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My truck came into view, and I stopped dead.

“She's mine” was spray-painted across the driver's side in dripping red letters. All four tires had been slashed, the rubber hanging in shreds.

“Son of a bitch.”

Joy made a sound like she'd been punched in the gut.

I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Simon.

“I need a ride for me and Joy immediately. We'll be locked in my truck outside the clinic. We’re behind the clinic. Just look for the spot furthest out from all the parked cars.”

“What happened?”

“Stalker escalated. Vandalized my truck. Just get someone here.”

“On it.”

I helped Joy into the passenger seat, then slid behind the wheel despite the fact that we weren't going anywhere. The truck felt like a fortress, metal and glass between us and whoever was watching.

I reached into the center console, my fingers finding the combination lock on the steel box I kept there. I pulled out my Sig Sauer. It felt familiar and reassuring in my hand as I set it on the dashboard where we could both see it.

“Graham.” Joy's voice cracked on my name.

I pushed my seat back and pulled her across the console into my arms, settling her on my lap like she belonged there. Which she did.

“It's going to be all right.” I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of her shampoo. “I've got you, baby. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

She trembled against me, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear.

“He was so close, Graham. He could have…”

“But he didn't. And he won't.” I tightened my arms around her, feeling the comfort of the gun on the dashboard like a promise. “Whatever this bastard is planning, he's going to have to go through me first.”

I looked up and saw Jase’s dark blue SUV pull up beside my vandalized truck. I watched his face darken as he took in the spray paint and slashed tires through his windshield.

But I didn't move. Joy needed this moment, needed to feel safe before we faced whatever came next.

And sitting there in my destroyed truck with the woman I loved in my arms and a loaded weapon within reach, I thought about the enemy combatants I’d killed with my bare hands in three different countries. I made a silent promise to whatever sick fuck was playing games with our lives.

Asshole, you’re about to become a fucking statistic.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The low rumble of voices pulled me from sleep, my brain struggling to surface from the depths of exhaustion. I blinked at the digital clock on Graham's nightstand. Nine-seventeen. I'd only been asleep for an hour, but my body felt like I'd been unconscious for days.

The voices grew louder, filtering through the closed bedroom door. I recognized Graham's deep baritone, but there were others. Multiple others.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The oversized t-shirt I'd stolen from Graham's dresser hung to my mid-thighs as I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the cool wood.

“We're done playing defense.” That was Roan, his voice tight with controlled anger. “This bastard escalated today. Time we escalated back.”

“Roan is right.” Jase's voice carried the same barely leashed fury. “Sitting around waiting for this psycho to make his next move isn't working.”

My stomach clenched. They sounded like they were planning something dangerous.

“What are you suggesting?” Graham's tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the underlying tension.

“We draw him out.” That was Simon, his voice cold and professional. “Force his hand instead of reacting to his moves.”