Tomorrow.
Maybe the next day.
After I call Vanessa and ask her to have someone do a more thorough search of the scene once the local sheriff’s done with it.
She has connections everywhere.
She can get the best. And I’ll return any favors that need returning for it.
Don’t like asking for favors, especially outside of my small, trusted circle.
But I’ll offer my sister anything she wants to help find who did this, including making it up to whoever can get her the information I want.
“Anything valuable here?” I ask Sloane, pretending I can’t see any of the various dildos in all sizes and colors of the rainbow.
Her eyes are shiny as she points to the torn painting. “Tillie Jean did that for?—”
She breaks off as her voice cracks again.
My fingers curl into fists.
If the blond caveman did this, it’s the last thing he’ll do on this earth.
And I’m battling the desire to destroy him with a desperate need to hug Sloane.
Much like I don’t ask for favors, I don’t hug people outside my group.
They’re not safe.
Not trustworthy.
Butfuck, I want to hug her.
Instead, I shove my fists into my pockets. “She’ll fix it or make another one. Let’s wait outside.”
She sweeps a glance around the room, and her face goes beet red.
Like she, too, is noticing that all of her adult toys are on display.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
“Can I—” she starts, then shakes her head, tossing her long copper hair as something new takes hold.
Confidence.
Rebellion.
Fuck-it-ness.
Probably some anger too.
Good.
She’s gonna need that.
I manage to steer her toward the front of the house without touching her. “Do you have any enemies? Or were you storing museum artifacts here?”
Her shoulders visibly tighten, then sag, and her breath comes out in a quickwhoosh.
