Another roll of my eyes as I grab my purse from the bed. “You’re such a great pep-talker,” I say dryly. She snorts in response.

Daya sucks at pep-talking, and she knows it. She’s the logical person in our friendship, while I’m the emotional one. She’s all about offering solutions, while I’d rather roll around in my dread and anxiety and wax on about it.

Guess I’m more like my mother than I thought.

I’ll still never admit it out loud.

The event is a blast, as usual. Every time, I work myself up for these events, and I always end up never wanting to leave by the time they’re over.

Getting the chance to meet up with other author friends and attempting to run away with all their signed books while laughing maniacally is what truly brings me peace in life.

What truly brings me happiness is seeing the many smiling faces eager to meet me and get signed books of mine.

I love my career as a professional manipulator. I’m fortunate to do what I do.

I’m a tad tipsy from getting drinks at a bar after the event, so Daya is driving me back home in my car. We laugh and giggle over funny moments and even gossip about the crazy drama that always circulates the book community.

We’re riding a high from having such a good time, but our smiles bleed dry as she pulls up to the house.

A lone light is on, shining through the bay window. I turned off all the lights before we left.

I go to scramble out of the car, but Daya’s firm grip around my hand stops me.

“He could still be in there,” she says urgently, her grip tightening almost painfully.

“He fucking better be,” I growl, wrangling my arm from her grip. I slip out of the car before Daya can try to stop me again and charge towards the manor.

“Addie, stop! You’re being stupid.”

I am, but the alcohol has only made my anger more potent. Before Daya can stop me, I’m unlocking the front door and barreling into the house.

A single light is on over my kitchen sink, too weak to illuminate the front of the house properly.

No one is waiting for me, so I start flipping on lights to diminish the ominous tone in the air.

“Come out, you freak!” I yell, storming into the kitchen and grabbing the largest knife I can find. When I turn, Daya is standing in the doorway, looking around the room with an alarmed expression on her face.

I was so intent on killing the bastard, I didn’t even bother to look around.

The entire living room is covered in red roses. My mouth pops open, and the words on my tongue stutter and evaporate.

I turn and spot an empty whiskey glass sitting on the counter, a dribble of alcohol at the bottom of the glass, and a distinct mark on the lip.

Lying next to the glass is a single red rose.

My widened gaze clashes with Daya's. All we can do is just stare at each other in shock.

Heart in my throat, I finally choke out, “I need to check the rest of the house.”

“Addie, he could still be here. We need to call the police and leave. Now.”

I bite my lip, two halves warring inside me. I want to look for him, confront him, and stab him in the eye a few times. But I can’t endanger Daya more than I already have. I can’t keep being stupid about this.

Relenting, I nod my head and follow her out of the manor. The brisk air doesn’t even penetrate the ice settling in my bones.

What else did he do? A snarl forms when I realize that he probably went into my bedroom. Touched my underwear. Maybe even stole some.

The operator's voice cuts through my thoughts. I was so zoned out, I hadn’t realized Daya called the police for me.

She describes the situation, and after a few minutes, the operator dispatches an officer and lets us know it’ll take him twenty minutes to get to us.

I know the stalker isn’t here anymore. I know it in my bones. But I’m hoping he’s a criminal and in the system, that way his DNA from the whiskey glass will identify him.

But just like I know he’s no longer here, I know it won’t be that easy to catch him either.

“Come home with me tonight,” Daya says. We're both tired and stone-cold sober after talking to the police for two hours.

They searched the house, and he was nowhere to be found. They did take prints from the whiskey glass to see if they could get a match.

I’m exhausted, so I nod my head.

Her house is twenty minutes away, and it’s a good thing I tailed her the entire time, or else I might have lost focus and drove without direction.

Daya lives in a quaint house in a nice, quiet neighborhood. She parks the car and we both slump our way into the house.

Her house would be fairly empty if it weren’t for the furniture and the thousands of computers everywhere. She takes her work seriously, and while she doesn’t talk much about her job, I know she deals with some pretty heavy matters.

She's mentioned before that she deals with the dark web and human trafficking. And that alone is enough to give someone night terrors.

Apparently, her boss is strict with keeping the details confidential, but there's been times where Daya has looked more haunted than Parsons Manor.

When I had asked what she gets out of it, she had said saving innocent lives. That was all I needed to hear to know that Daya is a hero.

“You know where the guest bedroom is,” Daya says, lazily pointing her finger in the direction. “Do you want some company? I’m sure you’re really freaked out.”

I force a smile. “I love you for offering, but I think we both just need sleep right now,” I say.

Daya nods, and after wishing me goodnight, retires to her room.

I flop on the white duvet in her guest bedroom. Just like the rest of her house, it’s pretty bare in here. Light blue walls, decorated with a few oceanic pictures and white, gauzy curtains.

My eyes snag on those.

Not the curtains themselves, but what’s in between them.

For the second time tonight, my heart lodges into my throat, pulsating against my voice box and preventing me from making a sound.

Outside the window is the silhouette of a man. Staring directly at me.

I take a step back, ready to turn and call for Daya. When my phone buzzes, I flinch, freezing me in place and nearly choking me on the fear.

Keeping one eye on the man, I slide my phone out of my pocket and see a new text message.

UNKNOWN: You didn’t like my flowers?

Chapter 12

The Shadow

“T

here’s another video,” Jay says through the phone, his voice solemn. I scramble up from my couch and make my way into my office.

An array of computer screens line the ten-foot-long desk, and all my other illegal devices in here. Jammers, trackers, buttons that set off explosives in a number of places should someone betray me, and so on.

This room alone is worth millions with all the shit I have in here.

It’s both my happy place and my living nightmare.

This is where I make a difference in the world. Where I find women and children who need saving, while also witnessing the torture those sick individuals put them through.

It takes money to infiltrate high-security buildings, rescue the girls and give them sanctuary and safety off the grid.

Big corporations pay me an ungodly amount of money to hack into their rival’s systems for whatever bullshit reason, whether it be because they’re competing and want to know what the other is cooking up, or because they have a lawsuit against one another and trying to find information.

I don’t give a fuck what their problems are with each other. It’s only my concern that they get what they hired me for.