Two weeks later, Kasha Hubert was standing in the airport wearing oversized sunglasses and the confidence of a woman who had just resigned from a toxic job.
“I still can’t believe you did it,” Monica said, dragging her carry-on dramatically through the terminal. “You really quit.”
Kasha adjusted her linen blazer. “Correction. I transitioned.”
“You sent that resignation email at 2:03 a.m.”
“That was strategic.”
“That was petty.”
Kasha smiled. “Both can be true.”
After the mysterious phone call and the suspicious silver car that vanished the next morning, something inside her had locked into place.
She installed cameras. Accepted the offer at Innovare Systems. Test-drove the Lexus again. And this time?
She bought it.
“Divorce gift to myself,” she told the salesman.
Now she and Monica were boarding a flight to Jamaica for a five-day girls trip that had been twenty years overdue.
“Montego Bay is not ready for us,” Monica declared.
“Oh, they ready,” Kasha replied. “It’s my ex-husband who not.”
Montego Bay – Day One
The sun kissed her skin like it had been waiting.
Their resort overlooked turquoise water so clear it felt illegal.
Monica inhaled deeply. “Smell that?”
“Peace,” Kasha said.
“And rum.”
They clinked glasses.
“For new beginnings,” Monica toasted.
“For no more Darren,” Kasha added.
“And for whoever was breathing on your phone to catch allergies.”
They laughed — hard, loud, free.
For the first time in years, Kasha’s shoulders weren’t tight.
Until her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Again.
Her smile faded.
Monica noticed immediately. “No.”
Kasha hesitated… then answered.
Silence.
Waves crashing in the background.
Then that same low voice.
“Enjoying the island?”
Her blood ran cold.
She turned slowly, scanning the beach.
Tourists. Couples. Families.
But near the bar a man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
Facing her.
Not moving.
Her heart pounded.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
The man lifted his drink.
The call disconnected.
Monica stood up. “Tell me that’s not him.”
“I don’t know,” Kasha whispered. “But somebody is either very bold… or very stupid.”
Monica grabbed her hand. “Okay. We are not letting a creep ruin jerk chicken and joy.”
“You right,” Kasha said, straightening. “We didn’t survive marriages for this.”
They marched to the bar.
The man in the cap?
Gone.
Later That Night
Music pulsed through the open-air lounge.
Monica was dancing like she had no cartilage left in her knees.
Kasha laughed, watching her.
“You better stretch tomorrow!” she yelled.
“Stretch is for people with regret!” Monica shouted back.
Kasha’s phone buzzed again.
This time a text.
Unknown number.
A photo.
Her new townhouse.
Taken from across the street.
Timestamp: Ten minutes ago.
Her stomach dropped to the floor.
Monica saw her face change. “What now?”
Kasha turned the screen toward her.
Monica’s smile vanished.
“That’s your house.”
“Yes.”
“You’re in Jamaica.”
“Yes.”
They locked eyes.
Somebody wasn’t just watching her.
They were sending a message.
You can run. But I’m still here.
Kasha inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
“No,” she said calmly.
“What?” Monica asked.
“I’m done being scared.”
She opened her security app.
All cameras active. Front door locked. No movement alerts.
She dialed a number.
Not the police.
Not her ex.
Innovare Systems.
Specifically, Marcus Reed Director of Security Infrastructure.
The same man who interviewed her and said:
“We don’t just protect data. We protect people.”
He answered on the second ring.
“Ms. Hubert?”
“Marcus,” she said evenly, eyes scanning the crowd, “how good are you at tracing digital ghosts?”
A pause.
“Very good,” he replied.
She smiled slowly.
“Good. Because somebody just made this personal.”
Across the dance floor, Monica leaned close.
“You think it’s your ex?”
Kasha watched the entrance carefully.
“I think,” she said, voice steady now, “somebody underestimated a forty-nine-year-old Black woman who knows cybersecurity.”
Monica grinned.
“Oh, I like this version of you.”
Kasha lifted her glass again.
“To freedom.”
“To Jamaica,” Monica added.
“And to whoever thinks they’re watching me?”
Kasha’s eyes hardened slightly.
“I’m about to start watching back.”
Outside, waves crashed against the shore.
And somewhere in the shadows.
Someone was definitely paying attention.
To Be Continued…
Sharee Jaxson Writes 