"That sounds perfect," Willow agreed, feeling the familiar flutter of excitement that came with a new project gaining momentum.
"I'll have the legal paperwork ready for Ryan before Nathan even sets up the meeting," Christopher added with legal thoroughness. Nathan always provided the standard documentation to ensure her work was protected correctly, and no one else could attempt to claim ownership later. Even thoughthey all trusted Ryan implicitly, Christopher wasn't about to skip any legal safeguards when it came to protecting her intellectual property.
“I’ll be in LA in two weeks, and Aaliyah will set up meetings with both of you,” she said with a smile. “It will be nice to see you in person.”
“It will be so good to see you in person. It goes without saying that this town shines less bright without being able to see you whenever we want,” Nathan said, his charming smile in place. “We’ll have lunch and can arrange a small gathering of some of your friends so you’ll have a chance to catch up.”
“No paparazzi,” she quickly said. “I’d rather keep my travel arrangements private.”
“You got it,” Nathan agreed. He switched topics and asked, "How are you coming along on your next novel?" While Willow wrote historical romance under a pen name, Nathan was always interested in those projects. Historical content was experiencing a significant resurgence thanks to streaming services. It might not be right for the big screen, but viewers were hungry for period pieces they could binge-watch at home.
"It's progressing well," she said, unable to hide her enthusiasm. "I split my time this morning between the screenplay and the novel. You know me… I go with whatever strikes my fancy, and somehow, I can keep two projects moving forward simultaneously without losing momentum on either one."
Both men laughed appreciatively. "You are the epitome of organization and creative discipline, Willow," Nathan said with genuine admiration. "I wish I could bottle whatever you're doing out there and sell it to my other clients."
They spent a few more minutes catching up on industry gossip and personal news. Nathan regaled them with stories from recent premieres, while Christopher shared updates abouthis daughter's college search. The easy camaraderie reminded Willow why she valued these professional relationships that had evolved into genuine friendships over the years.
When the men finally signed off, Aaliyah reappeared on screen to check if Willow needed anything else that day.
"I want to get more writing done while I'm in this creative flow," Willow said, already mentally organizing her afternoon. "But I think I should make a quick run to the grocery store first. You never know when we might get an early snow out here, and I'd rather stock my pantry while I can."
"Smart thinking," Aaliyah agreed. "I’ve heard that rural weather can be unpredictable. Do you need me to research anything for your historical novel while you're out?"
"Not today, but I'll probably have a list for you tomorrow. You're the best at tracking down those obscure historical details that make all the difference."
With fond farewells, they disconnected, and Willow closed her laptop, already looking forward to a productive afternoon of writing after she completed her errands in town. She grabbed her purse and keys, grateful for any excuse to get out of the house and shake off the lingering unease from her morning.
3
THE STALKER
Sitting in the nondescript rental car parked along the gravel shoulder of the county road, they pulled the ball cap lower, the worn brim casting shadows across their face. Not that anyone would know who they were out here in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. The engine had been off for twenty minutes now, windows cracked just enough to prevent fogging while maintaining the silence necessary for surveillance.
With binoculars pressed against their eyes, they scanned the front of the ranch house, waiting. The white clapboard siding gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the wide, wooden porch with its cheerful welcome mat should have looked welcoming. Instead, it felt like a fortress keeping them apart. She didn't come out the front door as expected.
But they knew her routines now. After visits that included careful observation, they understood that she often preferred the back deck in the mornings when the sun rose to cast golden light across the rear of the property. Leaving the concealment of the vehicle, they moved in a low crouch along the drainage ditch that ran parallel to her property line. The tall prairie grass and scattered oak trees provided cover as they worked their way toward a better vantage point.
The scrub brush caught on their clothes but couldn’t scratch exposed skin, since there practically wasn’t any. Wearing long pants, jacket, gloves, socks, shoes, hat, and sunglasses meant almost every inch was covered. But even the discomfort of the crouching movements was irrelevant. They would endure far worse to catch glimpses of her. Through gaps in the vegetation, the back of the house came into view, including the elevated deck attached to it.
And there she was.
She sat in a weathered Adirondack chair, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed in peaceful contentment. The morning light turned her hair to ethereal gold and highlighted the elegant line of her neck. Even in simple jeans and a soft sweater, she was breathtaking. Perfect. Untouchable.
They raised the camera, grateful for the telephoto lens attached, and captured frame after frame. The digital shutter made barely a whisper of sound. If only they could get closer or could use the scope they'd brought for a clearer view, but moving closer would risk exposure. The lens would have to suffice for now.
She shifted in her chair, and for one heart-stopping moment, seemed to look directly toward their hiding spot. They froze, barely breathing, finger poised over the camera. But her gaze moved on, scanning the horizon as though no longer sure she was alone and safe.
They came whenever possible, timing visits carefully to avoid detection. It had to be planned perfectly… too frequent and noticeable patterns might alert her or others to their absence. Too infrequent and opportunities to watch were missed. The balance required patience, something they'd cultivated over years of waiting. Sometimes the visits were just sitting nearby in a rental, watching or taking photographs. At other times, theywalked to her house when it was dark or when she was gone. Recently, leaving a present. Something she would like.
They grinned, bringing a burner phone out of their pocket. Pressing her number, they watched as she leaned over and grabbed her phone from the small table next to her.
“Hello? Hello?”
They didn’t reply. It wasn’t the right time.
“Stop calling me!” she yelled.
They winced, not liking her strident voice. The call died as she stood and shoved her phone into her pocket. Bending, she grabbed her notebook and mug, stomping inside before shutting her door.
