Page 35

“That's what I thought.”

The sound of his voice eases the tension in my shoulders a notch. “How'd everything go at the shelter?”

Jules launches into an update. Two dogs got adopted. Kevin hissed at a delivery driver. One volunteer accidentally locked herself in the supply closet. The air conditioning in the back kennel is making a noise that sounds like a dying walrus.

By the time he finishes, I can almost picture the shelter. Dogs barking from every direction, volunteers running around trying to keep up, and the scent of disinfectant mixed with dog treats hanging in the air.

“No emergencies?” I ask.

“No emergencies.”

“Thank you baby Jesus.”

I wait for him to say something. Instead, Jules sighs. “Maggie.”

I close my eyes. “Yes?”

“What's wrong?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Nothing.”

“Bull.”

I swear he knows me better than I know myself. “Jules.”

“Honey, I've known you too long. What's wrong?”

Part of me considers lying. Not because I want to, but because saying it out loud makes it too real.

“There was a car.”

There’s a hush on the line. Then, “What kind of car?”

“A black sedan.”

“And why do I feel like you're not talkin’ about somebody parked at the grocery store?”

“Somebody parked outside the mansion and watched the property.”

A curse slips out under his breath. “How long?"

“Eighteen minutes.”

“Jesus, Maggie.” He lets out a heavy breath. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“That's fair.”

I rub a hand across my forehead. “I was trying not to freak out.”

“Trying?”

“Keyword.”

Thankfully, that earns a laugh. The sound makes me feel a bit better. Not because the situation has improved. It hasn't. But for a few minutes, talking to Jules makes all of this feel a little less overwhelming.

“You're in the safest place you could possibly be right now,” he assures me.