So I tell her. All of it. The account traced to San Diego, the pattern matching Derek's schedule, the three previous engagements that ended with harassment complaints and payoffs. And then the worst part, that he's here, in Whisper Vale, asking about her.
She doesn't interrupt. Doesn't cry. Just sits there absorbing it, her face going pale in the firelight, her hands gripping the quilt so hard her knuckles turn white.
"He followed me." Her voice is flat. "He drove through a blizzard to find me."
"Yes."
"I thought I was being paranoid. All those months, feeling like someone was watching, telling myself I was crazy." A harsh laugh escapes her. "I wasn't crazy. I was right."
"You were right."
"And now he's here. Fifteen miles away. Waiting."
I lean forward in my chair. "He's not getting to you. The storm has him pinned, and Guardian Peak has eyes on every road. The second he moves, we'll know."
"And then what? You arrest him? He has money, Wolfe. He has lawyers. He's made three harassment complaints disappear. What makes you think this time will be different?"
"Because this time he's not dealing with scared women who can be bought off." I hold her gaze. "He's dealing with me."
She stares at me for a long moment. I watch the fear in her eyes shift into something else. Not hope, exactly. Something harder. More determined.
"I'm tired of being afraid of him." The words come out quiet but steady. "I've spent three months looking over my shoulder, second-guessing every comment, every shadow. I left my life behind and drove to Nevada because I thought I could outrun the feeling of being watched." Her jaw tightens. "I'm done running."
"You don't have to run. You just have to let me handle it."
"No."
The word surprises me. "No?"
"I'm not going to hide in your cabin while you deal with my problem. Derek is my ex. My stalker. My responsibility."
"Sadie."
"I mean it." She throws off the quilt and stands, swaying slightly on her healing ankle. "I've spent two years letting Derek make me feel small, weak and helpless. I'm not doing it anymore. Whatever happens next, I want to be part of it."
I stand too, closing the distance between us. She has to crane her neck to meet my eyes, but she doesn't back down. Doesn't flinch.
"This isn't a game. Derek is dangerous. He's obsessed with you, and obsessed people do unpredictable things."
"I know."
"If he gets to you, if something happens because you insisted on being involved?—"
"Then it's on me. My choice. My consequences." She takes a step closer, and now we're inches apart, close enough that I can see the firelight reflected in her eyes. "I'm not asking for permission, Wolfe. I'm telling you. I'm done being a victim."
The defiance in her voice does something to me. Cracks through the professional distance I've been trying to maintain.
She's not a client. Not a mission. She's a woman who crashed into my life and refused to be small and quiet and easy to manage.
And God help me, I don't want her to be any of those things.
"Okay." The word comes out rough.
"Okay?"
"Okay. We do this together. But you follow my lead. If I tell you to stay back, you stay back. If I tell you to run, you run. No arguments."
"I can do that."
