The green SUV turns left, and I stay focused on getting back to Alicia’s. But when I arrive, she’s not in the house.
I call Gabriel.
“I’m back. Alicia’s not here.”
“I’m aware. She picked up her daughter and she’s headed to M Street.”
“You staying with her?”
“I’m on her tail. Her ex headed home. Plan to stay back with her car.”
“Logic?”
“She’s safe in the crowds. But if someone’s targeting her, her car might not be.”
“Have you been tailed?”
“Not that I’ve picked up on. But in this district, this time of day, there are no guarantees.”
“Copy that.”
After the car incident the other day, his logic is solid.
Ninety minutes later, headlights sweep the carport. I’m at the window before I register movement.
Through the glass, I watch her kill the engine. She doesn’t move.
Just sits there, hands locked on the wheel, her silhouette cut sharp against the streetlight.
Stella’s already out, backpack bouncing. But Alicia stays frozen.
I count to ten.
Then twenty.
Finally, she moves.
The gate rumbles shut. I force myself downstairs, giving her space.
“Homework,” I hear her say upstairs, voice steady. Controlled.
The mask’s back on.
I return to the main floor, close the blinds, arm the system. Her office door clicks shut.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to go up there.
But those are the instincts of someone who cares. Not someone who’s paid to guard a door.
She went upstairs without a word. Message received.
It’s after eleven and I’m sitting in the basement den watching ESPN recaps when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Stella’s light went off an hour ago—I checked the monitors. Alicia hesitates in the doorway. Tension permeates her being. She’s pulled her dark hair back into a low, loose bun, and in her loungewear, she’s casual, but her eyes, dark in this light, read as worried.
I pat the cushion beside me, gesturing for her to join me.
“You’ve had a day,” I say, brokering the silence.
She grimaces, nods and with slow steps, moves forward.