Aside from staking out her apartment block and moving in right along with her, I don’t know what the fuck to do.
I roll over onto my front, almost crushing Crunch, my rabbit. Yeah, I adopted a rabbit from Luna’s pet rescue, Faux Paws New Orleans. The little guy was rescued from a meat factory. I’m a meat eater myself, but something about that was just gross in my opinion. The trouble is, he thinks he’s a fucking dog. He will literally nip at my fingers when I stop petting him, roll onto his back for pets, and even greets me like a damn dog. Sometimes I take him to work because I feel he’ll get lonely, and the girls love taking care of him.
I run my hand over his fur. “What am I gonna do, Crunchy?”
He makes a little whimpering sound and I pull him under my shoulder, holding him tighter. He was timid at first after being mistreated, but after about twenty-four hours of me coaxing him with treats and a nice warm bed, the two of us became bestfriends. Crunch has been healing for me in many ways, not that I took him under my wing to be anything more than a furry little companion, but I’ve grown used to his funny little ways. It was clear early on Crunch was special. I trained him to use a litter tray — it was a surprise to me when I learned rabbits are naturally clean animals and make great companions. Except Crunch is different. He really is a dude.
I try to get back to sleep, but it won’t come. Instead, I roll out of bed, leaving Crunch to his own devices, take a leak and head to the fridge. I grab a cold bottle of water and try not to relive my conversation with Cameron, but it’s been playing like a loop in my head…
“What the fuck is this?”
“In layman’s terms? It’s a graphic death threat.”
Yeah, I can see that. The prick has gone to pretty extreme measures to piece this together. It’s all put together with magazine-like cutouts that look all kinds of wrong.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s not the only one, several of these were intercepted before they got to Willow.”
I glance up at him. “So she has no idea?”
“I have certain connections in the force?—”
“And they’re so good they can’t find who’s doin’ this?”
“That’s proving difficult with nothing to go on.”
I look up at him. “Where do I come in? And what does Willow know exactly?” I palm the back of my head, uneasy that Willow doesn’t know she’s in danger.
“Where you come in is keeping her safe when I have to leave,” he says. “She’s had a dozen threats against her over the years, it’s the life of a cop. A good cop. But I kept this from her because she’ll never make a good captain knowing this is out there, lurking around the next corner. She’ll only get one shot at this.” This is Cameron Sinclair, always thinking aboutthe bottom line and ways his daughter can tarnish the family name. He makes me sick.
“That’s all this is about, isn’t it?”
“Watch your tone. I’m not one of your errand boys,” he snaps.
I lean forward, ready to drag him over this desk. “Neither am I.”
After a few moments of awkward silence, he says, “We’re going to find out who’s doing this, and I can’t have it getting out for Willow’s safety.”
“Like I asked before, the force can’t find shit on him? Not one single scrap of evidence?”
He looks grave. Acting like he gives a shit is one thing, but the way he goes about it? I want to punch him. “Some of the men I trust are working on it. This guy is thorough, whoever he is, but in the meantime?—”
“You’re taking the law into your own hands?”
His stare penetrates mine. “Despite what you think of me, we have the same goal when it comes to keeping Willow safe. Not that I fully believe you won’t run in the other direction like you did the last time.”
“That wasn’t how it happened,” I start, but what’s the point? The man clearly hates me, and the feeling is mutual. Our only common interest here is Willow. “Just tell me what I need to do, aside from tail her ass, and I’ll do it.”
“She can’t ever be anywhere alone,” Cameron says. “Figured with your MC connections we can make that happen easily enough. From all the lowlifes I’ve talked to, you’re trusted in New Orleans. Plus, with Max in town, he can chaperone her until we can get some more leads.”
“I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” I scoff. Asshole. “You’ve had the letters examined, and you still don’t have any leads on who this fuckface is?”
“Of course, this isn’t my first rodeo, Austin. And I’m gonna be frank with you, not everybody was pleased with how things went down in New Orleans. Men at the top are always threatened by a shift in power, the south is no different.”
I frown. “Here I was thinkin’ the streets were safe again, guess we can’t exactly hope for miracles now, can we?”
“Knock off the attitude,” he warns. “This just feels… Different. Personal.”
