Page 79 of Stalkers Anonymous

I step inside first, scanning the apartment automatically. No signs of forced entry. Nothing out of place. Chewy chirps from his enclosure, and I feel some of my tension ease. If someone had been here, the ferret would be acting differently.

Probably.

I’m not actually sure how ferrets respond to intruders. Add that to the list of things to research later.

Hailey moves through the apartment like a ghost, checking windows, pulling curtains closed, avoiding her own reflection in the darkened glass. She looks exhausted—bone-deep tired from running on fear and adrenaline for hours.

“You should get some sleep,” I say gently.

“I know.” She wraps her arms around herself, and I instantly want to hold her. “I’m just… I don’t know if I can. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Hear his voice.” Her breath catches.

I close the distance between us and pull her against my chest. She melts into me immediately, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “I’ll be right here all night.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at me. “Will you… I mean, would you mind…” She takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Will you sleep in bed with me?”

The vulnerability in her voice undoes me. I’d secretly wished she’d let me hold her all night instead of asking me to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“Of course,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

What follows is strangely domestic for two people whose last make-out session in a muddy marsh led to the best sex of my life. Hailey disappears into the bathroom to wash her face and change, and I do a final check of the apartment—windows locked, door secured. I even check her closet for monsters. I make sure her phone is charging and set mine on the nightstand.

When she emerges in an oversize T-shirt, face scrubbed clean and hair loose around her shoulders, she looks younger. More fragile.

I want to kill Lars Winters with my bare hands.

Instead, I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed beside her, pulling her immediately into my arms. She curls against my chest, her head tucked under my chin, her palm flat against my heart.

“Is this okay?” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

“This is perfect.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her breathing starting to even out. Then: “Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

It’s not a line—not something I’m saying to make her feel better. It’s the truth, raw and uncomfortable and real.

She falls asleep within minutes, her body going heavy and soft against mine. Exhaustion finally winning over fear.

I don’t sleep.

I lie there in the darkness, listening to her breathe, feeling her heartbeat slow and steady against my ribs. Every few minutes, a sound from outside makes me tense—a car passing, footsteps on the sidewalk below, water moving through a pipe as people in other apartments go about their normal lives. Each time, I wait until I’m certain it’s nothing before allowing myself to relax.

This is what I was made for, I realize. Protecting someone. Keeping watch while they sleep. Being the barrier between the woman I care about and anything that might hurt her.

Tonight, I’m exactly where I need to be.

Around four a.m., I carefully extract myself from Hailey’s arms to check the windows again. She stirs, reaching for me in her sleep, and I’m back beside her within seconds.

“Shh,” I murmur, pulling her close again. “I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

She mumbles something unintelligible and burrows deeper into my chest.