Maybe it was just wishful thinking to believe it might not be the same person. She’d talked to Adam, laughed with Adam. She’d walked blithely into the woods with him alone. She’d almost invited him into her house.
All her earlier feelings of determination to move forward, to trust her own judgment again and stop jumping at shadows, fell away. What was left was a sadness that seemed to hollow her out.
Tate’s hand closed over her forearm, and when she glanced at him, there was sympathy in his gaze.
She eased her arm away and turned to face him. The other officers were occupied on their computers trying to dig up more information about Adam, yet she kept her voice soft, so much so that he leaned closer. Ever since they’d gotten to the station, she’d been holding in her question about how he’d found Adam in an old picture. There was only one way she could imagine. “How did you figure out my last name?”
Guilt crossed over his face, quickly enough that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. “I looked for information on a murder in New York City from two years ago where news stories mentioned a stalker.”
She nodded and turned back to the computer, saying nothing. The most basic information about why she was running, and it had given away more details about herself than she’d wanted to share.
“I’m sorry,” he said, maneuvering so he was in her line of sight, as Sitka whined at her side.
She didn’t respond to either of them, just continued to stare at the image. How had she been so wrong? “Do you think Adam was trying to push me off that cliff? Then he changed his mind and grabbed me?”
“I doubt it,” Tate said, but his tone told her what he thought was worse.
Reluctantly, she refocused her gaze on him.
“I think both were intentional from the start. He gave you a push so he could save you. Create a sense of obligation, make you feel grateful to him. More trusting.”
She snorted, not quite meeting Tate’s gaze. “It didn’t work. I thought I’d offended him, which I figured was why he wanted to keep going on his own.”
Tate nodded. “Maybe that’s what happened. His plan backfired, and he decided to continue playing the long game.”
Her hands tightened into fists, and she knew her anger wasn’t all about Adam. Yes, Tate digging into her background had probably found her stalker. But he’d still betrayed her trust. “It’s not a game. It’s my life.”
Tate took hold of the arms of her chair and turned her to face him. He knelt in front of her, and Sitka scooted over, forcing her head onto his knee, her puppy eyes staring up at Sabrina.
The expression on Sitka’s face threatened to soften her. Before Tate could speak, she said, “I understand why you dug up information on me. It worked, so I guess I have no right to be mad. But—”
“You have every right to be mad,” Tate said. “I should have told you. You’ve given up so many pieces of your identity to try to feel safe, and I broke your trust. That’s another way to make you feel unsafe, and I’m sorry.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she saw sincerity, even regret, in his eyes. How had he known exactly what she was feeling? He spoke as if he really did understand. But it was more than that. She’d chosen to trust him in a way she hadn’t trusted anyone else in a long time. And he’d still gone behind her back.
She’d been by herself for two years. But she’d never felt more alone than she did right now.
Tate cringed, as if he could read her thoughts. Then he fit his hand around hers and whispered, “I really am sorry, Sabrina. You’re... I care about you. All I want to do is help you.”
She glanced from his hand, which felt so comforting on hers, even though he was part of the reason she hurt right now. She wished they were anywhere but at the police station, with his chief watching across the room. Pulling her hand free, she scooted her chair slightly backward, away from him.
Sitka let out another low whine, and Sabrina forced a lightness to her voice she didn’t feel. “It’s okay, Sitka.” She pet the dog until her tail thumped, then told Tate, “I forgive you. Let’s figure out...”
She trailed off as the image of Adam caught the corner of her eye. Seeing it from this angle sparked a memory, brought the image she hadn’t really remembered into focus. She’d been out for a coworker’s birthday, at a bar that was too loud. The bar had been stuffy, the night too hot, the drinks flowing too freely. After a few hours, she’d started to feel more comfortable, have more fun.
The woman in the forefront of the picture with her—Jessamyn, who’d later become a good friend—had sensed her discomfort, grabbed her arm and taken her around the bar, introducing her to everyone, even people Jessamyn didn’t know. And a group of guys who were friends of one of Jessamyn’s friends.
“I think I remember him,” she breathed, as more of the evening solidified in her mind.
Each of the guys had given their names, and some of them had provided other random information about themselves, like their job or hobbies. Her gaze had floated over each of them quickly. She remembered laughing through most of the introductions, partly because she’d been a little tipsy and partly because she’d been having fun.
She hadn’t spoken to Adam again that night, that much she was sure. After being introduced to the group, she’d set down her beer and gotten onto the dance floor with Jessamyn. She hadn’t left it until a few hours later, when she’d hopped into a cab and gone home.
“What do you remember?” Tate asked, making her refocus on him.
She let out an ironic laugh. “Periphery of my life is no joke. The most conversation we had was a quick introduction. I told him my name, he said his, and I was off to the dance floor. I never saw him again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
Tate nodded. “I don’t suppose you remember his name?”
“You really don’t think it’s Adam Lassiter?”
“Well, we haven’t found any property in his name, nor have we found any Adam Lassiter that matches his description. So, I’m thinking it’s not his real name.”
