My omega instincts, usually so quiet, were on high alert. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming.
And as much as I hated to admit it, a part of me wished Dominic was here. Not the corporate shark, but the alpha who’d claimed me that night, who’d made me feel safe even as my world was crumbling around me.
But Dominic wasn’t here. And whatever storm was brewing in Millcrest, I’d have to weather it on my own.
CHAPTER TWO
Deputy Martinez’s patrol car pulled up to the growing crowd, the quick beep of her siren cutting through the mid-morning bustle. I lowered my phone, thumb hovering over the photo I’d just taken of the defaced posters.
“Third call this morning,” Martinez said as she stepped out of her car. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her usually pristine uniform wrinkled at the edges. “What’s going on here?”
“Someone defaced all the campaign signs on Main Street.” I pointed at a poster of Adelaide Fairfax. Someone had gouged black marks across the bottom half of her face, giving her mouth the appearance of a dark, gaping maw. “Look at this.”
“They slashed right through Blake Harrington’s handsome face too,” Mrs. Henderson chimed in, her arms crossed over her dirt-stained apron. “And that’s not even the worst of it. My shop window got hit too.”
“Third time in the last couple of months something like this has happened.” I stepped closer to Martinez, lowering my voice. Thescent of stale coffee and exhaustion rolled off her uniform. “First Rosie’s place, then my store, and now this.”
The crowd parted as Martinez moved closer to inspect the damage. I watched as she snapped a photo with her department-issued phone.
“Any witnesses to the actual vandalism?” She pulled out a small notepad, already dogeared and full.
I shook my head. “Penny and I were eating an early lunch when we heard the commotion.”
“By the time we came out of the Hideaway, a crowd had already gathered,” Penny added.
The small throng of shopkeepers and early morning customers shuffled their feet on the sidewalk. A few mumbled “no” or shrugged. Mrs. Henderson’s lips pressed into a thin line as she picked at a loose thread on her apron.
“Security cameras?” Martinez scanned the storefronts.
“Most of us can’t afford them.” Mr. Gates said. “Historical district regulations make installation complicated anyway—has to preserve the aesthetic.”
“Perfect setup for whoever’s doing this,” Penny muttered under his breath. His sugary scent soured with frustration.
“Leo’s got that fancy new system though,” Mrs. Henderson chimed in. Her eyes sparkled with that familiar nosy glint as she peered at me over her half-moon glasses.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, studying a crack in the sidewalk. The security cameras mounted discreetly at my shop’s corners had become quite the topic ofneighborhood speculation. Penny caught my eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head—a silent promise to keep Dominic’s involvement under wraps.
The cameras’ sleek black forms kept watch over not just Cobblers’ Corner, but offered clear views of both Vintage Vogue’s colorful storefront and the warm glow of Wilson’s display window. A constant digital guardian, courtesy of my... what? Lover? Protector? Daddy Longlegs? The man who’d thrown my world into chaos when he’d made passionate love to me in my kitchen and then disappeared?
My cheeks warmed.
“Just trying to be proactive,” I mumbled, hoping to discourage further questions about where exactly a humble cobbler had acquired such sophisticated, state-of-the-art security equipment.
“Your shop’s too far away for the cameras to have probably picked up anything,” Martinez jotted something in her notepad, the scratch of her pen cutting through the tense morning air. I watched her tuck her notepad and pen into her pocket then retrieve a pair of latex gloves from her utility belt. She traced her fingers over the spray paint.
The neon red still appeared tacky against the glossy poster.
“It’s fresh,” Martinez said. “Can’t be more than an hour old.”
Martinez pulled an evidence bag from her belt. I watched her slip the bag under the torn edge of the poster. She peeled back the damp paper with practiced care, revealing more of the garish red slashes underneath. The glossy surface crackled as she worked, bits of adhesive still clinging to the wall. A whiff of spraypaint stung my nostrils as she sealed the damaged remnants inside the brown paper bag.
“The style matches the graffiti painted on Wilson’s and the brick through my window,” I said, showing her the photos on my phone. “See the way the letters slant? The same person has to be behind this.”
Martinez’s professional mask slipped. She rubbed her temples, avoiding my gaze. “Mr. Sterling-Hart, I understand your concern. But with the break-ins downtown...”
“You can’t help,” Penny finished for her.
“Without evidence of immediate danger, vandalism cases like these take lower priority.” Martinez’s shoulders were tight with what looked like resignation. The regret in her voice felt genuine, but it didn’t make her words sting any less. “Even politically motivated ones.”
