Page 40 of Smoldering Nights
“Working on it, but here's the thing,” Jayson said.“I pulled old footage from around Petal Pushers the day of the fire.The same SUV was parked across from the alley.Just sitting there for about twenty minutes.Engine running.Someone was watching her even then.”
Mitch’s hand curled into a fist.“Is it possible to get hotel camera footage for the alley for the thirty days prior to the first break-in?I'd like to see how long this asshole has been stalking her.Watching her patterns.And if he has ties to Delilah or anyone else we're suspicious of.”
“I'll see what I can do on that front.So far, the Hotel has been great to work with.They don't like the idea of someone out there hurting Izzy or anyone else.”Jayson said.
Mitch’s blood turned cold.
He hung up and walked back inside.Securing the locks on the door and pushing the stop down to ensure no one entered.He paused to look at Izzy asleep on the couch.She’d dozed off under a throw blanket, her face soft in the low light, the crease between her brows finally relaxed.Seeing her like that, safe, for now, burned into him.It made everything else background noise.
He wasn't sure when this had changed from a mission to a personal matter, but it was that now and so much more.
He crossed the room quietly, sat in the armchair across from her, and opened his laptop.He reviewed every note he and Jayson had compiled.Every time stamp.Every event.The explosion.The fake delivery.The floral sabotage.The threat in the alley.Someone was getting closer and bolder.They now entered the building.
Whoever it was knew her schedule, her habits, even how to manipulate the people around her.And they weren’t finished.
His eyes landed on the digital image of the Clearway Supply slip again.
The handwriting was messy.Not panicked.Just rushed.
He leaned in closer.Something about the slant of the letters tugged at a memory.He’d seen handwriting like that on something.He closed his eyes for a moment trying to drag the memory from the depths of his mind.Ah, finally, he recalled.It was a witness statement.
He opened his archived files, cross-referenced the loops in the capital letters.The slant of the lowercase ‘t.’The angular hook on the ‘y.’
Then it hit him like a gut punch.
The handwriting matched an old report from Travis Fielder’s past, back when he’d been caught forging documents at his father’s garage to pocket extra cash.The charges had been dropped, but Mitch had remembered it because Travis had been arrogant and smug, even under pressure.
And the writing?It was now burned into Mitch’s brain.
He copied both images and texted Jayson:
Pull Travis’s employment records.I think we’ve got a match.
Then he stood, quietly turning off the lamp.He walked to the couch and gently shifted Izzy’s blanket so it covered her better.Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake.He lingered for a long second, hand hovering near her cheek but not quite touching.
She was the strongest person he knew, and still, someone had tried to break her.
He wouldn’t let it happen.
Chapter20
Izzy stirred to the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.For a long moment, she didn’t open her eyes.The throw blanket was warm against her skin, and the quiet safety of Mitch’s living room wrapped around her like a cocoon.
Last night’s terror still lingered at the edge of her mind, the voice in the alley, the forged slip, but so did the memory of Mitch’s arms around her, the way he’d held her like she wasn’t just someone to protect but someone he cared about.
She exhaled slowly and sat up, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.Her fingers brushed the couch cushion where Mitch had tucked it beneath her head.She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.But she must have felt safe enough to let go.That thought made her smile.
A quiet clink came from the kitchen.She stood and padded toward the sound.
Mitch stood at the stove, barefoot, hair a tousled mess, his T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders.His muscles bunched and stretched as he stirred something in a pan.He looked over his shoulder when he heard her.
“Morning,” he said, voice low and warm.“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”Her voice came out husky.“I feel like I slept for the first time in days.”
He nodded toward the counter.“Coffee’s fresh.I'm scrambling eggs.”
She poured a cup and wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms.“Thanks.For everything.For… last night.For letting me crash here.For keeping me safe.”
