Her expression doesn’t waver.
“Then let’s prepare,” she replies.
And just like that?—
The line is crossed again. Not into fear. Not into retreat. But into something far more dangerous. Commitment.
27
TESSA
Idon’t like the feeling of being followed. It’s not new. Not anymore. But it’s gotten sharper lately—like my instincts are finally catching up to a world that has already decided I’m part of it whether I agreed or not.
The bookstore is closing for the evening when I notice him. At first, he’s just another person on the street. Hands in his pockets. Casual pace. Nothing unusual. Except he matches my movements. Not perfectly. Not obviously. But enough.
I lock up, turn the sign to CLOSED, and start counting in my head. If I’m wrong, I’ll laugh it off later. If I’m not?—
I don’t finish the thought. I step out onto the sidewalk, pulling my coat tighter around me as the air cools. The street is still busy—people heading home, cars passing, the normal rhythm of Redwood Crossing doing its best impression ofnothing is wrong here.
Behind me, footsteps slow slightly. Still there. Still matching. Okay. So I’m not imagining it.
My pulse ticks up, but I force myself not to look back too often. That’s the mistake people make in movies. That’s how you confirm what they already know—that you know. Instead, I turndown the main street like I always do. Like nothing has changed. Except everything has. I pass Crowder Café. Warm light spills out onto the sidewalk. Delilah is inside.
Good. That’s good. I take one more step?—
The footsteps behind me shift. Closer. Not subtle anymore. My stomach drops. Nope.
That’s not paranoia. That’s confirmation. I move. Fast. Not running yet—but faster than walking.
The footsteps accelerate too.
“Seriously?”
This is not how I wanted my evening to go. I cut toward the café door and shove it open hard enough that the bell inside jerks violently. Delilah looks up instantly. So does half the café.
“Tessa?” she calls.
“Lock it,” I say quickly.
Her expression changes in a split second. No questions. Just action. The café door clicks behind me. Locked. I spin around just in time to see the man outside hesitate on the sidewalk. He doesn’t leave. Of course he doesn’t. Because that would be too easy. He just stands there. Watching.
Delilah is beside me now, moving smoothly to pull the blinds halfway down.
“What’s going on?” she asks quietly.
“I think I was being followed,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens. “Think?”
“I was being followed,” I correct.
That earns a short nod. Brooke is suddenly at the counter, phone already in hand.
“Conrad,” she says into it. “We’ve got a situation at the café.”
Good. Backup is coming. That’s good. But the man outside doesn’t move. He just stands there like he’s waiting for something. Or someone. My skin prickles.
“That’s not normal,” I say.
