Page 65 of Smoldering Nights
Izzy stood too, shaky but steady.“Then let’s take a look.I might recognize something.”
Mitch’s eyes softened.“You sure?”
She nodded.“I didn’t come all this way just to hide.”
As they moved toward the laptop together, Izzy felt something else: resolve.
She might be exhausted.She might still be scared.But she wasn’t powerless.And she was going to stop this asshole before he did anything else to her or her shop.Then she'd work on rebuilding everything.From the ground up, if she had to, but she'd do it.
The laptop screen flickered to life as Mitch loaded the footage Jayson had just sent.Izzy leaned in beside him, their shoulders touching, the scent of fresh coffee and tension filling the small cabin.The footage was grainy, a wide-angle from the alley behind Petal Pushers, timestamped just past midnight.
“There,” Mitch pointed.
A figure moved at the edge of the frame, lanky, slow, deliberate.It sure looked like Noah.
He didn’t rush.Didn’t sneak.He walked like he owned the place.
Izzy’s stomach turned as he stopped near the back door of the shop, crouched, and appeared to take something from his pocket.He slipped it into the slot of the utility box affixed to the brick wall, something small and pale, maybe another note, and then stood still for several seconds, just staring at the back door.
Izzy could almost feel his eyes on her, even through the screen.Like he thought she might open it.Like he was waiting.
“Creepy bastard,” Mitch muttered.
They watched in silence as Noah stepped away, disappearing into the shadows again without looking back.
Mitch paused the video.“He’s still circling.Testing boundaries.”
Izzy folded her arms, gripping her elbows.“He doesn't act afraid.He's so bold, as if he knows where everything is and owns it.”
“No, he doesn't act scared at all.”Mitch agreed.“But he’s slipping.This kind of behavior, leaving notes, watching from outside, it escalates.And it leaves a trail.”
His phone buzzed again.This time it was Fielding.
Mitch answered, switching to speaker.“Go ahead, Trey.”
“We processed the envelope,” Fielding said without preamble.“It’s handwritten, ballpoint pen, shaky lines, likely written in haste.No fingerprints.No postal service involvement.Just one sheet of paper.”
Izzy’s heart thumped harder.
“What did it say?”Mitch asked.
Fielding hesitated.“It’s a love note.At least that’s how it reads.He talks about watching Izzy, protecting her from the people who ‘don’t deserve her,’ and how they’ll be together, ‘when the time is right.’Mentions her favorite flowers.A specific mug from the shop.Things only someone who’s been watching closely would know.”
Izzy sucked in a breath.Her throat tightened.
“It’s delusional,” Fielding continued.“But it’s not overtly threatening.Not enough to charge him with anything direct yet.We’re forwarding a copy to Jayson.You’ll want to see it.”
Mitch’s jaw flexed.“Understood.Thanks, Trey.”
Fielding’s voice softened.“We’ll get him, Mitch.Just need a little more.He’s close to cracking.He always seems to be just a step ahead of us.We're calling in the Summerville police so we have more manpower.”
Mitch nodded, and Izzy stared at his profile.His jaw was tight, and his shoulders raised slightly.
The line went dead.
Izzy stood still for a long moment, then turned to Mitch.“He knows about the mug.That’s not on display.It’s under the counter.I use it every day.”
“He’s been inside,” Mitch said.“And not just the shop.He’s been studying you.Obsessing.”
