And damn, she looks good.
She's wearing jeans that hug her hips and thighs in ways that should be illegal. A soft cream sweater that clings to her curves, the kind of sweater that makes you want to touch just to see if it'sas soft as it looks. Her winter coat is open despite the cold, like she forgot to zip it in her rush to get wherever she's going.
She's gorgeous. All curves and softness and strength wrapped up in five feet of barely contained chaos.
Her steps are careful, deliberate, like she's trying to appear casual while actually vibrating with purpose. Her scent hits me even from here. Strawberry and honey mixed with something darker that smells like determination mixed with anxiety.
My alpha instincts sit up and take notice. Not just because she's beautiful, which she absolutely is, but because something's clearly wrong.
And right now, that purpose is radiating off her in waves.
"If you hang around outside bars like that, people are going to talk," I call out, pushing off the wall and crossing my arms over my chest. "They're going to assume you've developed a drinking problem."
She jumps like I've just materialized out of thin air, and her scent spikes with panic before settling back into something more controlled. "I wasn't hiding anything," she says, but her voice is doing that telltale thing where it gets higher when she's lying. "I was just casually walking past the bar where I absolutely wasn't planning to do anything suspicious."
“You’re up to something,” I say, moving closer to her. She's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look small and soft, and her hair is in a messy bun that suggests she got dressed without really thinking about it.
"How do you know?" she asks, even though her scent is basically screaming that she's discovered information she shouldn't have.
"Because I know you," I say simply. "I've watched you for the last couple of weeks. I know how you move when you're excited about something. Am I right?"
Sharon deflates slightly, her shoulders dropping like she's just realized she can't hide from me. "Mercy told me that Penelope has tabs all over town. Like, serious debt. I couldn't just ignore that. I had to know what she's spending money on. So, I asked some questions, and it turns out she has outstanding bills at approximately four different places in Pine Hollow."
"And you're here to investigate one of those places," I say, already moving toward the bar entrance. "Which means you need me as backup."
I grab her hand, pulling her toward the door. Her fingers are cold, and she lets me hold them like she's been waiting for someone to do exactly this. Her scent shifts slightly, becoming warmer, and I can smell something like relief mixed with anticipation.
Inside The Sway, the afternoon crowd is thin. There're a few regulars at the bar, some older alphas playing pool in the corner, and the bartender, Carl, who's been running this place since before I moved to Pine Hollow. Carl looks up when we walk in, and I watch as recognition flickers across his face.
"Jett, Sharon," he says, wiping down the bar with practiced efficiency. “What can I get you both?”
"We're just curious about someone's tab," I say, deciding to take the direct approach. "Penelope Carter. I heard she might have an outstanding bill here at The Sway."
Carl’s jaw tightens slightly, and he sets down the glass he's been wiping with more force than necessary. "That woman owes me about three hundred and fifty dollars. Been coming in here for weeks, ordering expensive drinks, running up a tab, and every time I ask her to pay, she tells me she's about to come into money. But claims she’s marrying into a wealthy family, and it'sgoing to be fine.” Carl gives me a long look like I should know exactly what he means.
"It's not going to be fine," I say quietly, and I can feel Sharon's scent shifting to match mine. We're on the same wavelength now.
"No, it's not," Carl agrees. "Because yesterday I ran her card again, and it got declined. All her cards got declined, apparently. I told her she needs to find another bar, but she just laughed and said she'd pay me after she’s married."
Sharon pulls out her phone, already making notes. I watch her document everything Carl tells us, her fingers flying across the screen with the kind of focus she usually reserves for wedding planning. She's in detective mode now, and there's something incredibly attractive about watching her shift into this version of herself.
"Thank you for that information," Sharon says to Carl, and she sounds genuinely grateful. "That's really helpful."
"People like Penelope don't take kindly to being looked into. They get defensive. They get mean,” Carl warns us.
"We'll be careful," I promise, even though I'm already thinking about where we should go next.
By the time we leave The Sway, I've already made a list in my head of the other places Mercy mentioned. The bookstore. The liquor store. The lingerie store, which is going to be awkward but necessary. Sharon holds my hand the entire time, and her scent has shifted lighter and sweeter telling me she is excited.
"We're making great detectives," I say as we're walking down the street toward the bookstore.
“Or rather terrible decisions," Sharon corrects, but she's smiling, which suggests she doesn't actually care about the terrible decision part. "We're investigating as if we're in some kind of mystery novel."
"A mystery novel where the characters hold hands and one of them smells like strawberries and honey," I say, running my thumb over the back of her hand. "I could definitely read that."
At the bookstore, a small independent place called Turning Pages, the owner is a woman named Eleanor who looks like she's been reading books her entire life and has absorbed their collective wisdom. She doesn't need us to even ask about Penelope. She just starts talking the moment we walk in.
"That woman bought approximately two hundred dollars’ worth of books and hasn't paid for a single one," Eleanor says, pulling out a ledger that looks like it was designed before computers existed. "She kept saying they were for research purposes. That she needed them for some kind of project. I have her name and address on file, so when she finally pays, I'll know exactly where to send a collection agency."
