Ray.

~~~

"Sam, open the door," I said, knocking on the door again.

The entrance cracked open, and I first saw Molly her blond hair damp and disheveled, I stepped inside immediately, my eyes scanning the room for Samantha. She stood there, caught between the entrance and the living room, her expression tense.

Without thinking, I crossed the space between us, wrapped my arms around her, and held her close inhaling her scent. My lips brushed her neck in a kiss, and for a moment, everything felt steady again. She was safe.

A loud, pointed clearing of the throat shattered the moment. Molly. Reluctantly, I stepped back, meeting her sharp glare, and turned to the man who had followed me in.

"Hello again, Samantha," Paul said, his voice calm and authoritative. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on each of us. "We all need to talk."

Sam hesitated, then nodded. Her eyes flickered to me, searching for reassurance. I gave her a small nod in return, silently letting her know it was okay.

We all made our way to the living room and settled into our places. Sam and I sat on the couch, her body still rigid beside me. Paul took the armchair, leaning back with a confidence that seemed unshakable, while Molly perched on the backrest of the couch near us, her arms crossed, watching him like a hawk.

"I'm private detective Paul Murphy," he began, his voice steady. "Mr. Lawrence explained your situation, and I'm here to help you, Miss Morris." He leaned back, his fingers laced over his stomach.

Sam opened her mouth to say something, but Molly beat her to it. "I'm M—"

Paul raised a hand, cutting her off. "Yes, Miss Molly Fleming. Best friend. Father lost family funds. Lives with an actor named Mason Hale. Works as a—"

"Okay, okay, we get it," Molly interrupted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've done your homework."

Paul smiled, unbothered by her tone. "That's my job. First, I establish all relationships with Miss Morris to better understand how I can help."

Sam shifted beside me, and I felt her tension as clearly as if it were my own. "Sam. Call me Sam," she said softly, managing a polite smile. "Do you have any ideas about this situation?"

"Yes, a few," Paul replied, his tone measured. "I'm officially working on your case as of yesterday."

Sam's head whipped toward me, her eyes wide with surprise. "I meant to tell you," I said quickly, squeezing her hand.

Paul continued without missing a beat. "First, I suggest cutting off all physical contact with Mr. Shaw." Sam tensed beside me, her eyes darting to meet mine. "But," Paul added, "you'll need to maintain minimal contact with him to avoid raising suspicions. If he starts to think you know what he's doing, the situation could escalate."

I couldn't help the low growl of frustration that escaped me. "How long are we supposed to keep this up?" Sam asked, her voice edged with desperation. "We meet at least twice a week—how am I supposed to explain suddenly avoiding him?"

Paul exchanged a glance with me, silently asking permission to reveal what we'd discussed earlier. I gave him a slight nod.

"You've mentioned traveling, haven't you?" I asked, turning to Sam. "I'm going on tour soon. You could come with me." Molly's laugh burst out before I even finished the sentence, sharp and disbelieving.

"You've got to be kidding," Sam said, her brows shooting up. She looked at Molly, who was trying—and failing—to stifle her amusement.

"I'm not," I said firmly, even though her reaction stung. I dropped my gaze to our entwined fingers, running my thumb over the back of her hand.

Sam arched an eyebrow, her voice cooler now. "We'll discuss this in private," she said pointedly. "Do you have any other advice?" she asked Paul, turning the focus back to him.

Paul didn't seem fazed by the tension. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white box. "This is your new phone," he said, handing it to Sam.

She stared at it for a moment before taking it cautiously. "Why do I need a new phone?"

"I have reason to believe your current phone isn't secure," Paul explained, his tone deliberate. "You'll use the new one to contact me and for any discussions about Scott or these circumstances. For everything else, continue using your old phone. That way, Scott won't suspect anything."

Sam frowned, her fingers tightening around the box. "You think he's spying on me?"

"It's highly likely," Paul replied.

Molly placed a protective hand on Sam's shoulder. "Why would he go that far?" she asked.

Paul leaned forward slightly. "His motives appear to be an obsession and a deep, unhealthy fixation on Miss Morris. I don't believe it's about money—your finances are secure. This is personal."

The weight of his words settled heavily over the room. Sam's face paled, and I instinctively reached for her hand again, holding it tightly.

