That made her blood run cold. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and brought up the security feed. Tapped. Scrolled. Then cursed under his breath.
“What?” she asked.
“Video cuts out for eight seconds between 4:11 and 4:12. Clean drop. Power never flickered, just the camera. Something or someone overwrote the recording.”
“Can you recover it?”
“Reed can.”
Hawke reached for a pair of black nitrile gloves from the drawer near the front door—of course he kept them there—and slid them on with practiced efficiency.
Vanessa watched as he lifted the envelope and turned it over.
“No seal,” he muttered. “Tucked flap.”
He peeled it open carefully and removed a single folded piece of paper. Same texture as the last one. Same expensive feel. The kind of stationery used for wedding vows or last confessions.
He read it once. Then again. And that silence—that cold, exact silence—made her stomach knot.
“What does it say?”
He looked at her, eyes unreadable. Then grabbed another glove, wrapped it around one side, and passed her the paper.
She took it with trembling fingers and read.
You look better in his clothes than I expected.
But they don’t change what you are.
You can’t hide behind him forever.
You belong to me.
Tell him I don’t enjoy sharing.
Her breath caught. Not from fear, but from the twisting, coiling sickness that curled in her belly.
“He was watching,” she whispered.
Touching the hem of the shirt she was wearing—Hawke’s shirt—was something she hadn’t even realized had been mentioned until she reread the first line.
He’d been that close.
Close enough to see her inside the cabin. Through the windows, the glass panels by the door, maybe even from the ridge across the property.
“I checked every camera this morning,” Hawke said. “He knows how to move around them. He timed the drop perfectly.”
“He hacked your system.”
“Or someone gave him access.”
Her head snapped up. “You think it’s someone you know?”
“I think it’s someone who knows me.” He scanned the porch again. “And that’s worse.”
Vanessa stepped aside as he resealed the letter and bagged it in an evidence pouch. Then he made the call to Gavin—short, precise and no emotion.
She sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the fire, cold now, the flames gone to ash. This wasn’t just about obsession anymore. This was about possession. Proximity.
