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“Not really.”

“Want to tell me why you care?”

“Not really.”

“This about the neighbor Rose won’t shut up about?”

Jesus. “Rose needs a hobby.”

“According to her, you need a girlfriend. Is this about her? The neighbor?”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Tyson…”

I hung up, stared at Sam’s house for a long moment, then got out of the truck again.

She answered on the first knock, probably watching from the window. She was still pale and worried.

“It was a private investigator,” I said without preamble. “From Charlotte.”

If possible, she went paler. Her hand tightened on the doorframe until her knuckles went white.

“You’re sure?”

“My brother’s a cop. He ran the plates. Davidson Investigative Services.”

She nodded slowly, processing this. I waited for an explanation. For her to tell me who hired a PI to find her. Why she was hiding in Tennessee. What she was running from.

She offered nothing.

“You okay?” I asked finally.

“Fine. Thank you for checking.”

“If you need…”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. Everything about her screamed not fine. But I recognized walls when I saw them, had built enough of my own over the years.

“I’ll need your number,” I said, my final desperate attempt to breach those walls before they shut me down completely. “For the renovation. Coordinating schedules.”

It was partly true. Also partly an excuse to have a way to check on her that didn’t involve standing on her porch like a worried idiot.

She rattled off the digits. I saved them immediately, then sent a test text so she’d have mine.

“Thanks,” she said. “For checking on the car. And for not…” She waved vaguely. “Asking.”

“If you need anything…”

“I know where you live.”

An attempt at humor that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I wanted to push and demand answers about who was looking for her and why. Wanted to fix whatever had her scared enough to buy the Henley place and hide in rural Tennessee.

Instead, I nodded and left.

The drive to the Morrison job took twelve minutes. I spent every one of them thinking about the look on her face when she’d seen that car. The way her knuckles had gone white. The wall that had slammed down when I’d told her about the PI.