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Other than the length of her hair, she is physically exactly as my memory of her. 

In a thousand other ways, she’s a stranger to me.

As much as I hate feeling like her stalker, I wish I had more time to study her. To learn the person she is now. But I don’t dare wait any longer. Her life is in danger, and she doesn’t even know it. She can’t trust the people she should be able to trust most. I might be the only person who can keep her safe.

And yeah … I know exactly how crazy that sounds. 

I’m pretty sure if I said that aloud to a medical professional, they’d be issuing me some powerful meds and a restraining order.

I know that ...

And although this seems like some kind of nightmare, I know too well that it’s more real than anything. So I’m not waiting to take action. That’s not the kind of person I am.

I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. That’s what looking into her eyes does to me. 

I haven’t been this close to her in … I don’t know how long. I literally have no idea how much time has passed since the Academy. Those memories are gone.

Maybe I’ll get them back someday. Maybe I won’t. Either way, I feel this overwhelming desperate need to know that I’m not alone in this. 

That she feels it too.

“Can you?” I ask.

Her smile falters, her gaze narrowing in suspicion.

"Can I get you an ice cream?”

She says the words ice cream slowly—her subtext clear. She thinks I’m either a moron who hasn’t noticed he’s wandered into an ice cream shop (despite the mural of dancing ice cream cones), or I’m a dick who’s just wasting her time.

Either way, she’s not going to take my bullshit. 

Good for her.

I duck my head, trying to hide my smile—because she’s not going to take my bullshit, I’m pretty sure knowing it amuses me would just piss her off. "Yeah, ice cream would be good."

Somehow, even that pisses her off.

"Look, I don't know what they told you up at St. Andrews,” she bristles. “But that doesn't happen here."

"What?"

"Nobody sells drugs here. That was the guy who owned the shop before us. And as far as I know, it only happened once or twice. So, if that old rumor is still circulating up there—"

"Whoa, hold on." I hold up my hands, palms out. "That's not why I'm here."

Her gaze narrows, clearly trying to decide if she can take me at my word.

“Honest.”

After a second, she nods, “Good.”  

"I just want ice cream. I promise."

Her cheeks flush … like she’s embarrassed by her outburst. But then her posture relaxes. “Sorry,” she says with a begrudging eye roll. “I didn’t mean to attack you.”

A chuff of laughter escapes—because if that’s what she thinks is an attack, she is in for one hell of a surprise when she does wake up.

Her gaze sharpens again at my laughter. 

“Don’t. I’m the one who should apologize,” I say. “It would suck to work at a place where people think they can buy drugs. But I promise all I want is ice cream.”

Her cheeks are still red as she grumbles, "It's a little cold out for ice cream, don't you think?"

This time, I successfully keep my amusement locked down. Clearly, embarrassment makes her grumpy. I don’t know if my Abby was like that or not, but it feels familiar.

I lean close enough to drape an arm over the glass case. "So what would you recommend for a total noob?"

She keeps her gaze narrowed, but her lips twitch with the smile she’s trying to hide. “Eating ice cream in July."

That hint of smile about guts me. It’s so reluctant. So familiar. It feels like home. 

Which is the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever thought.

“Are you saying this handmade vanilla isn’t good?”

Her chin bumps up. “It’s the best vanilla you’ll ever eat. It’s just boring.”

“Okay, then what do you suggest?”

“I love the ginger lemon. Or if you’re determined to try the vanilla, at least let me glam it up with apple pie filling and crispy cinnamon crumbles.”

I leave the ice cream shop and head down the street. On the other side of the square, there’s an empty office above a diner. That’s where I’ve spent the past day and a half.

I’ve just slipped in through the back door when my burner phone buzzes in my pocket.

Abby is the only person I’ve given this number.

And it feels way too soon for her to be reaching out to me. There’s no way she’s ready to meet me yet. I knew that when I asked her out for coffee. That was more a fishing expedition than an invitation. 

So what the hell is she doing calling me?

I don’t recognize the number, but I answer it anyway because it has to be her. Who else could it be?

“Kid, do you have backup with you?” a gravelly male voice asks.

Okay. Not Abby.

I haven’t heard her “father” speak, so there’s a chance it could be him, but somehow I doubt it.

“Who is this?”

“Do you have back up with you, or are you in this alone?”

“Who is this?” I repeat.

There’s a grumble of disgust like I’m pissing this man off. 

Which is fucking fine by me because I’m not too thrilled by this stranger’s questions either.

“I’m a friend of Abby’s.”

“What friend?” I demand.

In the time I’ve been watching her, I’ve seen Abby interact with four people who weren’t customers at the shop: her “parents,” Talia, and the town drunk.

This isn’t Talia, and the man doesn’t sound drunk.

So who is this guy?

“Trust you? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” 

“Look, kid—”

“Who are you, and how did you get this number?” I ask.

No one should know I’m here.

No one should even know I’m still alive, let alone be able to call me on a burner phone I bought five states away.

So what the actual fuck is going on?

“I don’t have time to answer all your damn questions, boy. All I can tell you now is that I used to work for Damocles. If you don’t have backup in town with you, that means you don’t have eyes on the secondary target.”

I still. 

Even the sight of Abby isn’t enough to calm my nerves now. 

Whoever this guy is, he knows way too much about me. Way too much about Abby. Way too much about what I’m doing here. If he did work for Damocles, that would explain how he knows so much.

“Is the secondary target in danger?” 

“Yes. I can’t watch both of them. I can watch over Abby. She trusts me. I can keep her safe. But I can’t get anywhere near the secondary target. Can you?”

I can. But do I admit it to this guy? This random stranger? 

Do I have any choice?

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. Obviously. You know that. But I can take care of Abby. And if she’s in danger, Abby can take of herself. Talia can’t. If we both sit here watching over Abby, Talia will be dead within the hour. It’s your move.”

Before I can respond, he hangs up.

Well, fuck.

I stand, letting the binoculars drop to my side as I stare at the burner phone in my hand. I’m tempted to smash it so this guy—whoever the hell he is—can’t reach me again. But it’s the number Abby has, so there’s no getting rid of this phone. 

I pace for a moment, unsure what to do. 

I can’t just let Talia die. And I can’t leave Abby without someone to watch over her. 

But if this guy on the phone is telling me the truth, then he’s watching over Abby. 

I pull up my other phone—the one I use solely to track people I’ve tagged. The device I placed on Abby is still bopping in the ice shop, moving as she moves. I’ll know the moment she leaves the ice cream shop. I’ll see if she goes anywhere other than her house.

The one I put on Talia, however, is not where she’s supposed to be. She told Abby she was heading home to study. Instead, she’s in a field about five miles outside of town. 

As much as I hate having to trust the word of someone I’ve never met, I’d hate it even more if someone I was supposed to be protecting died in a field.

I grab my bag and head out. Guess I have a girl to rescue.

I just hope I’m rescuing the right one.