Page 59 of Mountain Daddy

She's wearing jeans and a sweater the color of autumn leaves. Simple. Sweet. The kind of outfit that shouldn't make my blood run hot.

But everything about her makes my blood run hot.

She stops near the fountain.

That's when I see him.

Tall. Lean. Dark hair slicked back. Wearing a leather jacket that screams trouble.

And there's ink crawling up his neck.

I go very still.

The tattoo is small. Subtle. But unmistakable to someone who knows what to look for.

Bratva ink.

Specifically, the serpent wrapped around a dagger. Symbol of the Moscow syndicate.

What the fuck is Bratva doing in Fern Falls?

The man approaches Lilly. She lights up when she sees him. Genuine happiness. Relief.

They embrace.

Not romantic. Familiar. Friendly.

But my vision goes red anyway.

She's hugging him. Smiling at him. Talking to him like he’s out of a Hallmark movie. Like he's not connected to the world she judges.

I watch them talk. Can't hear the words from here, but I can read body language. He's animated. Gesturing. She's laughing.

Laughing.

With a man who wears the mark of killers.

She doesn't know. Can't know. Lilly's too pure for this world. Too innocent.

Unless it’s all an act.

They part ways after ten minutes. Lilly heads back to the bakery. The man walks in the opposite direction.

I fold my newspaper. Drop a five on the table.

Follow.

My feet move without conscious thought. Muscle memory from twenty years of hunting predators.

He's good. Keeps to main streets. Doesn't look over his shoulder. Maintains the facade of a tourist.

But I'm better.

I stay two blocks back.

Use storefronts as cover.

Move like smoke.

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