Phoenix knows I come here. He doesn't hover anymore, doesn't track my phone or demand constant updates on my location. But I catch him watching me sometimes when I leave, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes that he tries to hide. The effort he's making to give me space is visible, almost painful, and I love him more for it.
Today the fog rolled in early, thick and gray, muting the sounds of traffic and turning the morning light soft and diffuse. I spent two hours at my usual table by the window, nursing my latte and working on my manuscript while the world outside disappeared into mist. The words flowed easily for once, and I left feeling lighter than I have in weeks.
Almost normal.
The bell above the door chimes as I step out onto the sidewalk, my laptop bag slung over one shoulder. The air smells like salt and eucalyptus and the faint sweetness of the bakery next door. I'm thinking about what to make for dinner, whether Phoenix will be home early enough to eat together, when a man falls into step beside me.
"You're Jade Catalano. Phoenix Crawford's girlfriend."
The voice is calm, conversational, like we're old acquaintances running into each other by chance. I glance up at him and my feet slow without my permission.
He's tall, well over six feet, with dark hair cut close to his skull and eyes the color of winter sky. Pale gray, almost colorless, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He's wearing an expensive coat over a dark sweater, and his shoes are Italian leather, polished to a shine despite the damp weather.
There's something familiar about his face. Something I can't quite place.
“Who are you?”
"You got my texts, I assume.”
My blood runs cold. Was the one sending me all of those anonymous texts? "Who are you?” I ask.
"Dominic Webb." He keeps pace with me easily, his long stride matching my shorter steps. "Marcus's brother."
My mouth drops open.
I see the resemblance now. The same strong jaw, the same sharp cheekbones, though Dominic's features are harder, colder, stripped of Marcus’ false charm. This is what Marcus might have looked like if he'd had any real discipline. Any real control.
I keep walking, forcing my legs to move even though everything within me screams at me to run. "I don't know anything about your brother."
His hand closes around my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I stumble to a stop, yanked backward by the force of his grip.
"Let go of me."
"Let's not play games, Ms. Catalano." His voice is still pleasant, still conversational, but his eyes are flat and dead. "I think we're past that, don't you?"
I try to pull away, but his fingers only tighten. We're standing in the middle of the sidewalk. No one stops. No one even looks twice. Just a man and a woman having a conversation. Nothing to see here.
"I know exactly what happened at that cabin."
The words freeze me more effectively than his grip ever could.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Dominic smiles. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen, that smile, because it doesn't reach his eyes at all. His eyes stay cold and empty.
"My brother drove up to the Crawford cabin in Angeles National Forest. He'd been watching you for days by then, waiting for Phoenix to leave you alone long enough to make his move. I've been watching you too. Not as long as he did, but long enough to know your coffee order and which table you prefer when the fog comes in.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. The fog seems thicker now, pressing in on all sides, muffling sound and light until there's nothing in the world but me and this man.
"He went inside," Dominic continues. "There was a confrontation. I imagine he tried to take what he wanted from you."
My stomach heaves. I taste bile at the back of my throat.
"My brother had certain vices. I'm not blind to who he was." His voice is matter-of-fact, almost bored. "Rape wouldn't have been beneath him. It wouldn't have been the first time."
"How do you know all this?" The words come out in a whisper.
"Marcus was paranoid. Had been since he was a teenager. He recorded everything on his phone. Conversations, meetings, anything that might be useful later as leverage. He started recording whenever he felt a situation might turn useful, before he walked into a room, before he got out of his car. He'd done it for years." Dominic's grip on my arm loosens slightly, but I don't pull away. I can't move at all. "Auto-uploaded to a private cloud server. He thought it made him untouchable. After he disappeared I went looking and found the credentials on his laptop. Twelve backup locations. Marcus was nothing if not thorough.”
