I stalk to the closet. It's empty, but then I spot at least nine suitcases scattered on the other side of the room. Who travels with nine super-large suitcases in pink so bright it hurts my eyes? I rummage through the ones that are open.
"What are you doing?" she demands. In answer, I toss a pair of track bottoms and a t-shirt her way. She looks at the clothes in her hands with a confused expression, then gasps, clearly realizing she had been going scorched earth on Benjamin Lawrence in her very see-through bra and panties.
She tries to cover herself while awkwardly donning the clothes.
"I had just come out of the shower and was in the middle of getting dressed when I saw that horrible monster in my bed," she explains, now fully dressed, but her cheeks still red.
"Name?" I ask, unable to avoid the gruffness in my voice.
"Marlowe. Marlowe Evans."
"Do I have to arrest you for breaking and entering, Ms. Evans?"
Her eyes widen, and it's like the damn sun came back out.
"I live here. Well, I live here now. I bought the property from Turner Richards. It belonged to his grandparents. I assure you I have every right to be here. This is my home."
Oh fuck. She bought the Richards property. She's going to be living here? I sigh heavily. This woman has chaos written on her forehead with a permanent marker. And I just turned thirty, dammit. Peace and quiet has become very important to me.
Chapter Two
Zephyr
If I didn't know what to do with her five minutes ago, I know now.
The only reason the cottage is still visible and not engulfed in weeds and vines is that the neighbors, the Blooms, take it upon themselves to tend to the land so it isn't a complete eyesore.
The room we're standing in seems clean enough, but there's no hiding the peeling paint, the leaking roof, and the rundown walls—not to mention the state of the interior.
Something tells me she doesn't know the half of what else is living in this house she just bought. She would come daylight.
I know Turner Richards. He's a piece of work. He may have cleaned up the surface some, but that's all he did. Fuck.
"Ms. Evans, my name is Zephyr Smith. I'm the county sheriff here in Candy Creek, and I'm placing you under arrest."
"What?" she says, a confused, nervous laugh escaping her lips, her smile unsure.
"Disturbance of the peace. Attempted murder."
"Disturbance of the peace? Attempted murder?" she repeats, her incredulity growing.
"Ma'am, you disturbed my peace. And you tried to kill our national treasure."
"What national treasure?"
"Benjamin Lawrence."
"Okay, I have no idea what's going on. Please explain it to me like I'm five years old."
"Benjamin Lawrence, the animal you threatened with bodily harm, is Candy Creek's national treasure. He's protected, and anyone seeking to harm him faces the full force of the law."
"It's a rat," she says, cringing as she pronounces each word distinctly.
"It's not a rat. It's an otter. And he has a name: Benjamin Lawrence. I'm also adding assault on a law enforcement officer to your misdemeanors."
She opens her mouth and gasps at me, her lips forming a perfect O. I enjoy the silence.
"I didn't assault you," she protests. "You're literally six-four or six-five. I could be half your weight for goodness' sake. Where? Where could I have possibly assaulted you?"
