Page 12 of Protected By the BRATVA Grump

He walks me to the café, helps me open up and feed the cats, even though he is still a little nervous around them, and then he tells me he is leaving to fetch his car from the park.

That’s when I remember the guy.

"You never told me what was going on in the park last night," I say, preparing myself a cup of coffee.

He hesitates for a moment, but must decide I can handle whatever he is going to tell me.

"He was following you. He had syringes in his bag loaded with what I’m guessing is some kind of date rape drug."

My hands stop mid tamp and I turn to him.

"No, that can’t be."

"Have you ever seen him before?" Jasper slides his phone across the counter and I lean closer to look at the blurry image of a man. "Do you recognize anything about him? Maybe he has been a customer…"

I shake my head, no. "Why were you even at the park?" I ask.

He takes a slow breath and puts his coffee down.

"Last November," he says slowly, "I was coming back from the city and I saw you cross the road by the bandstand. It was dark, and there was nobody else in the park, so I pulled into the lot to make sure you got to the gate safely." He looks at me steadily. "Then I did it again the next night. After that, it just became part of my day."

"Every night?"

"Most nights. If I'm not stuck in the city."

"Since November?" I say it out loud to hear how it sounds. "Why did you never say anything?"

"Because at first, it was about your safety," he says simply. "Then it became one of the best parts of my day. Seeing you wind down helped me wind down." The muscle in his jaw moves once.

"You sat in the cold," I say. "For six months watching me run in the park."

"Bill was right yesterday, so many women assume they're safe because they’re doing the same thing they’ve always done and it’s never been an issue before. It’s like a type of survivor bias. But last night…" he trails off. "Besides, it's good security," he adds. "The café belongs to Eduard's wife. Anyone wanting leverage would start there."

He looks at me for a long moment, and something in his shoulders comes down about an inch.

I round the counter and take his face in both hands, which requires me to go up on my tiptoes and him to come down to meet me.

"That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me," I tell him.

He winces. "It’s not sweet, it’s security."

"You keep telling yourself that," I say, grinning. "For months I've been standing behind that counter thinking you barely noticed I existed, and it turns out you've been sitting in a parking lot making sure I’m safe on my runs." I’m laughing now. "You could have just asked me out."

"I could have," he agrees. He kisses my forehead, then my mouth, unhurried, one hand at the back of my neck. "I was working up to it."

Jasper

The park looks completely different at eight in the morning. I left Delilah at the café once Sammie had arrived, knowing that Sammie will have a lot of questions around why I was there before opening.

The grin on her face said she had already figured it out, but I didn’t want to hang around for the conversation and I have work to do.

Mist still sits low over the water, a woman in a red coat is throwing a ball for a spaniel down by the bandstand, and the path past the boat sheds is clear and visible. My car is the only vehicle in the gravel lot, exactly where I left it, the windows gone opaque with dew.

I walk the park before I drive anywhere.

Eleven yards between the last lamp and the one that picks up after the bend. Daylight doesn't improve it. The tarmac curves left and drops half a foot, and the hedge on the water side has thickened over the winter until a man could stand beside it and stay invisible from both ends of the path at once.

Men like the creep from last night have routines. Ironic really. It’s routines that help them target their victims, so you’d think they’d know now to have a routine themselves.