Page 5 of The Watcher's Bride

And maybe that’s what hooked me first—that recognition. I know what it means to run. I know what it means to carry secrets like weapons.

I’ve been in her apartment.

Just once at first. She left a window cracked, and I was fast. Precise. Didn’t take anything. Just needed tosee.

Then I cut a key. Now I can come and go freely. When she’s at work. When she’s out. When I know there’s time.

I’ve met her cat. He scratched me the first time, then decided I was tolerable. Slept on my foot while I sat on her couch and tried to figure out why the hell I was still there.

She feeds him seafood Fancy Feast. Has a cupboard under the sink where she keeps the cans. I noticed last week she was down to one. So I bought more. Slid the cans to the back of the cupboard.

She probably thought she forgot buying them.

I shouldn’t feel satisfied by that. But I do.

She’s meticulous, in a way. No clutter. Drawers organized. Everything has a place. But when I open them—carefully, always carefully—there’s something missing.

No condoms. No oral contraceptives. No sign of a boyfriend. No men’s clothes. No toothbrush by the sink that isn’thers. No messages on her phone left open, no late-night calls in her logs.

She’s alone.

Too alone.

It should make her the perfect candidate. My uncle would love her. Virginal, hidden away, scared. A blank canvas. Just like he said.

But the thought of herwith himturns my stomach. He’d ruin her. He ruins everything. I try to tell myself this is still about duty. That I’m doing my job. That I’m just gathering evidence, compiling a report. But the truth is, I stopped reporting back days ago. I don’t want him to know her. Not even a detail.

I want to know her first.

Completely.

I want to see the face she hides when no one’s watching. I want to know why she flinches at sudden noises, why her voice trembles when she’s scared, but she doesn’t run. Why she hasn’t left this city when it’s so clear she doesn’t feel safe.

I want to know why I can’t stop thinking about her.

Maybe I’ve crossed the line. I should know better, but something about Norelle Quinn—or Nora Adams as she goes by here—has captured my attention.

I’m not leaving.

Not yet.

Chapter 5

Nora

“Wait, you’re telling me you’ve had a friggin’ stalker for two whole weeks and this is the first I’m hearing about it!” Nadya exclaims.

The bar is filling up with revelers and we’re several drinks in, the plate of nachos largely untouched on the table between us, and I’ve finally built up the courage to spill the beans.

“Because I knew you’d overreact like this. It’s not that big of a deal,” I say with a shrug, sipping my vodka soda.

“It so totally is a big fucking deal. The guy was wearing a goddamned ski mask and gloves like a murderer. You should go to the cops!”

I wince at the suggestion. Any rational person would tell the police if some stranger was following them but going to the police would only put me on my father’s radar, and that’s the last thing I want to do if my watcher wasn’t sent by him.

“It’s cold out. And it’s not like he’s really done anything. He just… stands there. It’s a public place,” I offer lamely.

“Girl, it is cold, but it’s not ‘wear a fucking ski mask indoors’ cold,” Nadya says, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me, the stud in her right one glinting in the light. “So he hasn’t said anything to you?”

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