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late.”
    “Okay,” Matthew responds. “Listen carefully. The police cruiser is going to make three laps around your block. I want you watching each one. On the fourth, you’re going to grab Tyler and meet the cruiser when it pulls into your driveway, and you’re going to get in the car. The officer will bring you to me. I didn’t want to do this, but I’m being backed into a corner right now and I’m not going to let you and Ty get hurt. While you’re waiting on the cruiser, I want you to pack a couple bags for the three of you. Nothing major—clothes, some of Tyler’s toys, your books, whatever. Get the bare essentials, Sam, stuff you need for the night and maybe tomorrow. After that, I’ll take care of whatever you need. Got it?”
    My brain is in overdrive right now. I’m being told that I’m about to flee my home, because people are trying to come after me and my son. My ex-husband apparently has the police on his payroll, at least enough that they are willing to be used as a taxi service. I have no idea why the police wouldn’t just drag this asshole into the station and question him, maybe lock him up until Matthew has more information. Well, I have theories, but none of them are what I would call comforting. One of those theories is that the asshole outside is too dangerous even for the police to approach.
    And now I’m really scared.
    With Matthew murmuring comforting words through the phone, I pack our bags and pretend I don’t hear him alternately soothing me and shouting at other people. The thought that I should contact Tom crosses my mind as I’m gathering his shaving tools and it takes me a moment to realize Matthew hasn’t read my mind when he answers my question, that I actually spoke out loud. “Tom will be in my team’s custody shortly,” he says briskly, not sounding too pleased with what he was saying. “He’s safe.”
    I don’t know what to say to that except thank you and I finish my packing before heading back to the bedroom. I’m just in time to see the man in the street snapping his head to the left suddenly, then booking it back to his car. Within seconds he’s speeding off. I report what I see to Matthew, who lets out a sigh of relief as the police cruiser slowly drives through my neighborhood. When he disappears around the corner, Matthew tells me to get on my shoes and jacket. On the second pass, I’ve moved my luggage down to the front door. The third time, I’m gently picking up Tyler from his bed, relieved that he’s such a deep sleeper. A couple minutes later, there are headlights in my driveway and I hear a door opening, closing, and rapid footsteps approaching my porch. I yank open the front door and am face-to-face with a tall, older police officer. My eyes dart down quickly taking in the fact that his hand is resting on the butt of his handgun, but he’s got a very kind face and even kinder eyes, and the fact that Matthew sent him causes me to trust him almost immediately.
    “Miss Everett?” he asks quietly, his eyes darting down to my son sleeping against my shoulder. I nod and he smiles, bending to grab the two duffel bags I’ve packed. “This way, please.”
    For a brief moment, I’m amused as I think about what my neighbors would see if they poked their heads out their windows right now: it’s practically the middle of the night and I’m loading my belongings into a police car and will shortly get in myself. And if I gave a damn about what my neighbors thought, I would be more worried about this. I’m just relieved Tom isn’t here right now, or he’d be out of his mind worrying about what everyone else is thinking. It’s not that he wouldn’t see the severity of our situation, but that he’d be more focused on the immediate and what’s right in front of him. That, I know, is his way of coping with stressful situations.
    Some of his tendencies seem to have rubbed off on me; as I reach the car, I stop suddenly. “I need my son’s booster