Paul opened his notebook, flipping through the pages. "I'll go over everything I've uncovered about Mr. Shaw so far," he said. His calm, methodical demeanor was reassuring, but the truth he was about to share was bound to change everything.

I watched Samantha grow more anxious as the detective laid out his findings. Her best friend, Molly, sat beside her, fidgeting impatiently. Her bouncing leg shook the couch, but I barely noticed—I was too focused on Sam. Every detail Paul revealed about Scott made her sink further into herself.

"Can you specify the information you have about him?" Molly blurted, unable to contain herself.

Paul glanced at her with a tired expression, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion. "The research we've done reveals this isn't the first time Scott has become obsessed with someone."

The room fell silent. Even Molly froze as the weight of his words settled over us. Paul hesitated, flipping through his notebook, his fingers brushing over the pages like he was searching for the least painful way to break the news.

"There's a woman in Chicago—his ex-girlfriend," Paul began. "Scott stalked her back in high school. Her name is Naomi. According to her, Scott's obsession felt... intoxicating at first. Romantic, even." His voice was steady but low like he knew each word was a knife to Sam's composure.

"Naomi said Scott became fixated on her until she agreed to a date. They slept together shortly after. Within two months, he lost interest and moved to Los Angeles. That's where I believe he met you, Samantha."

Sam stiffened against me, and I felt her body tremble. I tightened my grip, wishing I could shield her from all of this. "Should I continue?" Paul asked gently. Sam nodded without speaking, her voice lost somewhere between shock and fear.

Paul cleared his throat. "Scott recently started a new job. He's working remotely, which gives him plenty of time to focus his attention elsewhere." His gaze locked onto Sam. "That's why you should seriously consider the idea of traveling or moving, as we've discussed."

"Our primary goal," Paul continued, "is to gather enough evidence for a restraining order, but right now, we're short on proof. That makes your safety our priority."

Paul paused, closing his notebook and leaning back in his chair. "I'll be staying in the apartment across the hall for the time being. It'll be more convenient for monitoring the situation and ensuring your safety."

The weight of the conversation pressed down on all of us, leaving little room for questions. After Paul finished his sweep of the apartment for cameras or bugs, he left, promising to update us soon.

Molly left shortly after, muttering something about a hair appointment and her shift at the coffee shop. That left just me and Sam alone in the apartment.

We ordered pizza and put on Pirates of the Caribbean. It wasn't much, but I could tell she needed the distraction. Her face softened as the movie played, but I knew the conversation with Paul was still turning over in her mind.

As the credits rolled, I couldn't hold back anymore. "Can we talk now?" I asked, my voice quieter than usual.

She raised an eyebrow at me, feigning innocence. "About what?"

I smiled and shifted on the couch, squatting at the edge of her feet. Her legs rested lazily across the cushions, but I gently opened them, sliding closer. Lying on my stomach, I placed my head on her belly, looking up at her.

"You know what," I said softly.

Her hand instinctively went to my hair, brushing it lightly before she sighed. "Ray, we've known each other for two weeks. Two. Weeks."

I frowned, sitting up slightly so I could meet her eyes. "Yeah, but we've spent almost every moment together since last week."

She pushed me aside and sat up straight, crossing her arms. "That's not the same thing. There's so much we don't know about each other."

I stared at her, trying to understand what she was so afraid of. "So? We will discover them as we go."

"I can't just drop everything and go to Europe with someone I barely know, Ray. It's crazy."

I leaned forward, cupping her face in my hands. "You know me enough, darling. I've told you things no one else knows, things I've never even said out loud before. Doesn't that mean something?"

She looked down, her cheeks flushing. I smiled softly and kissed her palm, hoping to ease her tension. I knew it was crazy to ask her to go, she seemed eager to travel, and in a way, I took her dreams and used them for my own benefit.

"I don't want to leave without you," I admitted my voice barely above a whisper. "And if anything makes you uncomfortable, you can leave. You have the freedom to do that. But please, think about it."

Her breath hitched, and I saw the conflict in her eyes. Finally, she exhaled and said, "I'll think about it. But I have to be back in New York by June 29th."

I tilted my head, curiosity rising. "Why?"

She didn't answer, her face turning redder as she avoided my gaze. I smiled, brushing her hair back. "We're getting to know each other, right? Then tell me."

