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I shake my head once and take a deep breath before I say, “I’m fine. I’m just not used to being around people.”

Her mouth tips up at the corners, and her smile has the power to break through the darkness all around me.

Fuck, she’s even more breathtaking when she smiles like that.

“I know a little something about feeling overwhelmed, so I totally understand.”

My attention is one hundred percent focused on the woman in front of me as I murmur, “Yeah?”

Annie glances at the metal door. “During my first two weeks here, I randomly burst out in tears. Miles started keeping a box of tissues on the counter for me.” A soft chuckle escapes her, the sound light and musical. “I was completely burned out, but with time, the noise in my head quieted down, and I found a peaceful routine.” Her gaze swings back to me, and she gives me a cute, lopsided grin. “Harlan also needed time to adjust, so none of us will judge you if you need to take a break. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Once again, I’m struck in the heart by her kind words, and feeling the urge to respond, the corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “Thanks, Annie.”

More happiness shines from her, and I swear it makes the area around us look lighter, as if she has the power to make shadows retreat.

“Whenever you need a few minutes for yourself, just wave at me, and I’ll take over for you. Okay?”

As I nod, the metal door swings open, and Harlan looks at me. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Every muscle in my body tenses, and the little I’ve managed to relax evaporates. Before I can regulate myself, I switch to my old self, the predator who hunts and kills.

When I stalk into the kitchen, Harlan quickly moves out of my way, and I hear him whisper to Annie, “Jesus Christ, he reminds me of a guy I did time with. Scary motherfucker.”

“Hush, Harlan. Owen can hear you,” Annie chastises the cook.

I head through the door, and when I see Marshal Laufer talking with Miles, it increases the dangerous tension vibrating in my body.

Laufer takes one look at me, then tips his head toward the front entrance. I follow him outside onto the sidewalk, and while he lights a cigarette, his eyes lock on my face. “What name are you using day to day?”

“Owen Casey,” I mutter while crossing my arms over my chest.

“Have you memorized your cover story?”

I have, but I keep forgetting to use it.

When I nod, Laufer orders, “Say it back to me.”

I glance up and down the street as I reply, “I was born and raised here in Portland. Did the nomad thing for a while and traveled, but now I’m ready to set down roots.”

His eyes remain locked on me, and I know he’s inspecting my every word and move. “Anyone curious about your background?”

“A couple of the patrons and the server.”

“Stick to the cover story.” He takes a drag of the cigarette and exhales before asking, “Anyone from your old life reach out?”

I shake my head. “No.”

I wouldn’t be here if they did.

“You made any calls I don’t know about?”

Again, I shake my head.

“Are you settling okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I lie while keeping a straight face.

Laufer’s expression doesn’t change, telling me he believes me.