Gage
I pulled up to the building just after eight Sunday morning, bed of my truck loaded with security equipment. I'd left Lacey's place around midnight—hated leaving her warm bed, but Judge needed to be let out and fed. Spent the rest of the night thinking about her instead of sleeping, then loaded up my tools at first light.
The temperature had dropped overnight—couldn't have been more than thirty degrees—and my breath came out in white puffs as I grabbed the first toolbox.
The main entrance was unlocked. I climbed the interior stairs, each creak of the old wood making my jaw tighten. Anyone could walk up here. Anyone.
At the top, I tested the studio door. Still broken. Still swinging open with barely any pressure.
Not for much longer.
I was measuring the doorframe when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Lacey appeared at the landing, two cups of coffee in hand and that honey-blonde ponytail swinging.
"Thought you might need this." She handed me one. "Black, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks." The cup warmed my hands through my gloves. "You didn't have to come down here this early."
"It's my studio. I want to know how everything works." She set her coffee on the old couch and pulled off her jacket. Underneath, she wore jeans and a sweater that hugged every curve I'd spent Saturday night memorizing. "Plus, I'm making the decisions about camera angles and where that motion light points, remember?"
My mouth curved. "Yes, ma'am."
Her face flushed, but she held my gaze. "So where do we start?"
I showed her the deadbolt first—commercial grade, the kind that would take a battering ram to break through. She watched as I removed the old broken mechanism and fitted the new one into place.
"How'd you get permission from the landlord?" she asked, crouching beside me. "I've been asking him to fix this lock for six months."
"Called him yesterday. Got his name and number from you, remember?" I tested the alignment, made an adjustment. "Told him I'd pay for everything myself if he gave me permission to do the work."
"What'd he say?"
"That he was all too happy to agree." I couldn't keep the disgust out of my voice. "Saved him cost and labor, and he doesn't have to deal with his building being a liability anymore."
"So he was fine with some stranger doing work on his property."
"I'm the sheriff, not some stranger. And yeah, he about fell over himself agreeing." I drove the first screw into place. "Absentee landlords are all the same. Don't give a damn about their tenants' safety as long as the rent check clears."
Lacey was quiet for a moment, watching my hands work. "Thank you. For doing this."
I glanced up at her. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know I don't have to. I want to." She touched my shoulder briefly. "It means something that you asked him instead of just doing it."
The distinction mattered to her. I understood that now.
"Hand me that drill?" I nodded toward my toolbox.
We worked together for the next hour. I explained each piece of equipment—how the wireless camera worked, how it would feed to both our phones, where the motion sensor would trigger the exterior light. She asked questions, good ones, and made decisions about positioning.
"I want the camera angled so I can see who's coming up the stairs before they reach the door," she said, studying the stairwell. "Not just pointed at the door itself."
"Smart." I mounted the bracket where she indicated. "This way you'll have warning."
"And the motion light—can we position it so it covers both the main entrance and the bottom of the fire escape?"
"Yeah. Good thinking." The woman had instincts. "Anyone approaches either way, they'll trigger it."
The rhythm between us felt natural. Easy. She'd hand me tools before I asked, and I'd explain the technical details she wanted to know. When I needed to reach the top of the doorframe, she steadied the ladder without being asked.
