Marcus Webb had been seen. Marcus Webb was here. And Marcus Webb was waiting.
Sergeant Diaz called every evening with updates, but there wasn't much to report. No sightings since the concert. No activity on Webb's credit cards or phone. He'd gone to ground, which meant he was being careful, which meant he was planning something.
The not knowing was the worst part.
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," Brian said on the fourth morning, watching her pace the living room.
"I can't sit still." She turned at the window and started back toward the kitchen. "If I sit still, I think. And if I think..."
"You spiral." He rose from the couch and caught her mid-stride, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "I know. I've been watching you do it for days."
She stopped, letting herself feel the weight of his hands, the warmth of him standing close. "I hate this. I hate feeling like a prisoner in my own life. I came here to feel free, and instead I feel more trapped than ever."
"Then let's go somewhere."
She looked up at him. "What?"
"You heard me. Let's go somewhere. Not into town, not anywhere obvious. Somewhere he won't think to look." His eyes were steady, determined. "I know a place. It's about a twenty-minute drive. Private beach, nobody around. We can take the day. Just breathe."
"Brian..."
"You said you didn't want to let him take everything from you. This is part of that. Taking back your life, one day at a time." He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "Trust me?"
She did. That was the terrifying, wonderful truth of it. She trusted him more than she'd trusted anyone in years.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go."
The beach was everything Brian had promised.
They reached it by a winding dirt road that cut through marshland thick with cordgrass and egrets. The path ended at a small parking area with room for maybe two cars, and from there, a wooden boardwalk led through the dunes to a stretch of sand that seemed to go on forever.
There was no one else there. Just the two of them and the sea and the endless blue sky.
Tessa kicked off her sandals the moment her feet hit the sand, letting the warmth seep into her soles. The beach was wild and untamed, nothing like the manicured stretches near the tourist areas. Shells and driftwood littered the high tide line. Pelicans dove into the surf, coming up with fish flashing silver in their pouches.
"How did you find this place?" she asked, walking toward the water.
"Bill told me about it. Ruth's husband. He used to come here as a kid, before the development started eating up the coastline. Said it was the last real beach left." Brian fell into step beside her, his own shoes dangling from one hand. "I come here sometimes when I need to think. Or when I need to stop thinking."
The water was warm when it reached her feet, the waves gentle and rhythmic. She waded in up to her ankles and stopped, closing her eyes, letting the sound of the surf fill her head until there was no room for anything else.
"Better?" Brian asked from beside her.
"Better." She opened her eyes and found him watching her with an expression that made her heart stutter. "Thank you. For knowing what I needed."
"You needed space. Room to breathe. It's not complicated."
"It is, though." She turned to face him fully, the water swirling around their ankles. "Most people don't pay attention. They assume they know what you need, or they don't think about it at all. But you... you watch. You notice. You remember."
"It's an old habit. From the ambulance." He looked out at the water, and she saw something shift in his expression. "When you're trying to save someone's life, you learn to read the small things. The way they're breathing, the color of their skin, the look in their eyes. It becomes automatic."
"You miss it," she said softly. "The ambulance."
He was quiet for a long moment. "I miss parts of it. The purpose. The feeling of making a difference." He kicked at a wave, sending up a spray of droplets that caught the light like scattered diamonds. "But I don't miss the weight. The constant pressure. The nightmares."
"Do you still have them? The nightmares?"
"Sometimes. Less than before." He looked at her. "What about you?"
