Page 94 of The Stalker Snafu

Rafe hadn’t been the most willing chauffeur, but once Julian explained I was going to see Noah whether his royal jerkiness agreed or not, Rafe quickly changed his tune. Apparently, he trusted no one but himself to keep an eye on me in case I did anything nefarious.

I made sure my pepper spray was easily accessible in my bag before we left.

The alley we parked in was quiet, and I followed the twins down it at a brisk pace.

“He should be seven houses down from here,” Adrian said, sidestepping a pothole. I hopped over it behind him.

My heart thudded louder with each house we passed. All two stories, some had privacy fences and others showed nice yards with playsets. The houses weren’t very big, but none of them looked cheap. Noah was staying in one of these?

I couldn’t help wondering who owned it.

“This one.” Adrian stopped beside the gate of a tall brown privacy fence.

He cracked the gate open, and a cool breeze swept through. A handful of trees and bushes with a smattering of flowers lined the back of the yard, and I took a deep breath before tiptoeing along the grass behind Rafe. My heart rate spiked at our sneakiness. He stopped short of a wooden garden shed surrounded by more shrubs and pulled a pair of binoculars out of his bag. I fussed with my backpack straps and tried to avoid thinking about how creepy this was. If someone saw us, I had no idea how we’d explain why we were using binoculars in a residential neighborhood. Maybe we could claim we were bird-watching?

“You okay?” Adrian whispered close enough to startle me—I’d zoned out thinking about viable excuses.

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A stick crunched under Adrian’s foot as he stepped closer, and Rafe cleared his throat.

“Found him. Living room. Third window from the left.” He lowered the binoculars and held them out to me. My heart thudded like a war drum as I took them, and I struggled to get my bearings. Hiding in the bushes while creeping on my boyfriend wasn’t exactly the best place for a panic attack. Rafe grunted. “Be quick about it. We don’t want to be seen.”

I fiddled with the settings on the binoculars, stalling. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find.

Neither of the twins spoke for a good minute, but they both hovered nearby as I gathered my courage. Noah was inside that house. The same Noah who’d bought me coffee and engraved our initials into a tree on the quad. The same Noah who was apparently one of America’s Most Wanted fugitives.

I was ready to wake up from this nightmare.

“You want us to scram?” Adrian asked when I hadn’t made any move to use the binoculars. “We can give you a minute.”

The weight on my chest lightened at his offer, but I tried my best not to look too relieved. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

Adrian nodded before sneaking down a few bushes to the right, but his brother didn’t follow.

“Don’t get any stupid ideas.” Rafe’s voice sounded gruffer than usual, a warning laced through it. He raked a hand through his dark hair, and his equally dark eyes narrowed when he frowned down at me. “You’re here to take a look. That’s it.”

My jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. He spoke to me like I was a child. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He hovered for a moment, then turned and skulked further down the line of shrubbery. I stuck my tongue out at his back before clutching the binoculars tighter and facing the house again.

The butterflies shifted awake with curiosity as I lifted the lenses to my face, and I did my best to soothe them with a deep breath. It was useless, and they worked themselves into a tizzy trying to escape.

Scanning the back of the house, the first thing I noticed was there weren’t many windows. I quickly zoomed in on the third window from the left. It showed a pretty drab living room with brown bookcases lining one wall. I could just make out a couch and a person sitting in an armchair.

My arms went numb, and the butterflies froze midflight, because the person was Noah. Same perfectly-in-place brown hair I remembered. Same calm as a cucumber expression. Same dark blazer and dress shirt, and I’d bet my entire coffee budget he had a pair of polished loafers next to the door. He seemed completely at home in this strange house, leaning back in the armchair and reading a book.

Reading. A. Book.

Not pacing like a caged animal, anxious about his fate. Not banging on the walls and launching an escape. Not pulling out his phone and texting me or calling me or looking like he cared even a smidgen about me—I was worried about his ungrateful butt, and he was reading a freaking book?

I could only stare.

But then anger flowed in like a crushing wave, and I wanted heads to roll. That jerk had lied to me for months and made me fall in love with him, and now he was sitting there reading like it was just another normal Sunday? It took me a second to realize the skin around my eyes stung from the force of me pushing the binoculars against them.

Rage blinded me.

I deserved answers, and now was the perfect time to get them.