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I grit my teeth. Of course the bastard couldn’t bring himself to face the music.
My racing heart has finally slowed by the time I sit on a low brick wall warmed by the sun, prop my laptop open, and search on Google:Saint de Haas.
Not a single social media account pops up. I grab my phone and type his name into every app I have downloaded, and none of the accounts that appear belong to him. Not a single Saint de Haas to be found. What kind of person doesn’t have social media?
The kind of person with something to hide. Like stalkers and murderers.
Luckily, my search isn’t totally in vain. There are a few hits on Google featuring Saint’s name.
An article from a Massachusetts boarding school boasts him as one of their highest-performing students. An exceptional writer who won a prestigious national award for high school students.
I grind my teeth. Of course he’s some genius, creative prodigy. I wonder when he turned into a psychotic stalker or if he was one back then too.
Someone sits down right beside me and I’m about to snap at them to give me some space until I spot who it is and relax.
“Have I ever told you that you look like someone I used to know?” Trevor flashes his signature, toothpaste-commercial smile.
“But did she have my wonderful personality to accompany our stunning good looks?” I toss my hair over my shoulder, and Trevor laughs. “Shouldn’t you be patrolling?”
He’s wearing his uniform—jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and a black jacket with the word SECURITY emblazoned across the back. He’s freakishly tall and burly with a buzzcut that’s juststarting to grow back and a five o’clock shadow. The complete opposite of toned, clean-shaven, dark-haired Saint.
I grit my teeth and push his face out of my head.
Trevor holds out a sandwich for me. He knows I forget to pack a lunch and wake up too late for breakfast most days. He’s the golden retriever type—always chatting amiably with faculty and students on campus with a smile for everyone, feeding the hungry and cheering up the downtrodden.
We’re work friends. When we spot each other on campus, we catch up and chat about the insignificant parts of our lives—the coworkers and bosses who annoy us, the food in the cafeteria that day, the surprisingly decent weather—but our friendship exists only in the bubble of campus. I don’t have room in my life for more friendships, and I’m sure Trevor has more than enough to keep him busy.
“I am patrolling.” He nudges me with an elbow. “Making sure you’re not looking at any pornographic images on my campus.”
I laugh and snap my laptop shut. “I wish. My search is a lot duller than that, unfortunately. Thanks for the sandwich.”
“No problem. It’s ham, cheese, and mustard—your gross favorite.”
I stick my tongue out at him before tucking the sandwich in my bag. My favorite is mayo, not mustard, but I’ll be hungry enough by lunch not to care.
“You doing research?” he asks.
“You could say that,” I admit. Trevor tilts his head and waits for me to continue. “I...think I may have a stalker.”
His brows furrow and his voice lowers. “A stalker? Why do you think that?”
“I mean, he basically admitted it to me when he broke into my house.”
“He broke into your—” Trevor stops himself from shouting, glancing around to see if anyone noticed his outburst. He leanscloser and whispers, “He broke into your house? Did you call the police?”
“Um.” I clutch my laptop to my chest. “I was going to?—”
“Briar, you didn’t call thepolice? You have to report this.” His eyes are wide, terrified for me.
“I will. Once I have proof.”
“Listen to me: You’ll get the proof, but you need to establish a paper trail.”
“I’ll report it after class,” I promise.
“Thank you.” He’s genuinely relieved. “So what have you found out about him so far?”
“Nothing, really. I know his name and the boarding school he attended. There isn’t any information about him after he graduated. No social media, nothing.”
