Page 13 of Fierce Hope
She typed “Marlowe” into a search bar, then “Ren M.” Her heart thundered as results populated the screen. Most were dead ends—casual mentions, old conversations. But some ... some were recent.
A cold knot formed in her stomach as she realized how easily someone could connect the dots. She’d been careful with her name change, had chosen Hope Landing specifically because it was off the grid. But one slip, one wrong person recognizing her, or catching a stray mention on social media ...
“Never leave a trail, baby girl.”Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, smooth as honey and twice as sticky.“And if you do, make sure it leads somewhere else.”
She remembered watching him forge documents at their kitchen table, his hands steady as he created new identities out of thin air. Remembered how he’d quiz her on their cover stories, drilling her until the lies felt more real than truth.
“Everyone’s got an angle,”he’d say, dark eyes intense.
Much as she wanted to discount his wisdom, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Not everyone had an angle. But some folks did.
She clicked through another forum, scanning usernames she hadn’t seen in over a decade. Some were still active, still running their games, still?—
“Morning, Jade!”
She jumped, quickly blanking the screen. Arjun from payroll stood in her doorway, coffee mug in hand, eyebrows raised at her reaction.
“Everything okay?”
Jade forced her features into something resembling normalcy. “Fine! Just ... clients putting the wrong info in the wrong spreadsheet columns. You know how it is.”
“Right ...” He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look like he really wanted to know either. He backed away. “I feel you. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She managed a smile that felt like plastic stretched too thin.
As his footsteps faded, she exhaled slowly, trying to steady her pulse. She was being paranoid. Maybe she’d attracted a stalker. Or an angry former client. There were lots of explanations that didn’t involve her past.
But as she reopened the web page the forums still displayed like an accusation, and she couldn’t shake the whisper of doubt. Because if someone from the past had found her, everything she’d built here was about to crumble.
And she wasn’t sure she could survive losing it all again.
A soft knock made her flinch. Linda from the tax department leaned against the doorframe, a stack of files tucked against her hip.
“Those first quarter projections ready?” Linda asked, then frowned. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Jade toggled back to an open spreadsheet, forcing her face into pleasant neutrality. “Just fighting with Excel,” she lied smoothly. Amazing how the old skills never quite disappeared—the ability to fabricate reality on the spot, to make fiction sound like truth. “Give me an hour?”
“Sure, no rush.” Linda lingered, maternal concern crossing her features. “You know, you’ve been off lately. If you need to talk?—”
“I’m fine,” Jade cut in, perhaps too quickly. She softened her tone. “Really. Just a busy morning.”
Linda nodded, unconvinced, but retreated. The moment she was gone, Jade slumped in her chair, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She needed to get it together. Needed to?—
“Ms. Villanueva?”
Becca’s voice crackled through her desk phone’s intercom.
She punched the button to respond. “Yes?”
“There’s a Mr. Williams here to see you.” Ever the professional, Becca’s tone betrayed none of the intense curiosity Jade knew her friend must be feeling.
The bottom dropped out of Jade’s stomach. She glanced at her computer screen—now showing a safely bland Excel spreadsheet—then at her reflection in the window. She looked pale and rattled.
“Ms. Villanueva?” Becca’s voice deepened with the promise of a coming interrogation. “Should I send him up?”
Deke Williams. Here. Now.
Why? Was this about DJ?
