He exhaled slowly.
“I have driven him eight times in the last six weeks. Always late. Always drunk. Always talking on the phone like he thinks the car is invisible.”
My pulse thudded in my ears.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Aaron unlocked his phone and held it out.
“Because last Friday night,” he said, “he said your full address out loud. And then he said, ‘She is the one pulling files. She is careful, but she is not invisible.’”
My mouth went dry.
“There is more,” Aaron continued. “He said you work nights. He said your house is empty on Tuesdays and Fridays. He said if you take anything home, it will be there.”
“Take what home?” I whispered.
“Files. Notes. Evidence.”
The air felt thick, as if it were pressing against my chest.
“You cannot be serious,” I said. “He does not even know me.”
“He knows your routine,” Aaron said. “And he knows your street.”
He swiped to another screen. Dates. Times. Short notes.
“Tonight, before I picked you up, I drove past your block.”
My heart lurched.
“Why?”
“Because Victor mentioned you again yesterday. He said something about tonight being a good time.”
Aaron’s voice dropped.
“His car was parked across from your house when I drove by. Engine warm. Lights off.”
I felt dizzy.
“That does not mean anything,” I said, even as my hands trembled.
Aaron met my eyes.
“I watched him get out. I watched him walk to your gate. I watched him try your front door.”
The world tilted.
“He tried my door?”
“Yes.”
I could barely hear my own voice.
“He did not get in, but he did not leave either. He stood there looking inside like he was confirming something.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because I am not dropping you off tonight,” Aaron said firmly. “And because you are not going home.”
I shook my head.
“I do not understand. I do not know what he thinks I have.”
Aaron leaned back, exhaustion etched into his face.
“Neither do I. But I know what happens when people decide someone is a problem.”
He paused.
“And I know what happens when no one warns them in time.”
The rain tapped against the windshield as if it were counting seconds.
“We are going to the police,” he said.
Now, for the first time since my husband died, I felt the full weight of fear settle into my bones. And for the first time, I realized how close danger had been standing to my front door.
We did not go to the police right away.
