Page 48 of He Sees You
"How do you know he's escalating?"
"Because I recognize a predator preparing to strike. He's testing boundaries, building courage. Tonight, maybe tomorrow, he'll try to get inside." Cain pulls out a different key, modern, new. "This opens my cabin. If you need somewhere safe, use it."
"Why would I run to you? You just admitted to stalking me. Killing for me."
"Because I'm the monster who wants to keep you alive and whole and free. Jake's the one who wants to cage you." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Lock your bedroom door tonight. Not just the window. Jake has keys to your father's house. All the deputies do, for emergencies."
He disappears into the woods, leaving me standing in front of the rotting house with two keys in my hand—one to the past, one to possible safety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cain
Jake Bauer is dumber than I gave him credit for.
I watch from the tree line as he stumbles around the back of the Sterling house, trying the same door handle for the third time as if it might have magically unlocked itself.
He's drunk enough that his coordination is suffering, but not so drunk he'll forget this tomorrow.
This is calculated intoxication—liquid courage for what he's planning.
He pulls out his keys, fumbling through them.
The third one is a master—all deputies have them for emergencies, and the lock turns.
He's inside.
I move closer, weighing my options.
I could stop him now, but that would require revealing myself.
Or I could document this, let him hang himself with his own rope.
My phone records everything in night vision clarity as he moves through the dark house like he owns it.
The way he navigates tells me this isn't his first time inside without permission.
He knows which stairs creak, automatically ducking under the low beam by the kitchen entrance.
He's done this before, probably during his protection details, walking through the house while Sterling slept, imagining it could be his.
Then I see her.
Celeste's bedroom window opens, and she drops into the snow.
Even from here, I can see her wince as she lands, her ankle turning wrong.
But she doesn't cry out—smart girl.
She starts running toward the woods, toward my property, leaving prints in the snow like breadcrumbs.
The drop is at least twelve feet.
She didn't hesitate, which means whatever Jake was doing or saying through that bedroom door was worse than risking a broken ankle.
My hands clench into fists as I imagine what could have driven her to that desperation.
Jake must hear something because his silhouette appears in her bedroom window. "Celeste?" His voice carries in the still night. "Where are you, baby? Just want to talk."
