Page 52 of Boulder's Weight

I pick up my pace, careful not to look behind me too obviously.

A truck turns onto the street ahead, its headlights momentarily blinding me.

As it passes, my blood runs cold.

It's a black Ford F-150, just like Craig used to drive.

Same model, same tinted windows, same dent in the passenger door.

It can't be him.

It's just a coincidence.

There are thousands of black F-150s in Mexico.

But what if it isn't a coincidence? What if Benji wasn't bluffing in his message?

Panic claws at my throat again.

I dart into the nearest open shop—a small convenience store—my heart racing.

I position myself so I can see the street through the window, watching for the truck to pass by again.

"You're being paranoid, Kelsey," I mutter to myself, using my new name like a shield. "Get it together."

"You seem to be making a habit of talking to yourself," a deep voice says behind me.

I whirl around, fist raised instinctively, only to come face to face with Boulder.

He catches my wrist easily, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

"Easy, Montana," he says, using that damned nickname again. "It's just me."

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension from our argument this morning hanging between us.

He's still holding my wrist, his touch sending sparks across my skin.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, pulling my arm free.

"Surveillance duty," he says, his eyes scanning the street behind me. "What's got you jumping into random stores?"

I hesitate, but the fear is too fresh to hide completely. "I think someone's following me. A black truck. It... reminded me of someone."

Boulder's expression hardens, and he moves past me to the door, looking out at the street. "I don't see any black truck. How long has this been going on?"

"Just tonight," I say, rubbing my arms against a sudden chill. "It's probably nothing. Just me being paranoid."

He turns back to me, studying my face. "You don't strike me as the paranoid type, Kelsey. More like the type who's got something real to be afraid of."

His perceptiveness is unnerving.

I look away, unsure how to respond without revealing too much.

Boulder steps closer, his voice dropping lower. "Look, I'm still pissed about the vacation lie. But if you're in some kind of trouble..."

"I can handle it myself," I say automatically, the words coming out more defensively than I intend.

He doesn't back down. "Jesus, Montana. You have balls of steel, but you’re… god, you’re not an idiot. You can’t handle this yourself." He hesitates, then adds, "Let me stay with you. Just to be safe."

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