“I don’t remember. All those guys were a blur, just a quick hello and on to the next person. It was a party. I was new to my job and made friends with coworkers that night. That’s mostly what I remember.”
“It’s okay,” Tate told her. “We’ll dig it up.”
“Tate.”
Sabrina looked up, and Tate stood as the chief reached his desk.
“Chief. What is it?”
Chief Griffith nodded at her. “Sabrina.” Then he looked at them both as he said, “I spoke to your friend Lora. We asked her to call Adam, but he’s not answering.”
“He should show up in town eventually, though, right?” Sabrina asked. Or had he been close behind her when she’d trekked back toward the road and discovered Tate and Sitka waiting for her? Had he realized his identity was blown and already disappeared?
The way the chief’s lips tightened made dread settle in her stomach even before he replied. “When you were giving me a rundown of what happened with Adam in the woods, Officer Emory here was drawing a map for two of our other officers. He detailed exactly where Sitka went through the woods when she was tracking from your house last week.”
“Did they find anything?”
The chief glanced at Tate again, and something unspoken seemed to pass between them, something that made Tate’s expression tighten, too. “We found a cabin. It’s old, and the bank foreclosed on it last year when the guy who owned it passed away. It’s been sitting empty ever since, at least as far as anyone knew.”
“Adam was squatting there?” Tate asked, fury on his face. “Where is this place?”
The chief nodded. “We think so. We found evidence that someone has been there recently, including some clothes, food and pinholes in the wall like something had been posted there. It looks like it was clear
ed out in a hurry.”
Tate swore as the chief fixed his attention entirely on her.
Sabrina stiffened as he continued. “This cabin would take a while to get to on the road from your place, but if you go directly through the woods, it’s about a mile away, a straight shot. You probably never even knew anyone was back there.”
The dread intensified, a familiar feeling from her early days of running, constantly feeling like her stalker was right behind her. She thought it had just been paranoia, but had he been there all along?
* * *
SIX DAYS AFTER Adam had cleared out of the cabin behind hers, there was no sign of him.
Sabrina had spent the time alternating between extreme emotions. One day, she’d be certain a police officer would knock on the door to the hotel room where they’d stuck her and announce that it was all over and she could go home to the family she hadn’t dared to contact in two years. The next day, she’d be sure this would continue forever and she’d be forced to make a new impossible choice: go back to running and assume Adam was right behind her in every new town or stay here and wait for the police to run out of resources to waste on her. Wait for him to come after her.
Most likely the story Adam had told about living in Alaska all his life, about having recently lost a wife, were all lies to make her feel comfortable letting him get close. It had been brilliant. Especially befriending Lora before he’d ever approached her. Getting the story secondhand that he was a widower mourning the too-recent loss of his wife had immediately ruled him out in her mind as her stalker.
The fact that he’d appeared in a picture with her in New York suggested he’d actually lived there, at least for some amount of time. If he’d grown up in the city like her, there had to be only so long he could hide out in the treacherous Alaskan wilderness before the locals tracked him down.
But they hadn’t found him yet.
Meanwhile, she was going stir-crazy in the ridiculously opulent room in Desparre’s only hotel, the luxury Royal Desparre. When she’d nervously asked about the cost, Tate had said it was being taken care of and insisted it was safer than being in the middle of nowhere. She still had her alert button and the owners—who doubled as management—knew to call the police if they spotted Adam. Tate checked in several times a day, usually by phone, but he and Sitka also stopped by every night.
Still, she spent most of her days alone. Since she couldn’t contact anyone and there were only so many hours she could spend making jewelry, especially with her creativity having taken a dive, she was bored. Having too many hours to think was making her more anxious.
So, when there was a knock on her door, she was up and reaching for the lock before her mind caught up and she checked the peephole. A grin burst free, and a familiar anticipation settled in her stomach when she saw Tate standing on the other side, looking serious in his uniform but holding a pizza box.
He didn’t usually finish up at the station and make his way over to her hotel until almost eight, so she’d gotten used to waiting for dinner. They’d never made plans to eat together each night, but he kept showing up until it felt like a standing date. Only the fact that he wore his uniform and always updated her on their progress reminded her each day that it wasn’t really a date. Reminded her that nothing she felt for Tate could be permanent.
She still hadn’t fully forgiven him for digging into her past without her permission, for not telling her when he’d learned her real name and searched her brother’s social media. But he’d done it to help her. And it had worked. The more time she spent with him, the less she wanted to think about the mistakes in the past. The more she wanted to entertain a future that somehow had him in it.
It wasn’t meant to be. But she could pretend.
Flinging open the door, she asked, “How did you know I needed some pizza?”
Woof! Sitka walked forward, butting Sabrina hard enough with her nose to knock her back a step.
As Tate reminded his dog to relax, Sabrina laughed and leaned down to pet her. “I think she wants pizza, too.”
Woof!
Grinning, Tate followed his dog into the room, closing and locking the door behind him like always.
