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Ew. She needed to leave. “Damn it, Tate. I’m trying not to hurt your feelings. How much more clearly can I say it? I’m. Not. Interested. In. You.”

“Poll…” He drifted back half a step, looking stricken, as if she’d slapped him across the face. “That washed-up soldier with mental issues isn’t half the man I am. He relies on a dog and a therapy session to get him through the day.”

“Don’t say things like that. First, he’s a Marine, not a soldier. And two, he’s done more for me and our country than you ever will.”

“You’re feeling sorry for him. Don’t confuse your pity with love.”

Yep. The fear was gone. She was definitely feeling anger now. Shy, peacekeeping Polly Cooper actually put her hands on his chest and shoved him out of her personal space. “Get out of my way, Tate.”

“I thought you were going to give me a shot.”

“A shot? At what? You and I are just friends. And I seriously doubt that we’re going to be that for much longer if you keep this up.”

Charli had gotten several steps ahead of them, but she came back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Polly. “Come on, Tate. Give it a rest.”

“Am I talking to you?” he snapped.

“No.” The older blond grabbed Polly’s arm and pulled her away from Tate, urging Polly into a quick step beside her. “And neither is she.”

“You know that I like you…” He trailed off, raising his voice as he turned to track their exit. “I get it. You’re playing us off each other. You want me to earn your affection. I’m not afraid of a little competition.”

Polly’s stomach tightened, but she kept walking. “There is no competition—”

“Don’t worry. You’ll see the light. You’re going to be mine.”

“What?” Her anger dissipated on a puff of air. She spun back to face him. Was his choice of words just a coincidence? Or something intentional? “What did you say?”

But he was already sauntering toward the ER nurses’ station.

Charli hugged her arm around Polly’s shoulders. “You need to report his ass to HR. Does that guy have an ego or what? Come on. Let’s get the day started.”

Polly followed, but her steps were slower. Tate’s comment clung to her like a cold chill. She couldn’t stop thinking about the note she’d received yesterday: I see you. You can’t hide behind that soldier and his mutt forever. Next time, you won’t get away. You’re mine.

Had Tate been watching her? How did he know so much about her time with Daniel? He sounded so sure of himself—like he believed she’d come to her senses, and he could win her over. While she knew that was never going to happen, Tate refused to believe he couldn’t have her. The way he hovered, the possessive tone of his flirting—it all echoed the voice behind that note.

You’re mine.

Polly shivered. She’d thought Tate was just an annoying coworker with a crush, or even an egomaniacal player who wanted to check bedding a virgin off his conquest list. But was he something far darker? Was he a man who might wage a terror campaign to keep her all to himself?

By the time Polly reached the nurses’ station, the morning rush had already started—monitors chiming down the hall, the muted murmur of nurses exchanging patient reports, the clatter of carts against tile. The normal noise should have been comforting. Instead, it scraped against her nerves like static.

She went straight to work, needing the distraction to ease her mind. The entire staff worked with an influx of patients from a multi-vehicle accident. While she’d never wish such injuries on anyone, she was relieved it was so busy that Tate was assigned to another emergency bay, and she could focus on her own patients. Fortunately, no one was critical, but they did have to stabilize one woman and send her up to surgery for internal bleeding, set a couple of broken bones and stitch up several lacerations. By the time everyone was admitted, moved to a nearby room for observation or released, it was past lunchtime and Polly was starving.

She went straight to the break room and opened the fridge. She grabbed a handful of baby carrots from the stash she kept there and started munching. They should tide her over long enough until she could get down to the cafeteria to grab some soup or a sandwich.

While she stood there and munched, she caught a whiff of the community coffee pot. The smell hadn’t improved much from the last time she’d poured herself a cup. Bitter and burnt couldn’t compare to the coffee she’d brewed at home that morning, or the divine cup she’d had at Pearl’s Diner with Daniel. But caffeine was caffeine, and after their busy morning, she needed a jolt.

She couldn’t help but search through the main cabinet to see if her missing mug had reappeared. But no. After recent events, she was more convinced than ever that someone had taken it. But why? They liked it and wanted it for themselves? They didn’t have a mug of their own and had borrowed it, broken it and hidden the evidence? Or, more disturbingly, someone knew it was hers and had taken it.

Because they were obsessed with her.

Because they wanted to possess something she’d touched.

Because they knew just how off-kilter and unsettled the missing item would make her.

You’re mine.

Damn. How could a romantic vow like that sound like such a threat?