“Lila. The woman whose house you broke into and I had to cover for you?” He keeps his voice low, though there’s no one close enough to hear us over the restaurant noise.
“Yep.” I take a long pull from my beer. “Lila Fischer. My sister’s friend.”
Dillian shakes his head, a mix of amusement and disbelief on his face. “Jesus Christ, Anthony. Of all the women in Maryland, you had to fixate on your sister’s best friend?”
“I didn’t plan it that way,” I shrug, remembering that first moment in the bookstore when I saw Lila, something electric passing between us. “I didn’t know they knew each other for sure until I started following her.”
“And you didn’t think that was a sign to back off? To find someone else to stalk?”
“I’m not stalking her,” I protest, though the denial sounds weak even to my own ears. “I’m watching her. There’s definitely a difference.”
Dillian snorts. “Right. That’s why you broke into her house. That’s why you left a book on her seat before we came inside. That’s why you stand outside her window at night like a fucking creep.” He leans forward, his voice dropping even lower. “That’s why I had to answer a 911 call at her house, because you scared the shit out of her.”
The mention of that night hits differently, now that I’ve seen her face to face again, now that she knows who I am. “She didn’t look scared tonight,” I point out.
“She looked like a deer in headlights,” Dillian counters, but there’s less conviction in his voice. He saw it too, the way Lila looked at me, the recognition in her eyes that wasn’t just fear.
Our server arrives with two plates of sushi, setting them down with a practiced smile before disappearing again. I grab a piece of spicy tuna roll, popping it into my mouth to buy time before responding.
“You remember that 911 call,” I say finally, meeting Dillian’s gaze. “You saw her that night. Did she seem like a woman living a happy, healthy life?”
His expression shifts, a flicker of concern passing over his features. “No,” he admits reluctantly. “She seemed... tense. Jumpy. Said she’d had a fight with her husband right before she saw the intruder.”
“Eli,” I practically spit the name. “The guy’s a piece of shit. Tries to control her money, watches her on cameras, disappears for days at a time. Who knows where he goes or when he’ll come back.”
“And you know all this because...?” Dillian raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve beenwatching,“ I admit. “But not just her. Him too. There’s something off about him, Dilllian. He installs cameras all over their house but conveniently has none in his own office. Takes these long ‘business trips’ but doesn’t seem to actually work much.”
“So what, you’re investigating him now? Playing detective?” There’s skepticism in Dillian’s voice, but also curiosity. The cop in him can’t resist a potential case.
“I’m figuring him out,” I say, reaching for another piece of sushi. “And in the meantime, I’m making sure Lila knows she has options.”
“Options,” Dillian repeats flatly. “Like the option to fuck her stalker instead of her husband?”
I feel a flare of anger at his words. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” He challenges, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Because I’ve known you a long time, Anthony. I know that look in your eye. You want her.”
“Of course I want her,” I admit, lowering my voice. “Have you seen her? Those eyes, that hair, the way she moves... But it’s more than that.”
“Enlighten me,” Dillian says, his tone softening slightly. Despite his skepticism, he’s giving me the chance to explain.
I take a breath, trying to put into words what I’ve been feeling since that first encounter in the bookstore. “It’s like... I knew her before I met her. Like there’s a connection that doesn’t make any fucking sense but is there anyway.” I shake my head, frustrated at how stupid it sounds out loud. “You're the one who was talking soul-ties. She’s trapped, Dillian. With a man who doesn’t appreciate her, doesn’t deserve her. And she’s scared to leave.”
“I know, man, but this is real life. My wife talked about it, I'm not sure how much I believe that. And you’re what, her knight in shining armor? Going to rescue the damsel in distress?” There’s a hint of sympathy in his voice, but also something else, understanding, maybe.
“If that’s what she needs,” I say simply.
Dillian studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “The 911 call,” he says finally. “You asked me to take it. Said you left books in her house and she freaked out.”
I nod, remembering that night clearly, how scared she’d looked through the window, how quickly she’d called the police. How relieved I’d been when Dillian answered.
“She was terrified,” Dillian continues. “Shaking. Said she saw someone in a mask outside her window, right after finding books in her library that hadn’t been there before. I searched the property, didn’t find anyone.” He gives me a pointed look. “Because you were hiding in the dunes like the creepy bastard you are.”
I can’t help but grin. “Guilty.”
“But,” Dillian says, his expression turning serious, “when I asked if her husband had ever hurt her, she got this look on her face. Like she was closing a door. Said ‘no’ but wouldn’t meet my eyes.”
