“Yeah, man, I’m good.” Tension slipped into Lance’s tone. “There anything Icando? A name or something you need researched? I’ve got internet.”
Jon hesitated. It hadn’t been his intent, but it would save him time. “Sure, if you’re up for it. An address I need to find so I can check it out later.” It was his turn to hesitate. “Turns out my grandpa left me something that’s been held there.”
Lance whistled. “I’ll get to digging, then. Hit me.”
Jon fired off the address he’d memorized before disconnecting. With a few final movements his phone was switched to airplane mode, tucked into a pocket, and the last hunting knife strapped to his leg. Keys went into the pocket with the phone and he shrugged on the oversized bottle of water he’d picked up in town. He wasn’t planning a multi-day stakeout, so the single bottle was plenty. For the same reason, he wasn’t worried about his truck.
He set off on foot from there, moving quickly through the forest and keeping out of sight from the roadway. Jenna’s wasn’t far, and it required minimal energy to expand his hyrdo-sweep to watch his own six. While he would have preferred to take a position that kept an eye on her front door, the layout of her apartment meant that would leave him mostly blind to the backside—where her bedroom was.
If she was being stalked, if whoever had broken into her home hadn’t done so randomly but rather had moved onlyhismilkshake on purpose, Jon couldn’t afford to leave himself blind to the space she was most likely to be.
Fortunately, he could keep a sensory eye on all angles of her apartment even when he couldn’t keep physical eyes on them. He told himself that had to be enough and hunkered into a good position, hoping for a long, uneventful night.
Jenna couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past sunrise. Such was the curse of the career path she’d fallen into and not being successful enough to share the baking responsibilities. But she’d acclimated, even embraced such a drastically different lifestyle, so much so that she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of the product simply sitting and wasting away in her neglected store.
That was probably why she’d put herself through another inevitably pointless phone call over breakfast.
“The sheriff will release it when he releases it,” the female deputy said, her tone sharp. “Have a little respect for the people who died there, Hodge.”
Jenna nearly slammed her coffee onto the table. “You mean the peopleyourdeputies let die? The same people who pointed a gun at an elderly man because they wanted to rob me?Thosepeople? Because, honestly, at this point I kind of think I should have let them. If they’d taken everything I had that morning, I’d be looking at less of a net-loss than I’m looking at right now. How about having a little respect for the civilians you’re supposed to beprotecting?”
“Weren’t you protected?”
Jenna ground her teeth. “By an off-duty Marine.” She took a breath, preparing to at least demand brief and escorted access, but anything she wanted to say was cut off.
“Right. Your dead ex-boyfriend. Isn’t that convenient?” Something that sounded like a door closed with a heavy thud in the background. “We’ll be in touch. Stay out until then.”
The line clicked in Jenna’s ear, leaving her blood boiling as she fought to hold the agitation inside.What is wrong with them?Was it her? Was she looking at everything the wrong way?
She knocked back the remainder of her coffee and opened her text app in the fruitless hope that one thing had improved while her attention had been elsewhere. She’d texted Martha more than half an hour earlier, but Martha hadn’t replied. The message did indicate it had been seen, though, if that was worth anything.
More of the same no-news stared back at her in the small employee thread. Eric and her other remaining employee, Zoey, had already chimed in on all the lack of new activity from Steph. Steph herself still had yet to read, let alone respond, to a single message anywhere.
Someone needed to report her missing if she still was. It would help if Martha would answer, but Jenna suspected Martha didn’t want to admit the situation to herself. That was only going to cost them all precious time. But that wasn’t the only problem. Reporting Steph missing meant communicating, again, with the sheriff’s office.
They’d probably arrest her if she called again.
Helpless frustration tightened like a net inside Jenna’s chest and she struggled to push herself to her feet. Her insurance couldn’t move forward without an inspection. She couldn’t replace anything without insurance approval. The inspection couldn’t happen until she was allowed to reclaim active ownership of her own damn property. All the goods she hadn’t sold before the shooting were rotting on a shelf, stinking up the building. If anyone had damaged a plastic seal or not shut a refrigerator door properly or God-forbid unplugged the entiredamn thing, she could be looking atmassiveproduct loss. None of which, of course, the bumbling sheriff’s office would take responsibility for.
Do I need a lawyer?The thought landed like a brick on her shoulders, but it made her laugh all the same. A hard, grating, scoffing sound that was not her normal laugh. As if she could even afford to think about a lawyer.
She scooped up her breakfast dishes and started for the kitchen in the hopes of keeping occupied. Of course, it was while her hands were full that her phone decided to ring. Jenna hurried to divest herself of her armload and rushed back to the device she’d left on the table.
It wasn’t Steph.
It wasn’t Jon.
It wasn’t anyone whose number was programmed into her phone. It wasn’t even a local area code.
But it could still have been important, so she answered. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Ms. Hodge,” a smooth, almost familiar voice said in greeting. Definitely male. “I apologize if this question is insensitive, but I noticed this morning that Sweet Stop is shut down. Are you planning to re-open?”
Her stomach threatened to drop to her feet. “Yes,” she said, choosing not to address anything else. “As soon as the sheriff releases it and I’ve got it all fixed up again.” She wasn’t going to talk about blood stains on the asphalt or what fixing it actually entailed. All she wanted her customers to see was that her little bakery could, and would, bounce back.
The stranger on the phone hummed. “And when do you expect that to be? I’m something of a creature of habit. I’ve come to like my morning scone and coffee.”
His morning scone and coffee?Her mind rolled backward without effort, thinking over who could possibly fit thatdescription. She sucked in a breath. “Is this Q?” The mysterious, presumably wealthy man who’d recently moved to town and begun frequenting her shop?
