She kept her eyes on the street, watching for Detective Black’s car, holding onto the only solid truth she had left: someone believed her.
Someone was coming.
She wasn’t alone.
Outside, in the growing darkness, a figure stood across the street. Watching. Waiting.
But Nora didn’t see them.
Not yet.
Chapter 4
Carson pulled up outside the Starbucks on Fifth and scanned the street, every sense on high alert.
A text threatening Nora. Someone watching her closely enough to know what she was wearing today. This had escalated from concerning to dangerous in the span of a few hours.
He spotted her through the window—hunched over a cup of tea at a corner table, looking small and scared and utterly alone. Something in his chest tightened.
Focus. She’s a victim in a case. That’s all.
But the protective instinct that surged through him felt like more than professional concern. Felt like the same desperate need to shield someone that had consumed him since Lily disappeared.
He couldn’t save his sister. But maybe he couldsave Nora Bell.
Carson pushed through the door, and Nora’s head snapped up. Relief flooded her face when she saw him, raw and unguarded. Like he was a lifeline in a storm.
“Detective.” She started to stand.
“Stay.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat, keeping his voice low. “Show me the text.”
Her hands shook as she unlocked her phone and slid it across the table. Carson pulled on latex gloves from his jacket pocket before touching it—evidence handling was automatic after nineteen years on the job.
The message stared up at him:You looked beautiful today. The blue sweater is my favorite.
His jaw clenched. The sweater she was wearing right now—pale blue, soft-looking, the kind of thing that probably made her feel safe and comfortable. The stalker knew exactly what she’d worn today. Which meant they’d seen her. Followed her. Watched her.
“When did this come in?” he asked.
“About ten minutes ago. Right after I got here.”
So the stalker knew where she was. Right now. Could be watching them through the window at this very moment.
Carson’s instincts screamed at him to move her somewhere safer, somewhere without windows, somewhere he could control the environment. But first, he needed to secure the evidence.
“I’m going to forward this to my phone,” he said. “Then we’ll contact your carrier, get the number traced. Don’t delete anything.”
“Okay.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He forwarded the message to himself, noting the timestamp, then handed back her phone. “Has this number contacted you before?”
“No. I’ve never seen it.”
“Any other messages? Calls? Emails?”
“Just this.”
Carson pulled out his own phone and called the station. Patterson picked up on the third ring. “Detective?”
