Page 35

CHAPTER 35

Tristan

“You’re shivering.” I take off my suit jacket and drape it over Birdie’s shoulders.

She clutches the jacket tightly. Her eyes, sunken in fear, look up at me. “Thank you.”

It tears at my heart to see her this way. Those beautiful eyes should never be overwhelmed with dread. My throat tightens as I fight back the urge to pull her into my arms and chase away her fears with my embrace. But I can’t. We promised. Loosening the boundaries of our roles has gotten us into too much trouble. We need our heads to be clear to face the danger running our way. Right now, I’m her bodyguard, her protector—nothing more, no matter how much I want to.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me,” I say, conviction ringing in every syllable. Protecting her is my purpose, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure her safety and peace of mind. “I’ll go get a piece of paper, and I want you to write down every person in this state you think might know your real identity. We’ll investigate every single one of them until we get him, I promise.”

She calls out my name as I hurry toward her office. “No need. The list isn’t that long to write down. See, when I decided to leave Florida, I changed my name officially. Birdie Abel is the name I have on every contract, every bank account, even on my marriage certificate. My agent, my publisher, Gia and everyone in my network here knows absolutely nothing about who I was in Florida. As far as I know, there are only two men in this state that know the name Reagan Fletcher.”

“Only two men?” Adrenaline spikes in my body as I turn on my heel to face her once more. “That narrows down the potential threats considerably. Who are they? Tell me everything you know about them.”

She sits next to the notes on the bench and purses her lips. “The first is Blake.”

I scamper toward her. “He can’t be the stalker for obvious reasons. Not after those photos anyway. That means there’s only left, and he must be that creep.” My heart pounds. I’m so close to finding out who she thinks he is. “Who is it, Birdie? Who is Butterfly Man?”

She locks her gaze on me, her eyes piercing, her face unreadable. “You.”