Sloane understood cutting cost when it came to running a business, but safety shouldn’t be one of those sacrifices.
Owen’s expression didn’t change, but disappointment flickered across his features for a heartbeat. “All right. Can you describe him? Height, weight, distinguishing features?”
Emma and Jamie exchanged glances, and then Jamie spoke, voice hoarse. “Big. Maybe six-two, six-three. Built like he lifts. Dark hair, slicked back from the rain. Stubble. Leather jacket.”
The description painted itself in Sloane’s mind, every detail locking into place. It fit someone dangerous. Someone who’d escalated to violence over nothing.
Sloane breathed in slowly through his nose, filtering through the layers. Emma’s floral body spray. Jamie’s familiar citrus-and-something-warmer smell. Owen’s leather and coffee. Kibble. Animals. Cleaning products.
And there, underneath everything, sweat, aggression, cheap cologne trying to mask cigarette smoke. Male. Human. Distinctive enough that Sloane could lock it into his memory.
Jamie watched him, brows furrowing. “What’re you doing?”
“Just thinking,” Sloane murmured. “Trying to picture the guy.”
Not entirely a lie. He was picturing him. Picturing exactly what he’d do if he ever found the bastard.
Owen continued questioning them, methodical and patient. Emma described how the guy had shoved her, how Jamie had intervened, how the punch had been thrown. Her voice cracked when she got to that part, eyes going shiny with unshed tears.
“He could’ve really hurt you,” she said to Jamie. “He was so much bigger—”
“But he didn’t.” Jamie’s attempt at reassurance fell flat, undermined by his still-shaking hands.
Sloane moved toward the back without thinking, following the scent trail. It led him past the small animals, past the birds, straight to the reptile section. Glass terrariums lined the wall, snakes coiled inside.
Jamie’s fear had been strongest here. The smell saturated the air, clinging to the shelving units, the floor, everything.
Crouching near the overturned display, Sloane inhaled deeper this time. Let the scent map itself in his memory. If this guy came back—when he came back, because men like that always did—Sloane would know him instantly.
“Find something?” Owen called from the front.
“Just looking.” Sloane straightened, turning. “Making sure he didn’t leave anything behind.”
Jamie still watched him, that strange expression on his handsome face. Curiosity mixed with confusion, like he couldn’t quite figure Sloane out but wasn’t sure he should ask.
Smart instinct. Some questions didn’t have answers Jamie was ready to hear. Not yet. Sloane couldn’t tell him they were mates and that he was a wolf. His pumpkin just might implode.
Owen finished his notes, flipping the pad closed. “I’ll file the report and put out a description. If he comes back, you call immediately. Don’t engage. Don’t try to handle it yourselves.”
“It’s not like I woke up this morning and decided I’d take on the biggest guy I’d ever seen,” Jamie squawked.
“We won’t,” Emma promised, nudging Jamie and wearing the look of an annoyed parent.
Sloane didn’t promise anything. If that bastard showed his face here again, Owen’s report would turn into a coverup story. You didn’t fuck with a mate. Period. Especially not Sloane’s.
The sheriff headed for the door, pausing to clasp Sloane’s shoulder briefly.
“Keep them safe,” Owen murmured, too quiet for human ears.
“Always.”
After Owen left, silence settled over the store. Rain still drummed against the windows, but it was softer now. Emma busied herself picking up scattered dog treats, giving them space without making it obvious.
Sloane moved back to Jamie, who hadn’t budged from the chair. “I’m staying.”
“You don’t—”
“I’m staying.” Not a request. A statement of fact.
