Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “I’m pulling up the feed from the local PD… They’re on their way. Gonna take them a few minutes to get there. I’ll get all the info I can—footage, time stamps, maybe a description if the asshole tripped a camera.”
“Understood,” I say through gritted teeth. “You let me know the second you figure out who it is. Or if there’s anything suspicious linking it to the threats.”
“You know I will,” Dean replies. “I hate sitting on my ass while this goes down. But that’s the update for now. Let me see what the cops turn up.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. My thoughts reel with images of Aubree’s beloved shop—how she’s poured her life into it, how she’s probably going to take this news like a gut punch. “All right,” I murmur, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “Keep me posted, Dean.”
He signs off with a clipped “Will do,” and the line goes silent.
For a moment, I just stand there, phone still pressed to my ear, staring blankly at the flickering shadows across the wall. My protective instincts surge, telling me to hop in the truck and tear down the highway back to Nashville, but that’s not possible. Not unless we want to risk leading whoever’s behind all this directly to Aubree. We’ve done too much to stay hidden.
I have to tell her. The thought sends a pang through my chest, because I know exactly how she’ll react—she loves that shop like a child. And right now, with her emotions already wound so tight, I’m not sure how she’ll handle another blow.
Forcing myself to take a calming breath, I slip my phone into my pocket and head for the bedroom door. I knock lightly, but there’s no answer. Cautiously, I push it open and peek inside.
Aubree’s perched on the edge of the bed, folding what looks like one of my T-shirts—it’s huge, practically swallowing her up. She glances up, a soft smile at first, then her brow furrows at my expression. “Boone?” she asks, worry creeping into her tone. “What’s wrong?”
I take a step inside, shutting the door behind me. My voice feels tight in my throat. “There’s, uh…some news,” I begin. “From Dean.”
She stands, the T-shirt sliding off her lap and onto the floor. “News? About Charles? My mom? Or…?”
I cross the room in two long strides. My hands find her shoulders, and I rub gently, trying to ease the tension that’s already knotting her muscles. “Not exactly. Dean says Bravo Team has your stepfather under surveillance, and so far, it’s quiet. He also spoke to your mom. She’s safe, and she knows you’re safe.”
Relief flickers in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by caution. “You said not exactly. So there’s something else?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “An alarm was triggered at Slice Slice Baby. Looks like someone broke in tonight.”
Her face goes pale. “Broke in?” she repeats, voice trembling. “What— how—? Is there any—”
“Police are on the way,” I say quickly, sliding my arms around her waist. “Dean’s getting updates in real time. We don’t know yet if it’s just petty theft or something tied to the threats.”
Aubree’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her eyes glisten, and I see the tears welling up before she blinks them away. “Someone’s in my shop?” she manages, her voice breaking. “Breaking things, or stealing, or—?”
Unable to watch her anguish silently, I pull her closer, letting her bury her face against my chest. The moment she feels the contact, a sob escapes her. It’s a raw, heart-wrenching sound, and I feel my own chest tighten in response. I stroke her hair, murmuring reassuring words even though I can’t promise everything’s fine.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say softly, though the words feel inadequate. “Dean and the police will handle it. We’ll figure out what happened.”
She shudders, her fingers clutching at my shirt. “Why can’t this just stop?” she asks in a broken whisper. “What did I do to deserve this?”
I press a hand to the back of her head, smoothing the strands of hair. “You didn’t do anything. Someone else—whoever is behind all this—they’re the ones who’ll answer for it,” I promise. “We’ll see to that.”
For a long while, she just cries quietly, tears soaking through the fabric over my chest. Each muffled sob resonates in my gut. I hate seeing her like this—defeated, helpless. It ignites a blaze of anger deep inside me, fueling the determination to put an end to this madness once and for all.
Eventually, her tears subside, and I lead her over to the bed so we can sit. My arm stays wrapped around her shoulders, her cheek pressed to my collarbone. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, swiping at her wet cheeks. “I know you must think I’m weak, crying like this.”
“Never,” I reply, my voice firm. “You have every right to be upset. That shop is your life. It’s only natural you’d be torn up about someone violating it.”