And somehow, that stayed with her more than the destruction waiting back in town.
Chapter Four
Gabe understood chaos. He understood destruction. But this—books scattered like casualties on the floor—hit him different.
This wasn’t bloodshed or battle. It was a personal violation comprised of paper and ink.
Felicity stood in the middle of the destroyed shop, her arms wound tight around her middle. Once in a while, he saw her delicate chin tremble before she firmed it, tipping it in a display of defiance.
“Jesus. Look at this place.” Carson carefully picked his way through the sea of books, head swinging left and right as he read the scene.
He reached the counter and bent forward to study the open petty cash box, bills spilling out. “How much cash do you keep on hand?”
Felicity’s chin had lowered, but at his question, she lifted it once more. “Fifty dollars in small bills.”
He stuck a long finger into the box and stirred the bills around. “Without counting, it doesn’t look like they took a single dollar.”
Which meant whoever broke in was searching for something else. The thought had that band in Gabe’s shoulders—the one that never seemed to fully relax—pulling tighter.
Carson shifted to the computer system at the corner of the long counter. Despite the mess, the polished wood gleamed. “You have security cameras?”
She nodded. “The police officers already checked out the footage.”
“And?” Carson twisted his head to look at her.
“He said the camera was smashed before it picked anything up.”
Carson’s lips tightened but he said nothing.
Gabe didn’t know Carson Malone very well, but judging from his expression, he didn’t buy the story the police sold Felicity.
Gabe cleared his throat.
Carson didn’t look his way when he said, “What do ya got, Gabe?”
“Smashing the camera wouldn’t erase what was recorded first.”
“Exactly.” Carson faced the display window, which had been tossed too. The cozy decorations Felicity placed there—a stool, a blanket once draped artfully among carefully selected books—had been thrown on the floor.
“Wouldn’t the police know that?” Felicity’s voice came out weak.
Instinctively, Gabe drifted toward her.
Carson nodded to himself. “The Willowbrook PD means well, but some things they lack.”
Like common sense?Gabe wanted to ask but held back.
Carson continued to search the perimeter, even crouching to study the pattern of books swept off a shelf. To Gabe, it appeared someone swiped an arm across the row for no other reason than to wreak havoc.
He watched close. If he wanted to help, really help, he needed to pay attention to how Carson operated.
And Felicity…she absorbed the ruined aisles with a kind of quiet grief that struck Gabe.
Carson moved to the back door and inspected the twisted metal of the broken lock. Felicity followed, with Gabe sticking close to her, ready to catch her if she tripped on the mess.
“Gabe, you see this?” Carson asked.
“Yeah.” He’d spotted it when he stepped through the door. “Someone used a tool to force the lock—you can see the marks—then kicked the door in.”
