She couldn’t develop feelings for the detective investigating her case. That was a recipe fordisaster. For more heartbreak. For hoping for something that could never happen.
Nora had learned a long time ago not to hope for things she couldn’t have.
She showered quickly, keeping the bathroom door cracked so she could hear if anyone tried to enter the room. The hot water helped ease some of the tension in her shoulders, but it couldn’t wash away the persistent feeling of being watched.
Even here. Even in this anonymous hotel room. She felt eyes on her.
You’re being paranoid. No one knows you’re here.
But her instincts had been right before. About the parking garage. About her apartment. About everything people told her she was imagining.
So if her instincts screamed that she still wasn’t safe, maybe she should listen.
Nora dressed in jeans and a soft gray sweater—nothing bright, nothing memorable. Trying to be invisible. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her phone, willing Carson to call with good news.
The call came at 7:30.
“Nora? It’s Detective Black. How’d you sleep?”
His voice was rough, like he’d been up all night. It sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“Okay,” she lied. She’d barely slept at all, jerking awake at every sound in the hallway. “Did you find anything? About Eugene or the textor—”
“I’m still working on it. But I wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay. Have you eaten?”
The question caught her off guard. When was the last time someone had asked if she’d eaten? Cared about something as basic as whether she was taking care of herself?
“Not yet.”
“There’s a diner two blocks west of the hotel. The Sunrise Cafe. Good food, lots of people, safe. I can meet you there in twenty minutes if you want company.”
If you want company.
The casual offer made her chest ache. She did want company. Desperately. The isolation of this hotel room was suffocating.
“You don’t have to do that,” Nora said automatically. “I’m sure you’re busy—”
“Twenty minutes. Order the French toast. It’s the best in town.”
He hung up before she could argue.
Nora sat there for a moment, phone in hand, feeling something warm and dangerous bloom in her chest. He was going out of his way for her. Making time in his schedule. Checking on her like she mattered.
He’s just being thorough. This is part of the investigation.
But it didn’t feel like just part of the investigation.
It felt like he cared.
***
The Sunrise Cafe was exactly what Carson had promised—bright, busy, the kind of place where families came for weekend breakfast and the waitresses knew everyone’s names.
Nora slid into a booth by the window and ordered coffee, watching the door. Her heart did a stupid little jump when Carson walked in.
He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times. But his eyes scanned the restaurant with automatic precision, cataloging exits and potential threats before he even approached her table.
Always the cop. Always on guard.
