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chapter twenty-two
As the cool, rainy spring slowly warmed into a cool, breezy summer, things stayed quiet.
No more victims.
No more feelings of being watched.
It was almost… normal.
Ash suspected the killer realized he’d lost control during his last kill and went underground to regroup, but the sheriff also didn’t think it was over. Connelly agreed. His Number One Fan wasn’t done yet.
But the quiet days saw Connelly and Veronica falling into a comfortable routine. He’d wake up early to get some writing done— if he was lucky, he could get in a few solid hours before Veronica woke up and the dogs required attention. He was nearly done with the book, and he thought it might be his best one yet. The characters were scrappy and likable. The monster was terrifying and unstoppable. Only problem was he didn’t know how it should end—should it be a happily ever after, or did the monster win this time?
After he finished his words for the day they’d take the dogs for a morning walk in the woods at Veronica’s insistence. She claimed to find it calming, even with a protection detail trailing them.
And he couldn’t deny the change he saw in her. She was calmer. She no longer flinched at the idea of stepping outside the house. She sat out on the back deck every day with a sketchbook, drawing again for the first time in years, filling the pages with sky and sea. The world was slowly expanding again for her, and as much as he hated the circumstances that brought them together, Connelly couldn’t help but feel grateful for this progress. He even managed to convince her to call her Dad daily. He usually stepped out of the house to play with the dogs in the yard when she did, giving them privacy, but he hoped that whatever was broken between them was starting to heal as well.
The afternoons were reserved for practicing Judo. With each passing day, Veronica was becoming more adept at the moves. She was a fast learner, her instinctive grip on the technical aspects of the martial art surprising him.
But then again, Veronica never failed to surprise him.
In the evenings, they’d often find themselves huddled together on the couch, enveloped in soft blankets while they watched movies and the dogs snoozed. He loved those nights—just him and Veronica in a cocoon of warmth and companionship. In those moments, there was no killer, no crazy sorta-ex-girlfriend stalker. Just them, their dogs, and Veronica’s vast collection of cheesy rom-coms that he’d secretly come to love. He enjoyed watching her lose herself in laughter. Her happiness was infectious, and he found himself laughing along even when the jokes were lame.
For those precious moments, the world outside ceased to exist.
And then there were those moments when he found himself just watching her. At the stove, stirring a pot of soup, lips pursed in consideration as she taste-tested the new recipe. Curled up in an armchair by the window, reading or sketching, oblivious to his gaze. Or on one of their walks, pausing to stare at the majesty of a sunrise or the quiet beauty of the ancient redwoods.
Sometimes, when the sunlight hit her just right, he caught a glimpse of the Veronica he used to know—the one with a bravery so fierce and a spirit so untamed, it felt like staring directly into the heart of a wildfire.
Of course, that woman was gone. He knew that. She’d never again be who she was, but he loved watching her discover this new version of herself. He loved that she moved with newfound grace and self-assuredness. He loved holding her each night as she drifted to sleep. And he loved her more each day.
It was all so quietly perfect and couldn’t last much longer. The world was not designed for uninterrupted bliss. It thrived on the chaos, the unpredictability, the sharp edges of existence that catch and cut when least expected. He made his living writing about those blade-like edges, after all, and he could sense one hanging over them like a guillotine waiting to drop.
Then one morning, that guillotine blade came in the form of a defense attorney and a podcaster.
They were sitting on the front porch when the unfamiliar car pulled in, Veronica tossing a ball for Rebel and he reading through his manuscript. He didn’t think much of it at first. With Redwood Coast Rescue pulling double duty as bodyguards these last few weeks, new vehicles were coming and going all the time and he assumed they were just changing shifts.
But then a woman with sleek blond hair slid from the driver’s seat and a man with California surfer looks and a rumpled suit climbed out of the passenger side.
Veronica stopped throwing the ball and moved closer to his side. He closed his laptop and stood, taking her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay,” he murmured for her ears alone. “See? Rebel’s relaxed with them.”
Rebel padded over and bumped her head against the woman’s jean-clad legs for attention. Alfie trotted toward the man and sniffed his shoes.
“Hi,” the woman said with a bright smile as she scratched the spot behind Rebel’s ear that made the dog’s leg thump. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced but Shane”—she motioned to the man and dog team camping at the base of the driveway—”is my fiancé. And that’s Clue, our dog.”
Connelly looked toward their RWCR bodyguards. It had been Donovan Scott and his border collie, Spirit, earlier this morning, but they must have changed shifts since then. He could admit to himself that he was surprised Shane Trevisano had volunteered for the job. He and Shane had a history that included him getting his bell rung good by the former SEAL, but he supposed that was all water under the bridge now. And he respected the guy. Not many people could live through what Shane had and come out still swinging with a mean right hook.
Some of the tension eased out of Veronica’s shoulders. “Oh. I remember you from Dr. Firestone’s office. Alexis?”
The blonde’s smile brightened. “Alexis Summers.”
Connelly had heard that name before. “The true crime podcaster?”
“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
Veronica nodded toward the rumpled suit. “And you’re Cal, right? RWCR’s lawyer.”
