Darcy doubled over laughing, pressing her forehead to Rosie’s. “Guess she’s already protective.”
Burke gave a quiet laugh. “Told you she claimed you.”
Darcy
That night, Rosie settled at the foot of Darcy’s bed, eyes on the door, keeping silent vigil. Rosie’s soft breathing filled the dark. Protected, Darcy sank into her pillow, her eyelids fluttering shut at last.
Scout
A mile away, radio static crackled in Scout Wilson’s cruiser as he slowed beside a row of darkened houses.
“Dispatch, you said a silver truck?”
Later that night, Scout and Sara Parker caught a call about a strange silver pickup circling near Darcy’s street. By the time they rolled up, the truck had vanished into the dark.
Mrs. Wilson, the watchful neighbor in her robe and slippers, waved them down, insisting it wasn’t local.
Scout listened, polite as ever, but his gut wouldn’t settle. Earlier that week, he’d noticed that slick-haired photographer at Lucy’s in the Rye watching Izzy too closely. Now a truck prowling this neighborhood? Trouble wasn’t nearby—it was circling.
Parker glanced at her report, then looked over at him. “You think it’s anything?”
He scanned Darcy’s quiet street, the porch light casting a soft halo over the little cottage. Rosie was probably stretched out at Darcy’s feet right now, standing guard.
Yeah. I think it’s something.
He remained longer than the call required, idling just past Darcy’s drive until another cruiser rolled up. Window to window, he and Mike Reardon exchanged a few low words about the sighting, engines rumbling in the cold.
Evan
Half a block away, Evan eased his silver Tacoma around the corner and slowed. He’d been ready to make another pass at Darcy’s street—test the shadows, maybe slip closer. But the glow of two patrol cars idling side by side changed his mind.
He kept his face smooth, eyes forward, never letting them see him as he rolled past with the steady patience of a local on his way home.
Once clear of the turn, his lip curled. Close call. Too close.
He gripped the wheel tighter, calm returning.
The dog. The deputies. The sheriff.
They thought they were circling her with safety.
But all they were really doing was tightening the trap.
Chapter 34
Omen
Darcy, Izzy & Rosie
Morning at Blue Ridge Brew smelled like coffee and cinnamon. Rosie padded at Darcy’s side, nails ticking softly on the plank floor, ears high and alert.
Evan sat in the corner, pretending not to watch them. Rosie stiffened—hackles lifting, a low growl rumbling in her chest.
“Rosie,” Darcy whispered, giving the leash a gentle check. The dog didn’t blink, eyes locked on Evan.
“Guess I don’t pass the test,” Evan said lightly, smile smooth.
Izzy waved it off. “She’s just protective.”
