“When the hell did you talk to Chief? How do you even know him?”
Roman laughs so hard his head tips back, and I’m blinded by a snapshot in time.
Roman. His brothers. Me. We’re teenagers, young, hanging out in the warehouse, fucking around with something that shocked the hell out of Sterling’s finger, and we all doubled over laughing.
Emotions threaten to knock me on my ass, so I focus on what Roman’s saying while also storing that memory away in my mind for safekeeping.
“I’ve been here a couple of weeks,” he says. “And that man has stuck his nose into every official and nonofficial police matter he could find. Seriously, the actual chief of police must be a goddamn saint to put up with his nonsense.”
I chuckle. “He can’t be that bad.”
“Oh yeah? Ask Rip how many times Chief has tried to clear a room for him before he and Clover entered. The man is the law enforcement equivalent of Dwight Schrute fromThe Office, and he said you were like Tony Stark, swooping in to save Clover before she smashed her face against the floor.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It wasn’t like that, and stop referencing fictional characters. It almost makes you seem…human.”
“Sure, it wasn’t like that.” He snorts while pulling up one of the camera feeds, showing Clover’s backyard. “Now, about the package. I’m running the paper through analysis. The handwriting appears to be feminine, but that could be a misdirection tactic. The bee?—”
“Wasn’t a coincidence,” I say. “It’s too…intentional. Too specific. It’s a threat.”
We both fall silent. Saying the truth out loud makes our options that much bleaker.
“It’s also not a coincidence that the moment you land in town, the threat goes from her fictional life—her novels—to something personal and incredibly specific to you both.”
“You think the threats are coming from one of Terra’s followers?” I ask. “I thought Vivi…handled anyone who was considered a threat.”
“It’s either a follower or?—”
“Miriam,” I say, though for some reason, it doesn’t sit right with me. The few mentions of this woman in my journal carry a warmth, a fondness in them. I hope to God I didn’t put my trust in the wrong hands—that would mean that everything that happened to Clover would, in fact, be my fault.
“Yeah,” Roman says. “I’ve got a call into the foster agency Clover was placed with after the cult, and Sterling’s working on tracking down Miriam, but we don’t even know if she’s alive. And if she is, if she’s?—”
“Capable of terrorizing a woman she supposedly saved.” I scrub a hand over my face. “It doesn’t make sense. Why help her escape only to torment her fourteen years later?”
“Maybe it’s not Miriam.” Roman leans against the console. “In your journal, you mentioned others at Roots of Salvation. Leaders. Elders.”
“Terra’s followers,” I mutter, remembering the words I’d written as a teenager. Her name still tastes wrong in my mouth. My mother. A woman I don’t remember but apparently feared. “I just don’t know, Roman. All I have to go by are the ramblings of a kid in a journal that don’t even have dates on them. Everything’s out of order, and nothing makes sense. And the note said we. Plural.”
I lean forward to scan the screen and sigh when I see Chief ambling up the sidewalk with Wrecks at his side.
Roman says, “It’s possible they were just trying to throw us off track with the fucking rhyming. Or?—”
“Or there really is more than one person involved.” I stare at the monitor that’s focused on Clover’s front door. “Either way, she’s not safe here. Not until we figure this out.”
“Hence,” he says with a pompous-ass grin. “The tank.”
“Mobile command center,” I correct, and his smile grows.
“You’re learning.”
A hard knock on the side of the vehicle makes us both turn as Chief’s face appears in the doorway, Wrecks panting at his side.
“You boys done playing with your fancy toys?” he asks, climbing in without an invitation. “Got somethin’ to discuss.”
Wrecks follows, immediately taking up approximately seventy percent of the available floor space. The dog sniffs everything, drools on the console, tries to eat the leg of a chair, and finally settles himself directly on top of my feet.
“Chief,” I say while shifting my feet free. “What are you?—”
“Dog’s stayin’ with Clover ’cause Elle’s husband lost his dadgum mind when Wrecks chewed through his table saw.”
