Page 25 of The Maverick

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m starting surveillance.”

She blinked. “On Charles?”

He nodded. “I’ll get Reed on a digital trace—see if he’s using aliases. Dawson can pull his file from Spur records. I’ll handle the physical. If he’s in town, I’ll find him.”

Vanessa uncrossed her arms and stretched her legs out, letting her foot brush lightly against his thigh. “You always this thorough when someone creeps on a sub?”

“No,” he said. “Just you.”

That earned him a faint tug of her lips, but she didn’t press the point.

He rose, grabbed his tablet from the counter, and synced it to the cabin’s security grid. They installed three new external cameras that morning while she showered—two motion-activated, and one infrared. He’d also added a silent perimeter alert system tied to his phone.

She didn’t need to know all of that yet. But he needed her protected from every angle.

She stood and padded toward the kitchen, silent for a beat before asking, “You ever wonder why I didn’t fight harder to stay in your life?”

He looked up from the screen. “Every damn day.”

Her hands stilled on the counter. “Then why didn’t you ever come after me?”

“Because I thought you needed the space more than you needed me.”

Her voice dropped. “I didn’t.”

“I know that now.”

They didn’t speak for a moment. The fire crackled behind them, but everything between them stayed still. Like they both knew another line was about to be crossed, and neither of them wanted to be the one to reach for it first.

Vanessa turned slowly, bracing her hands behind her on the counter.

“You think Charles is the guy?”

“I think he’s high on the list.”

“You think he’s been watching me for two years?”

Hawke’s jaw flexed. “If it’s him, he’s been building a narrative. You rejected him. You moved on. He got obsessed. Started following your career. Your books. Your scenes.”

“He didn’t have access to my work files.”

“No,” Hawke agreed. “But he had access to you. And if he’s obsessive enough, he could’ve recreated that scene in his head, word for word. He wouldn’t need a manuscript. He’d just need memory and fantasy and enough time to let it fester.”

Vanessa’s mouth tightened. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

Hawke walked toward her, slow and steady. When he reached her, he laid his hands on the counter beside hers, boxing her in.

“I’m going to take care of it.”

She searched his face. “You don’t even know how deep it goes.”

“I don’t need to. Whatever it is, I’ll handle it.”

She swallowed. “You always say that like it’s easy.”

“It is. When it comes to you.”

He saw the flicker of something behind her eyes then. Not fear. Not resistance. Grief.

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