If he had some type of spyware on the computer?
She shuddered at the thought.
What if Garrick had somehow been able to access her computer? If he’d installed spyware?
If so, he’d be able to see all the sites she’d visited. He might piece things together.
What if she’d unknowingly handed him a map that would allow him to find her here?
Her heart slammed hard enough to make her dizzy.
That was when she realized the water bowl in her hand was overflowing.
She muttered under her breath and turned the water off. Then she grabbed some paper towels to sop up the mess she’d made.
You idiot.
She could hear Garrick’s voice berating her for the mistake as if he were there to witness it.
Then she pictured his face when he realized she’d packed up and fled the area without telling him.
She knew the way his mind worked. Garrick was methodical, relentless, and controlling.
Even after she’d left him, he’d a way of staying present—of reminding her that distance didn’t equal freedom. Sometimes she thought she saw him in public places, a familiar buildor posture that vanished the moment she looked again. Other times, her apartment felt subtly wrong, as if things had been shifted just enough to make her question her own memory.
Once, a coworker—Tom—had become a friend. They’d worked out together, grabbed coffee on breaks—nothing romantic. He was simply someone who made the workday easier.
Then Tom had abruptly cut her off. Wouldn’t meet her eyes. Wouldn’t respond to her texts.
Another coworker had mentioned to Millie, almost apologetically, that she’d heard something about a threat.
When Millie confronted Tom, he’d stammered denials and walked away.
She’d asked Garrick about it point-blank. He’d seemed genuinely hurt. “You think I’d do something like that? Millie, that’s paranoid.”
And maybe it was. Maybe the guy had his own reasons.
But after that, she’d stopped trying to make friends.
Garrick never took credit for anything. He never had to.
That was his genius—plausible deniability wrapped in concern. “I’m just worried about you,” he’d say when she confronted him. “You’re stressed. Imagining things.”
He’d make her doubt herself, doubt her own perceptions, until she’d stopped asking questions altogether. Because what proof did she have? What could she point to that wouldn’t make her sound paranoid?
Sure, Millie had left him. But that hadn’t meant she was free.
Walking away had only changed the shape of the danger.
What if she’d made a mistake this time?
What if she’d brought that danger here?