I kissed her again, gently, and leaned back, waiting for her reply. I could see her gathering courage, her lips trembling slightly before she finally spoke.

Her voice wavered slightly as she said, "My book is being released that day."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Your book?" Sam's eyes lifted to meet mine, hesitant but steady.

"Well, not exactly my book—my grandfather's. We co-wrote it together," she explained, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater, a nervous habit I was starting to recognize.

"Wait a second—are you talking about the Detective Noah series?" I asked, my voice jumping an octave. My pulse quickened as my mind raced.

She nodded. "Yes, the last book."

"No way!" I shot up to my knees on the couch, unable to contain my excitement. "Tell me everything! Who killed his brother? Does his cousin show up? And—oh man—is Josie in this one?" My questions spilled out rapid-fire, each more frantic than the last.

Sam's laugh bubbled up, light and soft, and it eased something in my chest. "Calm down, Ray. I can't spoil the book for you."

"Come on, just one tiny detail!" I pleaded, holding my thumb and index finger close together.

She relented with a small smile. "Josie will be in the book."

"Yes!" I punched the air in triumph, a surge of giddy energy coursing through me. "And? A little more? Please?" I clasped my hands together in mock prayer, bouncing slightly in anticipation.

Her smile dimmed, replaced by something more pensive. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I should've told you this earlier, back when we first talked about the books and my grandfather." Her voice was quieter now, more careful. "I'm Josie."

I froze. "What?"

"I mean, he based her on me," she said, her forehead creasing as her gaze dropped to her lap.

"No." I stared at her, blinking as I tried to process.

"Yes." She nodded firmly as if daring me to argue.

I leaned closer, my mind reeling. "Hold on. Does this mean you wrote the ninth and tenth books too?"

She hesitated, then nodded again. "Yes. It started with 'New Technology'. My grandfather already had the plot, but Detective Noah wasn't great with technology, so he wanted a new character to balance it out. That's when Josie came in."

"And you inspired her?"

"Very vaguely," she admitted, a hint of humor flickering in her voice. "I'm not great with technology either, but I was staying with my grandparents when he started the book. At first, he'd ask me questions. Then he just asked me to write her parts—mostly her dialogue—since he said he couldn't figure out how young women talk."

I couldn't help but grin. "So Josie's voice is actually you?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much."

"And 'Troubled Past'—that one too?"

"Same deal," she said, her voice softening. "But when my grandfather wrote 'The Man Behind The Mask', I was living in Los Angeles, and Josie wasn't needed for that story."

I leaned back, trying to connect all the dots. "So what's the title of the last book?"

"'The Last Case'," she said with a small laugh. "I know, the names are ridiculous, but there's a reason for them."

I tilted my head. "What reason?"

Her smile faltered, and her gaze fell. "I don't know."

I frowned. "You just said—"

"He promised to tell me on my grandmother's birthday," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "That's when I was supposed to go back to New York. But he died two weeks before that."

Her words hit me like a punch. I reached out, rubbing her hand gently. "Sam, you don't have to talk about this if it's too hard."

She shook her head, sniffing. "It's okay." Her voice cracked, and she wiped a tear from her cheek. "He was a huge part of my life. More than anyone else. I felt closer to him than to my parents." I didn't say anything. I just listened.

"My grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer last year," she continued. Her words came slowly like they weighed a thousand pounds. "The first thing he did was sit down to write his last book. I spent the whole summer with him, helping him finish it, hence why I postponed my travel plans. I wrote more than half of it." I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what she was telling me.

"The main character dies halfway through the story," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just like he did." I reached out and brushed another tear from her cheek.

"He insisted my name should be on the cover, next to his. He said it was his dying wish." Her lips twitched in a bittersweet smile. "He used that line a lot, and it worked every fucking time." Her laugh was soft, but the pain lingered in her pretty eyes.

"He had all these plans for me," she murmured. "He always said I had a gift, that I should be a writer. This book release... it's for him. I agreed to one book signing to honor his wish. It was one of the conditions in his will." I didn't know what to say. Her words hung between us, raw and heavy.

"Sam," I finally said, my voice low. "He'd be proud of you. I know it."

She looked up at me, her eyes glassy but hopeful. And in that moment, I realized just how much she carried—and just how strong she really was.