“Samuels.” I’ve never heard this kind of menacing tone from Fitz. I’ve also never felt more comforted by something so threatening sounding. “Have your colleague drive my car home. You bring my fiancée back safely in the SUV.”

Immediately, I object. He doesn’t get it. “Fitz⁠—”

“Don’t hang up.” There’s torment in the sound of his sigh. “Keep the call open.”

“I don’t really feel like talking,” I admit.

“You don’t have to,” Fitz says. “You’ll just know I’m with you.”

It takes more than an hour and a half to get back to Boston. And even though I say absolutely nothing the entire ride, Fitz keeps letting me know he’s there.

I’m here. I’m with you.

Chapter 17

At 2:17 in the morning, I give up on sleep. I gave up on Parker—or waiting for her to talk to me—hours ago.

Between Parker’s lack of eye contact, and curt answers, it was almost a laughable attempt. But there wasn’t anything funny about how panicked she sounded on the phone earlier. I could tell by her breathing there wasn’t just something that scared her, but something that made her scared to tell me about it.

I guess it’s a cruel realization of what they mean when the pot calls the kettle black.

Untangling myself from my sheets, I leave my room, carefully finding the stairs I’m not used to going down in the middle of the night in an apartment that’s dark except for a faint light coming from Parker’s room.

Before I’ve taken two steps down, I pause, gripping the banister as she walks toward the kitchen and front entry of the apartment.

For a second, I don’t think anything of it. She could be thirsty. Or hungry. Or bored.

But the lights in the kitchen don’t go on. Instead, I hear a gentle click. My chest tightens and I wonder if she’s left in the middle of the night. But then there are two more clicks and Parker quickly returns on the same path she took and goes into her bedroom, shutting the door.

Mumbled noises come from there, and I listen carefully. It sounds like she’s locking and unlocking the door over and over.

I right myself and walk down to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and returning upstairs to my bed hoping sleep will finally come. But before it does, I hear what I just saw—Parker checking the door again before retreating to her room and locking up.

She does it another three times before I get out of bed again.

“You alright?” I whisper from the top of the stairs.

Parker tilts her head up toward me. The movement is soft and smooth, so I know I didn’t startle her.

But something obviously did.