Page 32 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"It's fine," I cut him off, not wanting to rehash it. "You were right. I need to stay focused."

He nods, clearly relieved I'm not holding a grudge. I settle into the chair beside him and grab a notepad to make a quick to-do list. Tomorrow, I'll get names and then start the systematic vetting of people around my client—employment verification, criminal backgrounds, financial checks where possible. Cross-reference anyone who's shown up in multiple areas of her life.

The real work starts with pattern recognition. If someone's following her, they'll show up in the data. A name that appears too often. A face in the background of security footage. Someone who 'coincidentally' shares her schedule.

I tap my pen against the paper. We'll need to vary our own patterns too—different routes when we tail her to work, random times for our reconnaissance. Can't let a potential stalker clock us before we clock them.

Mike, never comfortable with extended silence, eventually speaks up. "Weird she wants a camera in the bathroom, right? She seems very reserved, so I was shocked."

I glance at a monitor and watch Londyn turn a page in her book. "Something just has her spooked. The camera's pointed at the window. Can't see anything in the bathroom itself."

"Sure, but who the hell would scale a building to climb in? There's only a small ledge. Just seems like too much."

I remain impassive. "She's only cautious. Nothing wrong with that."

I know it's more than that, though. The woman is terrified. There's a difference between normal vigilance and the kind of bone-deep fear I see in Londyn. The way her eyes constantly track exits. The unconscious flinch when someone gets too close. The triple locks on her door.

Seeing a woman this frightened stirs something primal. I need to protect her, even if it's just from the shadows in her own mind.

"She look familiar to you?" Mike asks pointing his chin at the monitor. "Feels like I've seen her before."

I'd rather not share my thoughts about her being an actress because that's a Pandora's box from my past I'd rather not open. Instead, I shrug. "Well, I'll take first shift." I settle back in my chair and let my legs widen. "Go chat with your family. You guys are sickeningly adorable with each other."

He laughs and squeezes my shoulder. "Don't need to tell me twice. Thanks!"

Once he's gone, I crack open my thriller novel and smile to myself. I'm looking forward to book club. That's platonic enough, right? Not crossing any lines. Just keeping my client comfortable with me and building trust.

Nothing else.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Chapter 11

LONDYN

I'M STARING AT NUMBERS THAT blur together on my screen. My shoulders ache from hunching over my laptop for the past several hours, and my mind keeps skipping away from the spreadsheet like a little kid eager for recess.

Adulting really sucks.

At least I'm home now, where the only eyes on me are the ones I've agreed to.

This morning was a different story. It was my first time leaving the apartment since Sean and Mike arrived, and my nerves were completely shot. Not because of them—they were invisible, exactly as promised—but because I kept feeling like everyoneknew. Like I had a neon sign above my head flashing 'PROTECTED BY SECURITY' for any potential stalker to see.

My usual subway ride was torture. Mike had texted that he was on the same car, but I couldn't spot him anywhere among the morning commuters. Every time someone glanced my way, I wondered if they could sense the invisible shield around me and the man tracking my every move. My paranoia whispered that ifIknew Mike was there, then everyone else did too.

When I emerged from the station, Sean had texted.

Sean:Parked my motorcycle at a garage. Have eyes on you.

But walking into my usual coffee shop, I couldn't find him anywhere. Not near the counter, not at any of the tables, not lingering outside. These men were ghosts, and somehow that made me more anxious than if they'd been obviously following me.

Work was a little better. I managed to focus during the meeting about the Henderson account audit, and Maria cornered me afterward to discuss discrepancies in the Zhao Industries invoices. Somehow, their Q2 expenses were off by nearly forty thousand, which meant someone made a massive error. I don't handle that account, but I promised to dig deeper. By noon, the stress had triggered a migraine that felt like someone was driving nails into my temples.

I told Stacy I'd finish the day at home and she didn't care. She barely looked up from her computer screen.

The trip back was easier, knowing I'd soon be in my safe space. Mike texted that he was three people behind me on the subway. Sean confirmed he'd take his motorcycle and watch for anyone waiting for me outside the subway station near my apartment.

Now, three hours later, my head feels better, I'm trying to wrap up work, and I'm ready for some relaxation this evening.

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