Page 7 of His Every Move

“Three nights ago,” he finally said. His voice was a little tight, like he didn’t want to admit how much it bothered him. “I almost threw it out, but something about it… it just felt off, you know? Like this wasn’t just some random person. Like it was personal.”

It was personal. Whoever this Nomad guy was, he wasn’t some casual creeper hiding behind a keyboard. He had access—to Elijah’s real life, his real address. And that meant he wasn’t just some online stalker getting off to fantasies.

He was escalating.

I stared at the photo on Elijah’s screen, fingers twitching.

As polite as the words seemed, this letter basically read: I see you. I know where you live. You’re mine.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my focus back on the case. Not on the way he was licking his lips like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“You did the right thing keeping this,” I said, handing him back the phone. “The police might not take it seriously, but I do.”

Elijah looked at me, his big blue eyes scanning my face like he was trying to decide whether he trusted me or not.

“Do you think I’m actually in danger?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like he was waiting for me to confirm his worst fear.

I nodded. I wasn’t someone to sugarcoat things. “Yes. I unfortunately do.”

He inhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit.”

That one word cracked something in my chest. He was scared. And that did things to me. Dark, dangerous things. It made me want to snap my fingers and make this Nomad character appear in my office so that I could slam a fist against their jaw, all before the cops dragged them away to jail. No one deserved to live their life in fear for simply existing. The paranoia that this brought to Eli’s life must have been exhausting.

“What do I do?” Eli asked.

“Well, we’ll start with the basics,” I said, leaning forward. “Security cameras. Alarm systems. Do you have any at your place?”

He shook his head. “I mean, my building has some security cameras, but nothing inside my apartment.”

“Then that’s priority number one. I’ll help you set it up.”

Elijah blinked. “You’d do that?”

I smirked and gave him a casual shrug. “It’s part of the job.”

It definitely wasn’t. I could have easily recommended a service, sent him a list of local security companies, kept my distance. But the idea of someone else being the one to install those cameras, the idea of someone else having access to his space, his bedroom?—

No.

If anyone was going to be watching over him, it was going to be me.

I was already doing it, anyway.

Elijah hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “That would actually help a lot. I’m absolute shit at installing or building things.”

He chuckled, and his shoulders dropped slightly, some of the tension easing out of them. The fact that he already felt safer just being in this office, with me—fuck, that did something to me.

Something possessive.

I let the moment linger for a second before leaning back, tilting my head slightly. “Tell me more about Nomad,” I said. “You said the messages started innocent. What changed?”

Elijah shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands together. I wanted to get up, walk behind him, and rub his shoulders. Wanted to tell him to relax, that I’d take it from here. “I guess it was when I stopped responding to his messages,” he admitted. “At first, I tried to be polite, you know? Just a quick ‘thanks for the support’ or whatever. But then the messages started getting… weird.”

“How weird?”

He swallowed. “It started off as little things—him saying he could tell when I wasn’t enjoying myself on stream. That he knew when I was just performing and when I was really into it.”

My hands clenched under the desk.

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