Life Still Moving: Tess
The silence Leon’s call left behind was heavy. I looked down at the vibrant colors of the stir-fry that K.C. had made and felt a wave of guilt. He had cooked for me with those bruised, steady hands while a billionaire was sixty miles away plotting our end. I forced myself to take a bite. It tasted like home, but my throat felt tight. “Sixty miles,” I whispered, the words feeling like a countdown. “He won’t make it five before Marcus spots him,” K.C. said. He sat on the stool at the island, not eating, just watching me. His amber eyes were searching for any sign of a crack in my resolve. He took my hand, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding circle over my knuckles. My personal phone — not the burner — suddenly started vibrating where I’d left it by the coffee maker. The screen lit up w
- Writer
