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At ten fifteen, I open Instagram.

I tell myself I'm checking because she has a habit of broadcasting her location to strangers. Which is dangerous, especially now.

That's the only reason.

Her Story ring is active.

I tap it.

Alibi is asleep on his back across her couch, the pumpkin sweater pushed halfway up his stomach.

Apparently protecting the house is exhausting.

I stare at the picture longer until her next Story comes up.

Hot chocolate. A book. Alibi's paw resting on her thigh. The text says a quiet night in.

Good. She's home.

I should close the app.

But I don't.

There aren't any more Stories.

I check the time. Ten seventeen.

She's home, safe and sound. Not looking for me. Exactly where I want her.

I toss my phone onto the couch.

Thirty seconds later, I pick it up again.

Still no texts from her. Or Stories.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

This is ridiculous. I have a job. A dangerous one.

I need to figure out why Gavin Mercer is in Hollow Creek and who he's looking for.

I don't need Callie distracting me. Or following me.

And I sure as fuck don't need her anywhere near this.

My phone remains silent.

For the first time since I met her, Chaos is doing exactly what I told her to do.

I fucking hate it.

The next morning, I'm parked two streets away from Mercer's rental before sunrise. Coffee is in the cupholder. My phone is facedown.

Mercer's car hasn't moved.

I still haven't heard from Callie. Not that I'm checking.

I grab my coffee, take a drink, and wait to see what he’ll do today.