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Two years ago I followed a man to Vanbay County and he broke my ribs in a drunken rage. I should have gone back to New Jersey. Instead I took a job at the café and learned how to disappear in plain sight. Then the new sheriff walked in on a Monday morning — silver-haired, ex-military, the gun on his hip making my hands shake — and I knew the moment I looked at him that I'd seen his face before. He was the Tinder date I'd cancelled four years ago in New Jersey. He didn't recognize me yet. He would.