Floored by her certainty, I can only watch as she touches my arm briefly, then walks back toward Ben. He pulls her close immediately, pressing a kiss to her hair, his eyes meeting mine over her head. A nod passes between us. Understanding.
I find Emma by the fire pit and pull her against my side, needing the contact. She fits perfectly, like she was made for this exact spot.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Yeah." I press my lips to her temple. "Just talking to Zara."
Emma's hand finds mine, squeezing. She knows what that conversation, the reassurance, meant to me, can probably feel the complicated tangle of emotions through the bond.
Around us, the party continues. Music drifts from somewhere, competing with the crackle of the fire. Mason is holding court near the bar, deep into some ridiculous story that has half the clan laughing while Maddox despairs at his antics, trying to get him to tone it down.
But not everyone is celebrating.
I've been tracking Detective Lisa Harris since she arrived, and I've been watching Beau tracking her. They've been circling each other, sizing each other up, and my brother's jaw has been getting progressively tighter the longer he holds back whatever it is he wants to say.
All that tension finally boils over near the bar.
"I know you're running your own investigation." Harris's voice is low, but my hearing picks it up easily.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Detective." Beau's tone is flat, dismissive, sounding more like an arrogant asshole than I’ve ever heard him.
"Bullshit." She steps closer, getting right into his personal space. "You've been talking to witnesses."
"There is no investigation." Beau cuts her off, arms folded over his chest as he glowers down at her.
"Just admit it." Her voice rises despite her obvious effort to keep it quiet.
A growl builds in my chest before I can stop it.
This is my wedding. My night. And these two are making a scene ten feet from where my pregnant mate is trying to enjoy herself.
Both of them freeze when they register the sound. Harris's eyes go wide. Beau's expression shifts to something caught between apologetic and furious.
He grabs her elbow before she can say anything else.
"Outside," he says through gritted teeth. "Now."
She sputters a protest, but he's already steering her away from the bar, down the porch steps and around the side of the building where the fairy lights thin out and shadows pool between the structures.
There’s blissful silence.
I wait. Thirty seconds. A minute.
Nothing.
Oh that’s not good.
"I'll be right back," I tell Emma, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Need to make sure they haven't actually killed each other."
The grass is cool under my boots as I round the corner of the bar, expecting to find them mid-argument, maybe even needing to be physically separated.
What I find is something else entirely.
They spring apart the second I appear, but they don’t look angry anymore. They look guilty.
Beau's collar is wrenched sideways, and Lisa Harris is breathing hard, her careful bun loose, strands of red hair tumbling around her flushed face.
For a long moment, nobody speaks.
