I wiped my face, adjusted my goggles, and kicked forward.If I stopped, he won.
One hundred ten.
The mannequin had knelt, and so had I. I was on the factory floor, pulling my father's burned-out stopwatch from the wreckage. Holding it in my hands like a relic, knowing I'd been given a script to follow, and I was already reading my lines.
One hundred thirteen.
A shadow flickered in the corner of my vision.
I spun toward the shore, kicking up a spray. The water around me shuddered with my movement, rippling outward in overlapping rings.Nothing there.Just the tree line, the parked cars, and the faint silhouette of a runner moving along the trail.
Elliot had been here before. Maybe not this morning, maybe not now, but his fingerprints were in every inch of the water.
My pulse slammed against my throat. I swam harder.
Katie was waiting for me when I hit the shore.
She had that look—arms crossed, and her weight shifted slightly to one side, mouth set just shy of disapproval. "Jesus, McCabe."
I yanked my wetsuit down to my waist, the lake's chill deep in my bones. "Didn't realize my morning routine required commentary."
"Wasn't commentary. That was the start of a eulogy." She tipped her chin toward my hands. They were shaking. Not a lot, but enough. "You wanna tell me what you're proving out there?"
"Nothing."
"Uh-huh." Her eyes scanned the bruises on my forearms and the deep-set exhaustion I hadn't quite managed to shake.She saw too much.Always had. "You think killing yourself in open water is gonna fix this?"
I shoved my wet gear into my bag, my breath still too uneven. "I'm not—"
"Right." She exhaled, rocking back on her heels. "Because you look real stable right now."
Something in her voice softened. She wasn't just talking as another athlete. She recognized a fellow first responder caught in a downward spiral.
I should have walked away. Should have shut it down before she could keep pushing, but then she said it—casual, like an afterthought, except it wasn't.
"Saw that guy again. The one who asked about your training."
I froze.
"Where?"
"Parking lot." She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Didn't approach me. Didn't do anything. Just watching."
I made myself breathe. "You get a good look at him?"
"Not really. Tall. Maybe mid-thirties? Dressed like he belonged here. Running gear, hoodie, nothing that screamed serial killer." Her lips thinned. "But the way he looked at you—"
Her voice caught for a second. Katie didn't get rattled. Not easily.
"Like he already knew what you'd do next," she finished.
***
My apartment was too still.
I let the door slam behind me, needing the sound to break up the silence. The inside of my wetsuit bag stank of sweat and lake water. I dumped it in the sink, peeling my wet clothes off piece by piece, the fabric clinging to my skin.
Elliot's logs of my training sat open on the counter.
