Then Brian’s phone buzzed.
Not a lead.
Tess:
You alive? Or buried under paperwork?
He smiled plenty at work—usually for the gallows humor that kept them all sane—but this one was different. Real.
Barelyalive. You?
Tess:
I’m good. Busy. Just wanted to say hello. I’ll call you later.
Great
He stared at the screen a second longer than he should’ve before tossing the phone on his desk. It wasn’t much—a few words—but it hit harder than he’d like to admit. Most people checked in out of habit. Tess did it as she meant it.
He leaned back, his gaze skimming the clutter of case files but not really seeing them. Something bigger was happening between them—something he hadn’t seen coming. He’d dated, sure, but never stuck around long enough for it to mean anything. Work always came first, and most women didn’t have the patience for his hours or his headspace. But Tess... she didn’t feel temporary.
Something about her had gotten under his skin, quiet but constant. The way she steadied him without even trying. The way she peeked over the walls that he didn’t always realize he kept in front of himself.
His brothers would laugh if they knew his thoughts right then—the confirmed bachelor was getting attached to a woman—something he’d sworn he’d never do. But never sounded lonely now. Hollow.
He’d spent years convincing himself that he didn’t need anyone waiting for him at home—that the job was enough. It had been, until recently. But somewherebetween Tess’s quiet smiles and the way she looked at him like she actually saw the man behind the badge, that old certainty had started to crack.
And damn if that didn’t scare the hell out of him.
He blew out a breath, scrubbed a hand over his face, and leaned forward again. Feelings could wait. The case couldn’t.
He grabbed the next report from the pile and forced himself to read.
Tess felt the hum of the M.E.’s building in her bones—the drone of ventilation, the opening and closing of doors, and people walking up and down the hallway, going about their business. The scheduled post-mortems were all done for the day, which meant it was time to restock supplies, sterilize instruments, and disinfect the tables. While it was mundane work, she didn’t mind it. Being busy kept the mind from pawing at the edges of trouble.
After jotting down what she needed from the storage closet, Tess stepped out of the suite and into the hallway, passing Patty’s empty desk. The older woman was nowhere in sight—probably in the restroom or running paperwork to another department. If anyone came by in the meantime, one of the other clerks would cover the desk.
As she moved through the lobby, she checked theweather out the glass doors and windows to her right. It was bright outside, despite the call for passing showers during the day.
That was when she spotted it—a black Escalade across the street, angled just off the curb. Nothing illegal. Nothing obvious. But she could still make out two shapes—the driver and a passenger. Both sitting too still. Watching. She wouldn’t have noticed the vehicle except that she had seen one like it several times over the last few days. Sunday, by the bakery in Whisper. Later that same day, easing past the beach house while she cleaned out her car. And again yesterday—waiting in the grocery store lot when she came out with her bags. Maybe it was the same one. Maybe not. Her brain didn’t care about the difference.
Don’t be dramatic. Lots of people drive black Escalades.
She told herself that and still found it hard to believe.
Her focus on the vehicle was interrupted when she walked right into a man who worked in one of the other municipal offices in the building, knocking a file out of his hand. Its contents scattered across the floor. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.”
They both squatted and gathered all the papers, then she handed him her small stack. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
As they stood, he smiled and stepped around her. “No worries. It happens.”
He continued out the lobby doors, and her gaze shifted toward the Escalade again, but it was gone. She glanced around the parking lot and still didn’t see it. Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn’t think so. Something was off—but what?
She should mention it to Brian—maybe. He was already shoulder-deep in at least two homicide cases. Even so, he would take her concern seriously. He’d also worry, and the ridiculous part was how much she didn’t want to add to the worry she already saw pulling at the edges of his eyes.
Brushing off the eerie feeling that she was being targeted for some reason, she walked to the supply closet and got what she needed. By the time four p.m. finally rolled around, she’d almost managed to convince herself it was nothing—just one too many crime dramas warping her imagination.
At six fifteen, Brian stepped onto the back porch of the beach house and knocked. Technically, he’d had a key since he was a teenager, but didn’t want to overstep by using it while Tess and Andy lived here.
