Their brow furrowed. Perhaps that hadn’t been the right thing to do. It was one thing to call just to hear her voice when they were far away, but when they were so close, they shouldn’t have made her go inside. Sighing heavily, they crept back to the rental car nearby.
She was Rose... their Rose... always had been and always would be. The character she'd played on television had been written for her, but the connection transcended fiction. While others saw an actress, they saw truth. While others saw a performance, they recognized destiny.
Perhaps next time, I’ll get inside her house. A slow smile spread across their face.
The sun began to shift toward the west, casting longer shadows across the prairie. Soon it would be time to retreat, to drive several hours to a different vehicle rental company. But for now, they slowly crept away from the house to avoid detection. At least until the next time.
4
Several weeks later, the drive into town was peaceful as the Nebraska landscape rolled past her windows. She needed to go to the grocery store, but decided to stop at the small indie bookstore on the way.
She loved this drive, remembering the first time she’d visited. The endless sky, the simplicity of rural life, and the way people here treated her like just another neighbor rather than a former celebrity were just what she needed.
After browsing the shelves, she made her purchases and chatted for a few minutes with the owner. Then, once inside the grocery store, she moved efficiently through the aisles, selecting fresh produce, pantry staples, and the imported coffee beans that had become one of her indulgences. The elderly clerk chatted pleasantly about the weather and her granddaughter's upcoming wedding. It was the kind of everyday conversation that had drawn Willow to this quiet corner of the world.
But as she loaded her groceries into the back of her small SUV, that familiar prickle of awareness crept up her spine again. She paused, her hands still on the shopping bags, and slowly scanned the parking lot. A few other cars sat scattered across the asphalt, their owners presumably inside the store orthe adjacent diner. Nothing seemed out of place, and no one appeared to be watching her, yet the feeling persisted, growing stronger.
Her training from those early Hollywood days, when overzealous fans had occasionally crossed lines, kicked in automatically. She finished loading her groceries with deliberate casualness, fighting the urge to hurry. As she drove home, she checked her rearview mirror more frequently than necessary, noting every vehicle that appeared behind her with a paranoid attention to detail.
A dark SUV had maintained distance behind her for the past several blocks and was still in her sight. This wasn't the first time she’d felt like she was being followed. She had passed a dark SUV on her road when she’d left earlier. And now this vehicle following her from the grocery made it impossible to ignore. It always stayed two or three cars back, never getting close enough for her to see the driver clearly, but maintaining visual contact in a way that felt deliberate.Or maybe I’m losing my mind!
By the time she turned into her long gravel driveway, the dark SUV was no longer in sight, but her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone white. The feeling of being observed had intensified rather than faded, and she knew that with modern telephoto lenses, someone didn't need to be close to capture detailed photographs.But why now? Why would anyone care enough to follow me around rural Nebraska?
As she approached her house, another detail made her stomach clench with anxiety. The two rocking chairs on her front porch, which she always left facing outward toward the view, had been turned to face each other, as though ready for two people sitting there to have a conversation.
She pulled directly into her garage, immediately pressing the button to close the heavy door behind her. Only when she heardthe mechanism click into place did she allow herself to exhale, her shoulders sagging with relief at being safely enclosed within her own space.
Moving quickly, she carried the cold items inside first, shoving milk, cheese, and frozen vegetables into their proper places with urgency born of fear rather than organization. The rest of the groceries could wait. Right now, she needed to figure out what to do about the possible escalating situation.
Standing in the kitchen, she looked around, rooted to the floor.Check the house… do that first.She hastened from room to room, examining windows and ensuring all locks were secure. Everything appeared normal until she reached her office at the back of the house. Glancing out the window toward her backyard, her heart nearly stopped.
Fresh footprints were pressed into the soft earth directly beneath her office window, and scattered around them was a small pile of red silk rose petals.
Someone had been standing right outside her office, close enough to peer through the glass and see her desk, her computer, and her most private workspace. The violation felt like a physical assault. She refused to go outside to inspect either discovery further. Whatever evidence might be gathered could wait until she had professional help.
She snorted at the thought of calling the police. Once again, there would be nothing to actually report. Her mind raced, then she hurried back to the kitchen to dig her phone out of her purse. She hit Aaliyah's number, her fingers slightly unsteady as she placed the call.
"Aaliyah, I need you to find a phone number for me," she said without preamble when her assistant answered. "Lionel Parker. Everyone calls him Leo. He used to work in personal security in LA, but I think he's moved on to some other job now. But I remember hearing something about him still being in security."
"Of course, Willow. Can you give me any other details that might help me track him down?"
"He was one of the good bodyguards back then. Professional, discreet, really knew his stuff." She paced to her kitchen window, peering through the curtains at the empty landscape beyond. "I need his number as soon as possible."
"I'll get right on it," Aaliyah assured her. "Should I clear your afternoon schedule?"
"Yes, please. And Aaliyah? This stays between us for now."
"Understood completely."
Twenty minutes later, her phone rang with Aaliyah's callback. "I found him. He now works for a security company run by Carson Dyer, based near Big Sur, California. It’s called Lighthouse Security Investigations West Coast. I'm texting you his direct number."
"Thank you," Willow said, already dialing before the text message finished loading.
"Leo Parker." His voice was exactly as she remembered when he came to their studio, and the calm sound was instantly reassuring.
"Leo, it's Willow Thorton. I know it’s been years, and you may not remember me, but?—"
"Willow!" Genuine pleasure warmed his voice. "This is a wonderful surprise. How are you doing? I heard you had left LA, right?"
