Page 94 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"Okay," I say, going up on my toes to kiss him. "In that case, maybe we keep the drives but I have the car for freedom and errands and general mountain woman independence?"

"Independence. Deal," he agrees, but there's something relieved in his voice that makes me study his face more closely.

That's when I notice how his eyes keep drifting toward the kitchen, where that mysterious package sits like some kind of ominous paperweight.

The package that's been haunting my thoughts since yesterday. The one addressed to my old apartment in the city, with my full name on the outside.

"Beau," I say carefully, "are you worried about that package?"

His jaw ticks. "Just want to make sure you're safe."

"Safe from what? It's probably just mail forwarding gone wrong. Or something completely innocent. I did just get a job, maybe it's the tax authority?"

But even as I say it, I don't really believe it.

Because there's something about that package that feels... wrong. Like when Riley used to surprise me with knowledge he shouldn't have had, or show up places I hadn't told him I'd be going.

A familiar chill runs down my spine. The same one I used to get when I realized I was being monitored, watched, controlled.

Stop it.This isn't Riley. This is probably nothing.

But the rational part of my brain is losing ground to the paranoid part that remembers what it felt like to discoverhe'd been tracking my location through my phone, reading my emails, monitoring my social media activity.

Shit. My social media activity.

I remember Beau's lecture yesterday at Sienna's. How his voice got all low and serious about my Instagram posts.

I'd laughed it off, told him he was being paranoid.

But now, staring at that package with my old address, his warnings don't seem quite so ridiculous.

"Come on," Beau says, offering me his hand. "Let's get you fed and down to work. I've got some…thingsI want to take care of this morning too."

I take his hand, but as we head toward the kitchen, I can't help stealing another glance at that package.

Just a simple brown-wrapped parcel, but somehow it feels like a ticking bomb waiting to explode our perfect mountain life.

***

The drive to Mountain Rescue headquarters starts normally enough, but about halfway there, I notice Beau checking the rearview mirror more frequently than usual.

Like, a lot more frequently.

"Babe," I finally say when he glances in the mirror for what has to be the fifteenth time in five minutes. "Are we being followed by particularly persistent wildlife? Because you're checking that mirror like we're being hunted by a very determined bear."

"Just being cautious on the road, sweetheart," he mutters, but his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

"Cautious of what?"

I twist in my seat to look behind us, seeing nothing but empty mountain road and gorgeous pine trees.

"There's literally no one back there except maybe some confused squirrels."

He grunts in response, which is Beau-speak for "I'm being ridiculous but I'm not going to admit it."

"Seriously, what's going on with you today? You're acting like we're in some kind of action movie and I'm a foreign dignitary you're protecting from international assassins."

"Maybe I just like keeping my girl safe," he says, but there's an edge to his voice that makes me study his profile more carefully.