“Anyone who’d want to scare you? A boyfriend who might be mad?”
She chewed her lip, thinking of the problem at the bar that night.
The older cop watched her face. “Anything you remember helps. Even if it seems insignificant.”
She stared beyond them at the scattered paperbacks, a cover featuring a couple kissing in the rain, unbothered by the mess.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Not even an ex. But there was an incident at the Rusty Spur. We went for margaritas. A couple of guys,”—she cleared her throat—“were arguing about who I was dancing with. It got dumb. The Malone brothers stepped in.”
“The Malone brothers?” Smallwood’s pen scratched on the paper.
She nodded.
“When was this?”
“Three, maybe four months ago.”
Smallwood took down the note.
“You think either of those guys would come after you here?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t even bumped into them since.” The room was tilting around her, and she set a hand on the counter again, anchoring herself to the moment, the shop, the world.
The older guy finished his computer search. “Looks like the camera was smashed before it picked up anything.”
“Of course…” Her voice drifted off.
“We’ll swing by the Spur. Ask around. And we’ll check the alley cams. If this is the same group of young’uns hitting the ranches, we’ll have a bead on it soon.”
“Okay.”
The officers asked a few more questions and made a few more notes. When they were done, they left her with a card and a promise to call.
That was it. No answers. No help.
The door shut behind them, leaving Felicity in the wreckage.
She sucked in a deep breath. Where to start? What to do?
No answers came to mind. Only thing she knew for sure was she didn’t have it in her to pick up a single thing. Not a fallen book. Not the splintered frame with her first ever dollar bill still inside.
She walked to the back and closed the door. She couldn’t lock it now, but who cared? Her throat ached with all the emotions flooding in.
She climbed into her car and shut the door, sitting still in the small cocoon of silence. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to the steering wheel to the count of five, then straightened and pulled out her phone.
Honor answered on the second ring. “Hey, big sis. What’s up?”
“I’m on my way.” She didn’t know she made the decision until she spoke the words. “To the ranch.”
“You don’t sound right. What’s wrong?”
“The shop’s back door was open.” She stared at her hands on the wheel, her knuckles white in the morning light. “The place is torn up, Honor. They went througheverything.”
“What!” Her sister’s hot gasp projected into her ear. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I arrived after they left. The cops think it’s teens. Said a rancher had a similar problem.”
“Oh god, Felicity. Come to the Black Heart.” She heard a rustle as if her sister was already rushing for the door, even though it would take her at least twenty minutes to get there.
