Page 16 of Micah

New Jersey plates.

Tinted windows.

Engine running.

Driver never gets out.

I zoom in.

Can't see his face.

He leaves exactly four minutes later.

My fingers stop moving.

There it is.

That feeling.

The one that kept me alive overseas.

The itch between my shoulder blades.

The whisper that says something's wrong.

Maybe it's nothing.

Maybe he's waiting for someone.

Maybe I'm seeing patterns where there aren't any.

Or maybe...

Maybe my instincts are right.

I lean back in my chair.

Eyes still fixed on the screen as Sloane goes back to her ancient van and grabs one more box before locking it.

She never noticed the SUV.

But I did.

And that’ll do.

“No one's getting to you, Princess,” I say quietly to the empty room.

She can't hear me.

Doesn't know I'm watching.

Doesn't know I exist outside the quiet cowboy who drinks beer in her bar occasionally and leaves a bigger tip than anyone else.

And that’s good.

I'd like to keep it that way.

But if somebody thinks they're coming after Sloane O'Brien?