Page 34

Jude

T he days that followed blurred into a kind of beautiful routine.

Early mornings with Cyclone, lazy coffee on the back deck, teasing texts while he worked with the Team, and I settled into my new job at Owen Security.

For once, my life wasn’t about survival.

It was about living.

Laughing.

Loving.

But peace, as I was learning, was fragile.

And it never lasted long.

It started on a Thursday.

Just an ordinary day — coffee run, a quick meeting with Owen about a new case, a walk along the beach during my lunch break.

The pier was quiet, and the spring tourists were still a few weeks away.

The breeze smelled like salt and sunscreen, and kids were laughing somewhere farther down the boardwalk.

I stood at the railing, sipping my coffee, letting the sun warm my face.

And then...

I felt it.

The prickle.

The unmistakable weight of being watched. I knew that feeling.

I turned slowly, scanning the crowds — tourists in sun hats, a guy selling T-shirts, a couple walking a dog.

Normal.

Ordinary.

Safe.

But my instincts didn’t lie.

They never had.

Not when it mattered.

I caught the flash of him a second later — a man, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low.

Too casual.

Too careful.

His body language screamed military or intel training.

He was watching me.

No doubt about it.

The coffee slipped from my fingers, splattering onto the wooden boards, but I barely noticed it.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my brain already cataloging details.

Height: six-two, maybe six-three.

Build: athletic.

Age: mid-thirties.

Weapon? Oh yeah, he definitely had a weapon or two.

I turned sharply and started walking, blending into a group of tourists heading toward the parking lot.

I didn’t run.

Didn’t draw attention.

I just moved fast and clean — muscle memory from years of training kicking in.

I glanced back once.

The man hadn’t followed.

Not yet.

But I knew how this worked.

I knew the playbook.

Someone had found me.

Someone from the old life.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to know I still existed.

By the time I reached my truck, my hands were shaking.

I slid behind the wheel, locked the doors, and started the engine with a hand that wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be.

I needed to tell Cyclone.

I needed to tell Owen.

But first...

I needed to get off the street.

Fast.

As I peeled out of the parking lot, my mind raced ahead, calculating possibilities.

It could be nothing.

A mistake.

A lookalike.

But I knew better.

Nobody “accidentally” watches you like that.

Nobody “accidentally” tracks a ghost.

My past, the one I thought I had buried six feet under—had just come back to life.

And if I wasn’t careful, it was going to bury me for real this time.