Page 76 of Nyx

She doesn't startle, making it clear that she's vigilant enough to know that I was close to her.

"Do you always hide in the shadows to scare women?" she counters, her face turning in my direction, eyes full of something I can't really describe.

The accusation hits me square in the chest. I don't point out that the front lawn is lit up like a military base, and there isn't a shadow in sight. It sounds too much like an excuse, and something I normally wouldn't do, but especially wouldn't do after listening to those women talk about just that.

"Your shift is over. Why haven't you left yet?"

"I'd like to see you home safely," I say. "I imagine you're a little shaken up after what happened this morning."

"I'd like for you not to go out of your way worrying about me."

"It's not out of my way, the worry, or your apartment."

Her eyes narrow. "You know where I live?"

I tap my finger to my forehead. "Part of the job is knowing where everyone lives. Having to ask for an address or look at a map wastes time that we don't always have to waste."

Her eyes scan mine once again, and the scrutiny of her attention makes me want to shift my weight, something few people have the power to do, but I manage to stay still.

"Thank you, but I don't need your help."

I continue to stand, part of me wanting to ask if she knows her ex-husband has been released on parole, the other part not wanting to scare her further. I give her a little smile when I feel like I could be coming across as intimidating or trying to force something on her that she doesn't want. All these women have been controlled by men, and I'll be damned if I'm viewed as just another man trying to take their power away.

She straightens, her spine locking into place much the same way it did earlier when it looked like she was a hundred percent ready to take Travis Shaw on all by herself if she had to. I don't know if she really is that brave or if she's simply trying to appear that way.

"Accepting help isn't a weakness," I say, wincing when the words come out much more gruffly than I had intended.

"I never said it was," she argues, and the fire in her eyes sends a thrill of something down my spine.

I ignore it because something like that has no place in this situation, nor will it ever where she's concerned.

"I'm going to make sure you make it home safely," I tell her. "I won't be sneaky about it. I don't want you to be fearful or worried when you see the headlights of that SUV behind you the entire way."

I point, but she doesn't shift her eyes off me to look at the other vehicle.

"I would do this for any other staff member who witnessed what happened earlier today."

"And it has nothing to do with you being present during my interview and knowing part of my story?"

"No, ma'am," I assure her. "We just want to make sure that you are not only safe, but that you also feel safe."

The distinction makes her soften a little, but she doesn't speak as she climbs into her car, cranks it, and drives off before I have the chance to get to the SUV.

I rush, get inside the vehicle, crank it, and pull out. I catch up to her easily. The woman didn't speed off like she was trying to lose me, but she didn't take a direct route home either. If I had to guess, I'd say she takes alternate routes all the time in an effort to make sure she isn't being followed by her ex or anyone working for him.

I park a few spots down from her in the parking lot of her apartment, watching as she exits her vehicle, head on a swivel, as she walks toward her apartment.

The bottom level isn't ideal, but it may have been all they had when she came looking for a place to live.

I watch her enter her apartment, but there's no flip of the lights. Not even a shadow broadcasts from behind her dark curtains, and I know that's strategic on her part.

Shadows make good targets if someone were out here wanting to shoot her.

It was taught to us in the Marine Corps, and should have no place here in the civilian world, but I guess being tracked as a soldier by an enemy combatant is no different from being stalked by a violent ex.

How awful it must be to live every single day of your life in terror that it could be your last because you married the wrong man.

The plan was to only make sure she got home safely, but as I sit here, I find it impossible to leave.