Page 89 of Show Me

“I don’t know. He might’ve been. Or it might’ve been a coincidence. I don’t want to turn everything into a threat.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s how you lose your mind.”

“That’s how you stay ahead of it.”

“I don’t want to live like I’m prey.” The words feel like an anvil swung into my gut. I hate this.

I shift my weight, leaning back against the bench, arms matching her stance. “You’re not prey. But someone’s acting like you are.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Outside, Dad’s truck rolls past. The sound fades slowly. She nods once, like she’s filing it away instead of accepting it.

“We’ll check the cameras tonight,” I say. We. The word is out before I can stop it. I don’t know when I decided I’d stay at her place again tonight, but it’s now a foregone conclusion.

Her eyes flicker at that. “Okay.”

She grabs her purse. I fold the empty box and toss it into the trash, brushing the remaining crumbs into my palm before dropping them in after it.

We step outside together. The lot is still. Trucks lined up. Empty spaces stretching out toward the road. I scan it without thinking—nothing out of place. No movement. No one lurking. “I’ll follow you. Don’t get out until I get there.”

“Okay.” The fact that she agrees without arguing isn’t reassuring. She unlocks her car, sets her bag inside, and I stay beside her vehicle. Waiting for her to slide inside. Start the engine. And lock the doors with a click.

Only then do I turn toward my pickup and feel my shoulders lower a fraction. She’s safely in her car, and no one is sneaking up on her. The gravel shifts under my boots as I cross the lot.

Behind me, her headlights cut across the pavement as she pulls out, and the tension shoves its way back into my body. It’s Brookhaven, but clearly a lot can happen between the shop and her place.

I yank open the door and slam it shut behind me.

Chapter Forty-Three

Ruby

The camera feed is boring.

Grainy black-and-white footage of an empty yard, a stray cat slipping through the fence, Samson shifting in the straw. Xavier sits beside me at the kitchen table, one forearm resting near the laptop, his shoulder close enough that the warmth of him settles along my arm.

Nothing. No shadows. No movement that doesn’t belong.

I close the laptop. “Well. Our biggest threat appears to be raccoons, and that stray cat.”

A huff of laughter. “Suspicious. The both of them.”

The sound lingers longer than it should, sending my nerves into overdrive.

“Come on.” I push back from the table, needing to do something with my hands. “If you’re going to keep fixing my house, I’m putting you to work.”

We fall into rhythm like we’ve done this a thousand times. Sanding. Passing tools back and forth. Dust rising into the air, catching the light.

The radio hums low on the counter, something slow and familiar. Neither of us is listening.

“Hold that edge.” He tips his head to the right.

I shift my grip. His hand comes in to steady the cabinet door, our fingers brushing.

Not long. Just enough to feel it. I don’t pull away right away. Neither does he.

The moment stretches before he shifts his hand back to the wood as if nothing happened. The sander kicks on again. Squirt grunts from the doorway. Then he charges, straight between us.

“Squirt–”

It’s too late. He wedges herself between our legs, snout pushing into Xavier’s thigh before swinging back toward me, circling, grunting, determined to be included.