“I’ll be here,” she finally says. “Please make sure he isn’t in uniform.”
“I don’t think the Holly Woods police department owns a uniform past rookie rank, hon. You’re good.” I run downstairs, slip my feet into some black Jimmy Choo heels, grab my purse, and open my door. “I’m getting in my car now. I’ll only be a few minutes. Make sure your doors are locked and you have something that can be used as a weapon if they’re still there, okay?”
“I have a pan,” she whispers.
“As good as anything,” I reason. “I’ll see you in a minute.” I hang up and double back quickly to set my alarm. Once it’s done, I lock the front door and get into my car, already dialing my brother’s number.
“What?” Devin groans.
I pull out of the driveway. “Mornin’ to you, too, grumpy-ass.”
“Noelle, what the fuck? It’s not even eight.”
“I know, but someone broke into Natalie Owens’s shed, tried to break into her house, and left a note.”
“Why can’t these assholes operate during normal hours? And why the fuck can’t you call someone on duty?”
I glance at the clock. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you start in thirty minutes away, so it’s probably a good thing I’m draggin’ your ass outta bed.”
“Shut the hell up.” There’s a rustling noise. “Shit! Amelia must have turned the alarm off ’cause she’s off today. Fuck!”
“You’re welcome.” I snort. “And since I’m not on hands-free, I’ll see you in ten minutes at Natalie’s house.”
Another shout of, “Fuck!” comes through right as I hang up.
My brothers. I swear. They’re all pains in the asses—all I need is for Trent to step up and get under my feet and they have a full house in the Bond family sibling bingo.
I make the few turns to Natalie’s house and drive slowly down her street. I guess that one of the perks of living in a place like Holly Woods is that you know where everyone lives, even if you haven’t spoken to them for years. The perk of my job is the refresher when they fill my forms out.
Her street is quaint and very quiet—not the type of place you’d expect a stalker to roam or a break-in to be attempted. From the newly cut lawns to the perfectly trimmed hedges and houses with perfectly painted exteriors, it’s the picture-perfect, stereotypical American street. But hey.
Beautiful lies hide ugly truths.
I turn into Natalie’s driveway and park my little Audi behind her suave BMW. Her face appears in the window to the door as I get out of my car, purse in hand.
Shit. I left her file on my nightstand.
Still, I lock my car and go to her front door. She opens it before my feet have touched the steps leading up to it, and I offer her a wary smile.
“Anything?”
“No. I don’t think they hung around after posting the note.”
“Do you have it?”
She nods. “On the coffee table.” She steps aside to let me in.
Although my focus is on the room to my right, which is clearly her living area, I can’t help but glance around her house. Vintage-style, very rustic and full of charm. Cracked and scuffed photo frames adorn the walls of her spacious entry hall, and I recognize the people in the photos as her family and closest friends. Lena is even in a few, along with Mallory, and my stomach twists.
Lena, the woman I found poisoned and tortured to death not two months ago, and Mallory, her best friend and possibly the only person she ever really trusted in this world.
I swallow back the hard hit of emotion and walk through into the living room, which is much the same style. The same frames are hung on the walls, and even her furniture is very chaise-longue style with wooden legs. Her house screams pure class, and this girl either got lucky at yard sales or she has more money than most people in this town.
Oddly, I want to side with both options.
The note is lying on the coffee table, like she said, and I bend over to look at it. Aside from finger-sized creases in the corners, the note is perfectly crisp. There aren’t even fold lines. And it’s handwritten. The writing is messy but cursive, like the author really tried to neaten up their letters but went all kindergarten regardless.
Two sharp knocks at the door startle me, and Natalie screams, her hands going to her mouth. I get up and go to the window. Upon recognizing Devin’s car, I nod to her that it’s okay. Natalie opens the door, albeit hesitantly, and my brother walks through.
With his dark hair the exact shade of mine messy in an I-just-woke-up-in-severe-need-of-a-haircut style, cleanly shaved jaw, and his deep-brown eyes a smidgen darker than mine, my brother literally looks like he’s walked off America’s Next Top Model.
“That the note?” he asks gruffly, immediately going into cop mode.
“Yep.”
He knows better than to ask me if I’ve touched it, as evidenced by his quick pull of gloves from his pocket. “I have forensics on their way.”
“Forensics?” Natalie’s bottom lip wobbles.
“Sorry, Miss Owens. I can’t ask them to come unmarked.” Devin lifts the note and holds it directly in his eye line. “When did you find this?”
“I called Noelle ten minutes ago, so maybe twenty minutes ago?”
“You hear anythin’ before?” He puts the letter back down and walks through the door.
I follow him, cupping Natalie’s elbow to encourage her to, too.
“The bricks, the shed…?” he says.
“No. I-I’ve been having trouble sleeping for a few weeks. My doctor prescribed me sleeping pills, and this is why I didn’t know.” Natalie sucks one of her cheeks in and crosses her arms tight. Her position screams defensiveness and defiance—but if she had any information, why would she hide it? Her fear was, and is, real.
“Okay.” Devin unlocks the back door with the key sitting steadily in the hole.
I scoot past Natalie to follow him out. She’s right. The window is chipped in two or three places. There’s even a crack spreading out from one of them, but when I scrape my nail down the inside of the window, the surface is smooth. It doesn’t go right through the glass.
Devin is questioning Natalie over by the shed. The door-less shed, because there’s a hinge lying on the ground next to the wooden plank that is, or was, the door. Apparently, our would-be burglar thought taking hinges off would be easier than breaking the padlock—which is still attached to the door.
And why is there even a padlock there? Who locks sheds in Holly Woods?
Taking care to step around the bricks on the floor, I lean against the wall of the house, focused on my brother and Natalie. Devin stops to take a call, and a few seconds later, I’m joined by two forensics guys and a couple of other officers.
“Noelle,” Officer Jake Dylan acknowledges me.
“Officer.” I offer him a smile before moving out of their way.
“What do you make of this?” he asks, catching me before I can disappear.
“Someone tried to break into her house and left her a threatening note,” I reply carefully. “I make that someone has a real issue with Miss Owens. Simple.”
I’m not doing your work for you, Jake Dylan. Figure it out yourself.
This time, I move a little quicker to escape him. Devin is pointing toward the house and telling two other officers what to do, and I smile. I love seeing my brothers in control, doing what they do best… Unless I’m the one they’re telling what to do.
Makes me think that Nonno would be real proud of his boys if he could see them now.
When the two officers disappear, I hover back a little more. Natalie’s complexion has faded to a greyish tinge, and she has one arm wrapped around the top of her stomach. She looks like she’s about to pass out, and a sliver of worry worms through me.
“Natalie?” I ask quietly when there’s a break in the conversation. “Are you okay? You don’t look too good.”
She looks at me, her lips twitching unreassuringly. “I think the adrenaline has worn off. It’s sinking in.”
I know from experience that this is the worst feeling. I gently touch her arm and glance at my brother, and he nods.