Sabrina couldn’t help the flutter of nerves that erupted in her stomach. They seemed to be increasing in intensity each evening she spent with him. Since updates on the case only took so long—especially since there’d been nothing to report on Adam, and the guy they’d arrested last week still wasn’t talking—their conversations had been getting more personal.
He’d already dug through her life on his own, so she’d decided she might as well tell him the truth about everything. The decision had been freeing.
And, she had to admit as he set the pizza box on the table by the window, the man looked good in his dark blue police uniform. She’d been attracted to him from the start, admired the thick dark brows that added even more intensity to his angular face and fixated on the full lips that drew her attention. But she’d always found that she grew more physically attracted to a man when she was emotionally attracted to him, too. Every day she spent with Tate, that attraction increased.
He turned back toward her, and from the way he went still, she knew her feelings were broadcasted across her face.
Ducking her head on the pretext of petting Sitka, Sabrina cursed her pale skin, which felt like it was on fire.
When she finally had her blush under control, she lifted her head again and found that Tate had crossed the room without her hearing him.
With Sitka sitting between them, he stood in front of her, his gaze locked on hers, a matching desire in his deep brown eyes.
She swayed forward, leaning over Sitka, without even consciously planning to do it.
He leaned toward her, captured her hands in his, and the touch sent sparks over her skin and up her arms.
Her lips tingled in anticipation, and as she moistened them with her tongue, his gaze darted there.
His voice sounded slightly strangled as he told her, “I have news.”
News? Her brain struggled to focus on anything other than the heat in his eyes and the closeness of his lips. “About the investigation?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him, trying to decide what to pursue, until he finally gave her a half grin and leaned slightly away.
He kept hold of her hands, though, his fingers stroking lightly against her knuckles a distraction. “Mario McKeever still isn’t talking. But we’ve been able to confirm his whereabouts two years ago. He’s from New York, but he hasn’t lived there in almost four years. And when you were getting notes, he was living in South Carolina and having regular run-ins with the law. No arrests, but the local police definitely knew his name.”
“Okay,” she said, her brain still processing everything more slowly. But she didn’t want to pull her hands away, break the connection he’d initiated. “We were already pretty sure it was Adam, so that’s not much news, right?”
“No. But I thought you’d want to know.” He paused again, and she could see the fight in his eyes as his gaze drifted back to her lips. “There is one other thing. Since it’s been almost a week with no sign of Adam, Chief Griffith suggested a plan to lure him back into the open. Stop waiting on his timetable and take back some control.”
“Okay.” Now, this was an idea Sabrina could get behind. She was tempted to lick her lips again, just to see if it would break Tate’s concentration, but she resisted as his gaze lifted back to hers.
“Adam’s MO has been to go after anyone who might be a source of support, right? I mean, he came after me and Sitka after presumably seeing me stop by your house. And of course, there’s Dylan.”
Sabrina nodded, the memory of the police showing up at Dylan’s family’s lake house with the news of his death erasing all desire. “Yes.”
“So, the chief thinks we should use that to our adv
antage. Get him angry enough to come after someone again.”
Sabrina frowned at him. “Who? How? I don’t want to put anyone at risk. I don’t really have any friends here except Lora and—”
“You have me,” Tate said, his tone firm. “We’re going to make sure Adam takes the bait so we can take him down. The chief doesn’t want it to look like I’m a friend, a source of support. He wants us to publicly play out a romance and get Adam to take his shot.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tate held Sabrina’s hand loosely in his own as he walked in downtown Desparre. Her long delicate fingers, slightly calloused from making jewelry, felt so right in his. There was a smile on his face he didn’t need to fake or force, but it didn’t mean he’d lost sight of the dangers.
The bench straight ahead, still crumpled and destroyed from the truck Sabrina’s stalker might have sent after Sitka, was a stark reminder. So were the woods beyond that, which looked too much like the forest in Boston he’d darted into to escape his fellow officers’ gunfire.
The desire to constantly swivel his head, keep an eye on his surroundings, was hard to ignore. But Tate trusted the Desparre officers he’d worked with for the past five and a half years. This wasn’t Boston. Besides, both he and Sabrina wore bulletproof vests beneath their lightweight jackets.
He was a little overheated walking in the sunshine. Or maybe it was just from his proximity to Sabrina.
Except for the weight of that vest and the knowledge that his colleagues were hiding nearby and watching his every move, everything about this felt right. A natural progression of the attraction he’d felt from the moment he’d met Sabrina. Getting to know her more over the past week had only intensified those feelings.
He glanced at her, taking in things he’d noticed the first time he’d seen her: the way the sun cast a golden sheen over her wavy hair, the natural elegance of her face, the depths of her green eyes. But also seeing new things now that she’d truly let him in: the way her lips tightened at the corners when she was stressed. The flush that rose easily to her cheeks when she was flustered or embarrassed. The way her gaze was always moving, taking everything in and strategizing. For someone who made a living in creative arts, she was analytical enough to run through police strategy with him. And successfully evade a stalker for two years on her own.
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