Cruz you’re making me more nervous doing that. Just sit down for a minute!” He’d paced the entire perimeter of the house nonstop for days. The man must have had a caffeine drip or something.

Cruz looked over at me, then to Martin for guidance. Martin, who’d been in his own world, staring at his phone, waved Cruz off. The younger man, sensing the unease in Martin’s features, just as I had, crossed the room and sat at the kitchen table across from him. Martin never moved or made any outward sign that he noticed.

“What’s going on?” Cruz asked.

Martin’s head snapped up as if he’d forgotten we were in the room. “Trying to make sense of this email from Phillips.” He showed the phone’s screen to Cruz, who promptly opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

That scared me as much as anything that had happened over the past few months. I crept up behind them, reading the email over Martin’s shoulder.

“I know that name!” I said, rather loudly and too close to Martin’s ear. He jumped and spun around.

“He’s the owner of the black SUV that was following us. In D.C.”

“How is that possible?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Nobody even knew we were coming here. Hell, we didn’t even know until after the incident at my condo.” Martin scratched his five o’clock shadow.

As if on cue, the news station broke into a show that played in the background. I worried better with white noise. “We’re going live right now to a press conference being held by Sheriff Thomas and Mayor Anderson.”

At the sound of the Mayor’s name, we all jumped up and stood in front of the television, our mouths open. I instinctively rubbed my stomach, placing a protective arm across my abdomen. None of us spoke, still reeling from the information. How is Mayor Anderson the owner of a car that was following us states away?

Sheriff Thomas stood at a podium, motioning for the crowd of reporters to settle down. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me set your minds at ease. The death of Ms. Landrell, the poor young woman found in her vehicle three nights ago, is not the work of a predator. There is no boogeyman lurking in Caldwell. This is an isolated incident, and we’re investigating it to the fullest extent of our capabilities. Mayor Anderson has some things he’d like to say, and then we’ll open it up to a few questions. Remember, this is an ongoing investigation, so there will be things we can’t discuss.” Sheriff Thomas stepped aside, and Mayor Anderson glided onto the screen. He carried with his large frame an air of dominance. The crowd immediately stifled any chatter and stared up at him, rapt and waiting.

“Thank you, Sheriff Thomas. Now, as the good sheriff here said, this was no random act. You good people of Caldwell have nothing to fear. This poor, innocent young lady, Ms. Vanessa Landrell, was an unfortunate victim of mistaken identity. Now, I’m sure as most of you know, her manner of death bears no resemblance to a random act of violence. She was targeted, however unfortunately, because of her striking resemblance to another newcomer to our good town. I’m not gonna sugar coat this. We have some bad types in our wonderful little community, outsiders who came here looking to hide from their sins. And in that, they brought danger upon us. And we won’t stand for it!” Anderson pounded a fist on the podium, and the crowd cheered. “This particular Ms. Vanessa, may God rest her, is innocent in all this. She’s an innocent victim who happened to be driving a dark green Range Rover.” He emphasized the last two words, staring directly into the camera, into my eyes. “Let me assure you, my office has uncovered the true identity of the fugitives who invaded our community, and we know where they are. And they should be scared! Because Caldwell won’t stand for the likes of them in our town, around our children and our fine, upstanding, hardworking citizens!” Anderson pounded the podium with both fists that time, and the crowd went wild.

Martin and I looked at each other, not believing what we were hearing. The Mayor, who somehow had been following us in D.C. was now inciting a riot and turning the town we’d grown to love against us. It was only a matter of time before they found Rhonda, quite likely the only other green Rover in town, and connected the dots.

Martin and Cruz both said, “We gotta get out of here,” and rushed around the house to check the windows and doors for the hundredth time.

Martin came back to me, still staring at the television, watching Mayor Anderson’s tirade. “Vanessa, darling,” he shook me, “we need to get packed. We’re leaving. Grab whatever you can.” His eyes were wide, and he forced me to meet them and nod in agreement.

I threw a few things into my black bag and looked around, numb. How many times am I going to be forced to leave? I thought this would be my home. I caressed my belly and told our baby that everything would be alright, even if I didn’t believe it.

I stood in the living room, watching the Mayor’s speech on repeat and waiting for Martin’s signal. This had become an all-too-familiar pattern.

Suddenly, I heard glass shatter and felt the tiny pricks of a thousand needles across my entire body. I fell to the ground, taking cover, and crawled behind the couch. I called for Martin, who had already come running, his gun in his hand.

“Lock yourself in the bedroom!” he told me, and waved at Cruz to cover his back.