Page 65 of Three Months Yesterday

It isn’t a question, but I answer all the same. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about discretion when she was unconscious on the ground from an accident I was partly at fault for.”

Ian exhales, the sound sharp through the line. “How many people? Paramedics? Hospital staff? Other patients?”

“I don’t know. I was in the waiting room for a few minutes before they let me back to be with her. It was a crowded waiting room.” I lean forward, elbows on knees, staring at the dark wood floor. “I tried to keep my head down, but I know I was recognized. No one said anything, but they knew.”

“Great.” Paper shuffles on Ian’s end, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Ian, I⁠—”

“I’ve got news.” His voice drops, that particular quality that means he’s about to deliver news I won’t like. “We got another delivery from your stalker. They’ve reverted back to your PO box.”

My stomach tightens. “What kind of delivery?”

“A letter. And Beckett?” Ian pauses and I hear him take a breath, the first crack in his operator-mode facade. “The tone’s shifted. Significantly.”

I grip the phone harder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your stalker has moved from lovesick poetry to something far angrier. They’re frustrated you left, that you’re ignoring them. The language is…” He trails off, choosing his words carefully. “Concerning.”

“I need to see it.”

“We need to figure out if your location’s blown.” Ian’s voice hardens back to business. “Do you know if you were photographed? Are you positive you were recognized?”

“The paramedics and the hospital staff definitely knew who I was. I signed in with my real name—I wasn’t thinking about cover stories when I didn’t know what was going on with Madison.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything I’m not saying. Ian was only here for a few days and that was before anything happened with Madison, but he’s my head of security for a reason. He didn’t need more than a few minutes in Madison’s presence to know there was something between us, even if we refused to acknowledge it at the time.

“Beckett.” Ian’s voice changes, it’s softer now which somehow feels worse. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I open my mouth to deny it, to keep everything about the last twenty-four hours compartmentalized into manageable pieces. But the words catch. There is something else. Something huge. Something that has nothing to do with stalkers or security protocols and everything to do with why I can’t seem to catch my breath when I think about Madison alone in that kitchen.

But it’s not mine to tell. Not the baby. Not Madison. Absolutely none of it, so I keep my mouth shut.

Ian’s quiet a moment longer, but when I don’t answer him he speaks, his voice careful, measured. “How involved are you with Madison?”

“I don’t know.” The honesty of it scrapes me raw. “I thought we were…I don’t know what we were. Friends with potential? Now everything’s different, and I’m still here. Still wanting to be here. What does that make it?”

“Complicated,” Ian says dryly. “But you’ve left me with lots of gaps and most of them can’t be my concern. My concern is whether staying in town puts you or anyone else in danger.”

“Does it?” The question comes out smaller than I intended. “Putting anyone, especially Madison, in danger by staying isn’t an option.”

Ian sighs, and I hear him settling back in his chair with the creak of leather. “I don’t think so. If someone had leaked your location, we’d know. The media’s been speculating nonstop since you ‘disappeared’ two weeks ago. Every entertainment outlet from here to Los Angeles has run theories about where Beckett Stone vanished to. If anyone credible has information, it’d be everywhere by now.”

“So I’m safe.”

“You’re as safe as you were yesterday.” Ian’s tone suggests that’s not particularly reassuring. “But the letter makes me nervous. The escalation in tone, the frustration…whoever this is, they’re not giving up. They’re just getting angrier that they can’t reach you.”

“I need to see it, Ian. The letter.”

“I’ll scan it. Send it encrypted.” He pauses. “Beckett, if this person tracks you down…if they show up in Stonebridge Hollow…”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re isolated in a small town with limited security, getting personally involved with a woman who seems to have complications of her own, and your stalker is only getting worse.”

I stand up, too restless to sit anymore, and pace to the window. Madison’s house is visible through the bare branches of the oak trees, lights still burning from the front windows. “What do you want me to do? Come back to New York? Find somewhere else to stay?”

“I want you to be aware of the risk and have an exit plan. And I want you to consider whether your feelings for Madison are clouding your judgment about safety.”