Page 68 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I'm about to text Londyn and suggest we head back to the apartment, since I'm still unsure whether Navy Cap is a stalker, but then my eyes land on an ominous figure.

Navy Cap.

"You sure he got on the bus?" I ask Mike.

"Positive. I kept my eyes on him the entire time. Watched him go."

I study the new figure closely. Same baseball cap. Same build. But this guy is a little taller, his jaw more square. He's a doppelganger, but not a perfect copy.

He's standing across the street, watching Londyn with unmistakable focus.

Then he notices me.

Our eyes lock.

Instant recognition passes between us, and my nerves are conducting their own symphony. How long has he been watching? Did he notice Mike, too, and his run in with the other Navy Cap?

The guy's posture changes, chest puffing out. He pats his hip, right where a gun is probably hiding. He's deliberately telling me to back off. In response, I pat my own holster hidden under my shirt. He smiles.

In that split second, I know two things with absolute certainty: he's not just some random guy; now he knows who I am.

"Mike," I say urgently. "Second guy. Navy cap, same outfit. Corner near Starbucks."

"I don't see him," Mike replies, frustration edging his voice. "I'm too far down. Heading back now."

The second Navy Cap disappears into the crowd like a pro and I lose sight of him.Shit.I could chase him, but I'm not going to leave Londyn alone with Mike so far away. What if there's a third Navy Cap waiting to strike?

My instincts are screaming. Londyn is definitely being followed and not by some obsessed man with boundary issues. One man is a run-of-the-mill creep stalking a woman. But two men in similar outfits who are coordinating their surveillance? That's targeted.

Chapter 21

LONDYN

SUNLIGHT STILL CLINGS TO MY skin. What a wonderful afternoon. Best of all, I had zero anxiety since I knew Sean and Mike were there the entire time.

I place my new sugar-cookie-scented candle on a shelf with the others. Honestly, it's so crowded that Lavender Fields may need to go.

My new candle gets one last sniff and then I pull the book I bought from its paper bag. I set it on the coffee table. It's a slim, manageable volume of vignettes from trauma survivors. The cover shows a simple image of hands cupped together, holding light. I picked it because it's short enough that I might actually finish it before our next book club, and because it's from people like me.

I wonder what Sean will think of it.

The sharp knock at my door sends my heart racing, even though I know who it is. Three deliberate taps. Sean.

I cross to the door and my steps are lighter than they've been in days. When I open the door, my smile is already a wide grin that must show every single tooth in my skull.

But all this joy coursing through me falters when I see Sean's severe expression; storm clouds are gathered in each pupil.

"Hi," I say after a thick swallow. I've never seen him this grim.

"Can I come in?"

I step aside. As he enters, his eyes sweep my apartment like he's looking for someone; it adds to the growing vortex of dread in my stomach.

The door clicks shut behind him and even theclick, click, clickof all my locks don't bring any relief. "Everything okay?" I ask.

Sean doesn't sit, doesn't soften. He stands in the center of my living room like a statue carved from tension. "You should sit down," he says.

The dread is swallowing half my body now. No one says 'sit down' before good news.

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