Page 41 of Stalkers Anonymous

But I can’t stop. The itch to dig into Lars Winters, to hunt down every last detail of his life, is insatiable. It’s not something I can ignore. It’ll never go away.

Lars Winters. Fifty-two years old. Frequent patient at Fort Collins Memorial. Multiple arrests for drug possession, one for assault three years ago, though his lawyer managed to plead it down. I recall the look the officers exchanged when Hailey told them Lars’s name. They recognized it. And still, they did nothing.

Winters has no current employment listed. So the scumbag’s unemployed and has nothing better to do than harass my girl.

I catch myself.

My girl.

I shake my head, refocusing on the task at hand. I learn that Lars lives alone in an older house on the north side of town.

I dig deeper. Traffic violations. Court records. A bankruptcy filing from five years ago. A restraining order filed against him by an ex-girlfriend in 2019.

He’s done this before.

Fuck, I should stop here. Close the laptop, call Tyler, admit that I’m on the verge of spiraling.

Instead, I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot I made this afternoon. It’s cold now, but I don’t care. I just need the caffeine.

Because I’m not stopping.

Not tonight.

Not until I know everything there is to know about Lars Peter Winters.

Not until I figure out how to make sure he never comes near Hailey again.

I return to my desk, cold coffee in hand, and pull up a new search window. Property records, utility bills, cellular data if I can find a way in. I’ll map his patterns, his routines, his vulnerabilities—so he doesn’t get another chance to exploit Hailey’s.

My phone buzzes with a text from Tyler.

Tyler: Late night check-in. Everything okay? My senses are tingling.

I stare at the terrifyingly well-timed message. This is the moment when I should tell him. It’s the universe giving me another chance to pull back, to admit what I’m doing, to ask for help.

Cole: All good. Up late working on a project. Talk tomorrow.

I silence every notification except calls or messages from Hailey, and set my phone down on the desk.

The coffee is bitter on my tongue, but I don’t spare it a second thought. I’m already scanning the next screen of information about Shitbag Lars. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m making a choice.

I know I’m choosing the addiction over my recovery.

But all I can see is Hailey’s face when she saw her car. The tremor in her hands. The fear she tried to hide.

Someone has to protect her.

The screen glows brighter as I open another search window.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Ten: Hailey

The knock on my door comes at exactly three o’clock, just like Cole promised when we made plans for him to come over.

I check the peephole and see him standing in the hallway with a large duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder and a cardboard box balanced in his arms.

“Hi,” I say, opening the door. “That looks heavy.”