Page 11 of Hollow Forest

***

I stared at my phone and nearly tripped over the pot of mums on the sidewalk. A door slammed on a patrol car in the parking lot.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the deputy called out.

Tearing my gaze from the screen, heart pounding in my throat, I gave the officer a weak wave. “I’m great!”

He gave me a skeptical look.

“I should know better than to walk and text,” I said lamely.

He laughed but mercifully continued his trek into the sheriff’s office with only a casual, “Yep, be careful.”

When the door closed, I sagged against the brick building. My hands shook as I lifted my phone again. No one had this number.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. My landlord did. And I’d put the number down on the paperwork yesterday, so any of the employees at the Salted Biscoff Café had access to it.

But none of them would have sent the single word text.

Unknown: Don’t.

It wasn’t a far jump in logic to figure out who’d sent the message. I was standing outside the sheriff's office, ready to file a report that someone had broken into the cottage last night. But the text had buzzed right as I turned the corner off the street and onto the sidewalk in front of the building.

I shot a look around.

There was light traffic on the road. A group of tourists laughed in the main square. The morning sunlight danced on the fountain, making the quaint town feel lively and jolly. But it did nothing to warm me.

Someone was watching.

Ice trickled down my spine.

And that made me mad. This person was bold. They thought they had the upper hand. I glared at the warning message. Just because the intruder had filled my fridge didn’t give them the right to dictate my movements. What happened last night was creepy!

Still, after the three-mile walk into town and a quick stop into the thrift shop where I scoured the racks of clothes for a new hoodie, there wasn’t much time before I was supposed to be at the café.

I needed to be early for my first shift.

Or at least on time.

Me: You’ve got a lot of nerve! You think you can stop me from filing a report?

I hesitated after sending the text. Taunting my stalker was probably the stupidest thing I could have done. But I wasn’t sure what my next move was. So far, there hadn’t been any immediate danger. That could change if I brought the law into the picture.

“I will bury you if you hurt me,” I promised and pushed off the wall.

The decision to retrace my steps and continue down the side street to Via Luca had everything to do with the time. The burner phone didn’t buzz again as I turned the corner and walked rapidly toward the end of the street. Vehicles passed me on the road, but I didn’t notice anything amiss. Nor did I see anyone duck into the shops along the street.

I pushed into the Salted Biscoff a second later.

The spicy scent of nutmeg and cinnamon blended with the rich strains of coffee, and my stomach growled happily. My metabolism was fired up from the food I’d consumed, but since I hadn’t had a proper meal, I was ready to munch again. My body was eager for high calories. Drinking them was probably not the smartest idea.

A line of patrons waited their turn for treats as I skirted toward the counter.

“Sam!” Ivry called out as she bustled to grab golden scones dripping with icing. “You’re early! We’re slammed, but you can clock in if you’re ready.”

She’d shown me the POS system after I filled out the paperwork yesterday, so I gave her a nod and went to clock in and wash my hands. There was an apron and nametag waiting for me on the back hook. A short buzz of anticipation sizzled through me as I tied it around my waist. This was normal.

This I could do.