Chapter 5
Sarah
The clock above the diner counter reads 9:47 PM when I realize I've made a mistake.
He walked in an hour ago—human, mid-thirties, business casual clothes that don't belong in Nightfall Cove. Ordered coffee he barely touched. Chose the counter instead of a booth, positioning himself so I couldn't escape behind the register without passing him.
I've handled men like this my whole life.
"You're new here." He says it like an accusation every time I refill his cup. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be stuck in a shithole town like this."
My smile stays professional. My hands stay busy wiping down the same section of counter, keeping distance between us.
"You got a ride home? I could give you a lift." His fingers brush mine when I set down his check. "Show you around the area."
"No thank you." My voice holds steady. I've trained it to.
But something in his eyes shifts. The look that saysI don't like hearing no. The look Peter wore before he stopped pretending to be charming.
Betty left an hour ago. The cook finished his shift at nine. I'm alone in this diner with a man who refuses to leave.
The man stands. He's not large—five-ten, maybe—but he moves toward me like he owns the space between us.
"Come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that."
I back against the coffee station. The pot burns hot enough to throw. I could scream. I could run for the kitchen door.
I could call Knox.
The thought arrives unbidden, and my hand dives into my pocket before I can stop it. His number sits in my contacts—he put it there the morning after family dinner, when he dropped me home.
For emergencies. Day or night.
My thumbs fly across the screen.
There's a man at the diner. He won't leave.
I hit send and my heart slams against my ribs. The phone goes back in my pocket. Stupid. Knox could be anywhere—across town, out on a ride, asleep. What am I expecting, a rescue?
The man rounds the corner of the counter.
"Playing hard to get." He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "I like that."
I grab the coffee pot. Still hot. "Stay back."
He laughs. "Or what? You'll burn me?" Another step closer. "Come on, sweetheart. I'm just being friendly."
The clock ticks. 9:49
I edge toward the kitchen door. He mirrors me, cutting off the angle. My back hits the pastry case.
"There's nowhere to go." His voice drops, patient now, like he's done this before. Like he knows exactly how this ends. "Just relax."
9:52.
No headlights in the parking lot. No rumble of a motorcycle. Just me and this man and the hum of the refrigerator case.
He moves fast. The coffee pot smashes against the floor as he knocks it from my grip, and then his hand clamps around my wrist. His other hand finds my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.
