Page 38 of Stalkers Anonymous

“So that’s it?” Hailey asks quietly. “File a report and hope it doesn’t happen again?”

The female officer’s stoic gaze softens with pity. “I know it’s frustrating. My advice would be to vary your routine, park in different locations, maybe install a dashcam. And if this guy approaches you or contacts you outside of work, document everything and call us immediately.”

They finish taking the report, hand Hailey a case number, and leave with empty promises to “keep an eye out.”

As their patrol cruiser disappears down the road, Hailey lets out a shaky breath. “That was about as helpful as I expected.”

“They’re useless,” I mutter, still staring at the gouged paint. The letters on Hailey’s door seems to pulse with malice beneath the fluorescent street lights. The missing T makes it almost worse. Like he was so eager to hurt her, he couldn’t even take the time to do it right.

“I’ll have to call my insurance company. Figure out how to get this buffed out.” She pulls out her phone, but her hands are still trembling.

“Hailey.” I step closer and reach out, gently taking her phone and slipping it inside her pocket. “You can call them in the morning. You shouldn’t drive home alone tonight. Not after this.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“Please.” The word comes out sounding a little desperate, but I guess I am. “Let me at least follow you home. To make sure you get there safely. Or call Rachel. Just let someone make sure you get inside okay.”

She studies my face for a long moment, chewing at the inside of her cheek, as if that’s where she’ll find the answer to a question about independence versus fear. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

The drive to her apartment is torture. I keep my car close behind her SUV, watching for any sign of someone following us, any vehicle that appears more than once. The defaced side of her car is visible every time we pass a under streetlight, a constant fucking reminder of him.

I’d been planning to kiss her tonight. After walking her to her car, after what had been a perfect dinner. The moment felt inevitable—from the moonlight overhead to the way she looked at me while we walked. The easy chemistry between us all night seemed to have only one possible conclusion.

Instead, I’m tailing her home like a bodyguard while rage simmers in my chest.

Her apartment is an older building with zero security, a poorly-lit parking area, and no cameras. I make note of all of it.

I can fix this.

She pulls up to the curb near the front, and I park behind her. When she gets out, she looks exhausted, the twinkle in her eye from earlier completely faded.

“Thank you for following me,” she says. “And for dinner. I’m sorry it ended like this. I don’t need you to come up. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll text you when I’m inside and have all the lights turned on.”

“Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.” I want to touch her again, to pull her close and promise everything will be okay. And I want to walk with her to her door, go in before her to sweep the apartment and make sure it’s safe for her to go inside.

But I can’t overstep.

I can’t invite myself inside if that’s not what she wants. Instead, I say, “Get some rest. And text me when you’re inside. I’ll wait right here until I know you’re settled.”

“Okay.” She hesitates, then presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Good night, Cole.”

Before I can respond, she’s hurrying toward the entrance, opening the door and disappearing inside. I’m frozen in place, eyes locked on the building until I see lights come on in a second-floor apartment—hers, I assume. I try not to notice it’s the last window on the left and the easiest to access from the fire escape. A few seconds later, a text comes through, and I let out a sigh of relief.

Hailey: I’m inside. I checked all the closets, and there’s no one here. Thanks again for tonight.

The drive back to my apartment passes in a haze of barely contained fury. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and my jaw aches from clenching it.

Lars fucking Winters. Or, as I will now think of him, Shitbag Lars.

The name circles in my head like a vulture. Menacing. Despicable. Disgusting.

Once I’m inside my apartment, I don’t bother turning on the lights. I go straight to my desk, power up my laptop, and pause.

Don’t do this.

Tyler’s voice echoes in my head. His earnest expression looks back at me where my own reflection should ghost the dark screen in front of me.

Tracey’s warnings play on repeat like a catchy song I can’t forget. This is exactly what you’re supposed to be working on.