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Roman's house is less than ten minutes away.

I'm three streets from his rental when headlights appear ahead. A truck turns onto the road.

My stomach drops. “Oh, shit.”

I recognize the truck immediately. It’s Roman. And he’s heading straight toward me.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I whip the wheel and turn sharply into a narrow alley. A sign flashes past my windshield.

DO NOT ENTER.

“Fuck.”

Too late. I'm already committed.

I pull as far to the side as I can and kill my headlights.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Roman's truck passes the alley.

I sink lower in my seat.

Don't look.

Don't look.

Don't fucking look.

The taillights continue down the street.

I stare after them.

He doesn't slow.

I release the breath trapped in my lungs. “Oh my God.”

My hands are shaking. My mouth is dry.

For a man I'm actively stalking, Roman has the remarkable ability to scare the shit out of me whenever I almost get caught.

I grab a small water bottle from the bag, twist off the cap, and drink it all.

“Okay.”

My heart is still pounding.

“He didn't see me.” I look toward the end of the alley. “Hopefully.”

Then something else occurs to me.

Why is Roman leaving his house at eleven at night?

I stare at the empty road. My eyes narrow. “No.”

What if he's going to see the mystery woman? At eleven o'clock at night.