But it was the fear that kept her running.

She clutched her purse to stop its bouncing against her thigh and veered around a corner, past the bakery—the sticky, sweet smell of Nikola’s famed caramel rolls doing nothing to comfort her. Not with the stranger’s pounding steps growing closer.

Half a block. Just half a block to the ancient three-story brick building she’d called home for nearly twelve years now. Its crumbling exterior and overgrown hedges, the creaking front door with the peeling paint and pointless crooked brass knocker had never looked so welcoming.

Her shoes clacked over the cracked sidewalk, and she resisted the urge to crane her head, twist her gaze to the man she’d first spotted watching her back at the restaurant. Initially, she’d taken him for a regular old creeper, his stare following her around the labyrinth of tables and booths as she took orders, delivered plates of Italian food, prayed for good tips.

And yet, his dark eyes hadn’t leered so much as just . . . studied. Why was that even more unnerving than the ogles of other uncouth men?

Even so, she hadn’t thought too much of it. Had simply thanked her lucky stars the man’s booth wasn’t in her zone of tables and finished out her shift.

But she should’ve known not to count on luck.

“Some kids don’t get lucky.” Why was it the social worker’s raspy voice, tinged with pity, always found the worst times to resurface?

Yeah, well, some adults don’t get lucky, either.

No. Some adults left their workplace with sore feet and a dogging, too-familiar fatigue, only to feel a niggle of alarm halfway home. Only to slow her steps and turn around and see the same man from that corner booth.

Chilly air scraped her cheeks as she willed her legs to stay in motion. So close.

Has to be someone Micah knows. He’s finally gotten in too deep and I’m about to pay the price and—

Realization swooped in as she passed the once-auspicious Victorian next door to her building. The thumping steps from behind—they’d quieted. Or maybe stopped altogether. She slowed only the slightest, allowed herself a glance over her shoulder.

Nothing. No one.

Just the swish and rustle of the weeping willow in front of the Victorian and an empty sidewalk. And from somewhere down and across the street, the distant voices and laughter of the kids who were always outside kicking around a soccer ball.

Had the man given up? Decided she wasn’t worth the pursuit?

Her pace slackened to a quick walk as she turned onto the narrow cement path that led up to her boxy apartment building. Maybe the man had gotten word from a higher-up who’d called off the chase. Lord knew the kind of people Micah had gotten involved with generally didn’t do their own dirty work.

Or perhaps this didn’t have anything to do with Micah. Perhaps he’d been serious last time she’d talked to him three, maybe four, weeks ago. Perhaps he’d meant what he’d said about starting fresh and—