Margot!” Drake picked up the handbag she’d dropped as she’d groped for the doorknob and ran after her. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be. His side objected, but not loudly enough to stop him. He couldn’t let her leave like that. She could try to disappear from his life.

Worse, she could fall headlong into the fear he’d seen flashing through her dark eyes like lightning. Let herself believe the only way to outpace it was to deny even possessing what it threatened to take away.

He reached the door to the building just as it was clicking shut from her exit and swept out onto the sidewalk in time to see her plow into someone on the corner.

It didn’t slow her down for long.

But it slowed Drake. Because it wasn’t just someone. It was someone in a grey overcoat, with longish dark hair, a trim beard, and an inquisitive slant to his brows. Someone who, upon spotting him, took off at a run on the street perpendicular to this one.

Drake sped to the corner, glancing first straight ahead toward Margot’s retreating back and then down the intersecting street, where the man’s grey coat flapped behind him.

If he’d still doubted that the man had something to do with Jaeger, that made it certain. If he were just an innocent neighbor, he wouldn’t run from him like that. And why did he now? He must have spotted Drake that day he’d come down and known he would recognize him. He must have.

He could follow now. He wasn’t at his fastest, but the man didn’t seem to be moving at that impressive a clip either. He might be able to catch up.

And then what? Tackle him? Smack him with Margot’s handbag? The man must know he was injured. And a well-placed brolly to the side could undo all the weeks of healing.

Moreover, he didn’t matter. Not compared to Margot.

The debate had only taken a second. And he didn’t regret his decision for a moment as he ran after her. He only hoped that no Good Samaritan would think he was chasing her for cruel reasons and would decide to intervene. Though he could always claim he’d seen her drop her handbag and was just trying to return it.

He didn’t call out again—the less attention the better—and she still didn’t look over her shoulder. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t follow. Or didn’t really mind that he did. Either way, her pace slowed as she made the turn that would take her home, and he closed the distance between them.

Which was a good thing, or he might have lost her when she made the unexpected detour into the little park they’d walked in after Mass for the last few Sundays.