Page 21 of Unexpected Hero

That’s probably for the best.

She’ll be safer, and there’s less chance of her contacting Boss and throwing his world off its axis. He doesn’t need that shit right now. He’s got far too much weight on his shoulders as it is.

I’ve considered long and hard telling him about her. For five years, I’ve played out various scenarios of how that conversation would go — and it never ends well.

Ultimately, I convinced myself that it’s not my news to divulge. It makes more sense for me to keep an eye on her from afar. I can spare both of them from a major life upheaval. Why upset either of them when they’re both content with their lives?

That’s what I used to think.

Until recently, I had no indication that she was unhappy.

But now? She seems… sad. Ever since her grandfather passed away, she’s lost. I don’t know how I know that, but I suppose watching someone nearly around the clock for two weeks gives you a good grasp on their situation.

Plus, I’ve done a deep dive into her social media, email, and text message threads from the last few years in my downtime. Meaning: when I should be sleeping.

There was a definite shift in her tone and overall mood when her grandfather got sick. I know she loved him. And it’s likely taking a toll on her.

But why did she move to another state after he died?

Was it to get away from that dirtbag Toby after he attempted to force himself on her?

He’s behind bars for the foreseeable future since I arranged it so he couldn’t make bond. What a sick fucker.

While I was investigating him, I found videos of his sexual conquests on his computer. It only took a little digging to uncover that not all of them were of legal age. And they weren’t there consensually either.

And Lettie was going to be next.

The anonymous tip I sent to the authorities with some of the files I found — and a few more I planted on his machine for good measure — was just a taste of the damage I could cause for him if he ever attempts to contact Lettie again.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that my jaw is tight and achy. Guess I’ve been gritting my teeth while my mind spins through all these heavy thoughts about this woman who’s still sitting in her car.

Removing my smaller pen-size microphone, I listen to Lettie cry in her car. Not sure why I’m torturing myself like this, but I do it all the same.

In barely a whisper, she gives herself a little pep talk. “You can do this. It’s okay. You got this. Plenty of jobs out there. This doesn’t mean you’ve failed.”

Once her sobs have ceased, she starts the ignition and pulls out of the lot. I follow from a few car lengths behind, tracking her location on the tablet.

She pulls into a gas station a few blocks from the dive hotel she lives in. I don’t follow since it’d be obvious in such a small parking lot. Instead, I travel to the next street, do a U-turn, and drive back by the station.

Upon my second pass, she’s still parked at the gas pump. Bent over with the car door wide open, she frantically digs through her purse in the driver’s seat.

She’s panicked.

The compulsion to help her hits me dead in the chest.

Welp, here we go.

I pull into the gas station, park on the opposite side of her pump, and exit.

“Crap, crap, crap,” she mutters.

Making a show of getting gas for myself — because what the fuck else would I be doing here — I start the pump and click the nozzle so it’ll keep filling without my hand on the trigger.

I peek my head around the side of the pump. “Is everything all right, miss?”

She sniffles, fighting back tears.

From her spot in the driver’s seat, she gazes up at me, nearly knocking me off my feet. My breath hitches, chest constricts, and throat thickens.

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