Shouldn’t it be instinctual?
It’s not. Not currently.
Everything is imploding.
“Lots of places have those initials.” The words come out too fast. “It could be anything. And the architectural details, the legends, the markets—those are common in small Southwest towns. Authors research. They visit places. They combine elements from multiple locations. It doesn’t mean—“
I’m talking too much and defending too hard.
Carol goes very still.
I watch it happen. Watch the pieces click into place behind her eyes. The way her gaze sharpens. How she is really looking at me for the first time in this conversation.
The bookshop owner inWildfire Summer. The heroine, who moved to the Southwest five years ago to escape her controlling family. Who has a best friend in the Northwest. The one who loves romance novels and keeps to herself.
“Carol—“ My voice cracks. “Please.”
“It’s you.” Not a question. A realization. Quiet. Certain.
I can’t deny it. I won’t confirm it. I can only stand here behind my booth, hoping it offers enough shade and cover to protect me from the impending doom, like a beautiful underground Cold War-era bunker.
I look around for Mateo. I wish he were here. The thought comes unbidden and makes no sense—what would he even do? But somehow, having him nearby always makes the noise in my head go quiet.
But I’m exposed and terrified, and Carol Brennan has connected every single dot I thought I hid.
“Please don’t say anything,” I whisper.
CHAPTER 5
Pounding on my door has me jumping out of bed at 1:27 am. When I open it, Isabel stands in front of me looking stressed. It takes a microsecond to realize she’s still in her pajamas.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” If that boyfriend of hers did anything to her, I’ll kill him.
“Have you seen Facebook?” She’s already pulling out her phone before I can answer.
“Facebook?” I step back to let her in. “What’s going on?”
“It’s about Sadie.” Her face is serious in a way that makes my stomach drop.
I reach for her phone. “Show me.”
She hands me her cell, and I see a post in the Sierra Rose Ridge Community Group. It was posted a few hours ago at 10:14 PM by Macy Brooks. Sadie’s employee.
My chest tightens reading it. Macy sounds excited. Proud, even.
Like she has no idea what she just did. I scroll through the comments. Hundreds of them. Mostly supportive. Friends excited for Sadie. Residents eager to feel like they’re a part of something big. Book club members confirming they suspected.
But as of 30 minutes ago, the tone shifted.
Completely.
Judith Ashford’s comment starts the downward spiral.
Two hundred and thirty-four likes. Over a hundred replies.
I keep scrolling, each comment landing heavier than the last.
“Fuck.” I hand the phone back to Isabel. “Does Sadie know?”
