by V. K. Sykes
Holly looked horrified. “Poor Tessa. That must have been awful for her. She’s such a quiet, gentle person.”
“Keele denied everything other than the fact that she and Tessa exchanged a few heated words in the restroom. And Cain pretended to be oblivious to it all, just drinking his beer.”
The guy was such a douche that Micah had desperately wanted any excuse to haul his ass in. “Tessa said Cain had been coming on to her before Keele got there,” he went on, “even though she hadn’t given him the slightest encouragement. Sound familiar?”
She grimaced. “For sure, I’m sorry to say. But did Laura actually hear Keele make those threats?”
“She completely backed up Tessa’s story.”
“So you could charge her, right? Isn’t threatening someone with bodily harm a crime?”
“It is. But prosecutors don’t want police clogging up the system with that kind of charge unless things really were likely to end in physical violence. In most situations, especially arguments in bars, it’s usually just a case of idiots blowing off steam. So I let her go with a warning but told her she wouldn’t get a second chance.”
“Okay, I’m glad you told me after all. I’ll definitely give those two a wide berth,” Holly said. “What a screwed-up pair.”
“Maybe you’ve seen Keele in the store already. Short black hair, about five seven, big rose tattoo on her neck. Around twenty-six or -seven years old.” She was pretty enough, but the woman had a mouth like a sewer and a personality to match.
Holly nodded. “Yes, I think she’s been in once or twice. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t show up tonight at an awkward moment.”
His gut clenched at the idea of any harm coming to Holly. “I’ll be watching her. If either she or Cain steps out of line, trust me, I’ll be all over them.”
Then he gave in to impulse and slid a hand under her jaw, nudging her to turn her face toward him. When she looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable, it took a mighty effort of willpower not to cover her lush mouth in hot kisses.
“And you call me if you ever have any worries about them, hear me?” he said.
“I will,” she said in a breathless voice.
They stared at each other, caught in the moment. For a heart-stopping second, Micah thought Holly was going to stretch up and kiss him.
But then she sighed and edged away. “I think I’d better head on home soon. I’m pretty beat.”
Or afraid, he suspected—afraid of giving in to her feelings and seizing the chance at what could happen between them if they took that next step.
Micah suppressed his disappointment as he got up to help her to her feet. Since she was clearly not ready to acknowledge what was still going on between them, he forced himself to back off.
“Are you planning to drive in that condition?” he asked in a mock hard-ass voice.
“Morgan and Ryan gave me a lift here. One of them will be happy to run me home now.”
“Let me take you instead. No need to bother them.”
Holly studied him for several seconds, then finally nodded. “Okay, but we need to go back inside for at least a few minutes. I have to get my bag and tell Morgan I’m going to be going home with you. And you can bet that everybody is going to want to hear about what happened on the dance floor with Cain.”
“Yeah, you know it.” Micah had no idea what would happen when they got to her aunts’ empty house. Probably she’d just say good night and hurry inside, and he would end up feeling empty and frustrated again. Still, she hadn’t said no to being alone with him, so that was something.
Chapter 21
Taking a deep breath, Holly unbuckled her seat belt and glanced at Micah. “Cup of coffee?”
She had to be crazy for asking him to come in, but for whatever reason, she was going to do it anyway. Maybe it was the creepy little incident with Logan Cain that had spooked her. Or maybe she was still feeling too much on edge about her aunts and the store. But she wanted to be with somebody, and she wanted it to be Micah. Not Lily, Morgan, not anybody other than him.
Micah gave her a slow nod. “Sure, a quick one,” he said, as if to reassure her that he wouldn’t press her for anything more than a hit of caffeine. Trouble was, she was beginning to think that she wanted him to do a lot more than just drink coffee.
He followed her up onto the porch, big and silent behind her. Her hands slightly shaking, Holly retrieved her keys from her purse and unlocked the new dead bolt.
“I’m glad you finally convinced Florence to get better locks,” he said.
“It was a titanic struggle, but Beatrice and I finally prevailed.” Holly pushed the door open. “I’m sure Florence gave in just to shut us up. She still thinks it’s stupid to be afraid because of a couple of minor incidents, as she put it.”
“The island isn’t under some special cone of protection,” he said. “It’s probably as safe a place as there is, but it’s still smart to be careful.”
Holly led him to the kitchen. “No argument from me, Deputy.”
Micah frowned as he headed over to the patio doors. “You didn’t use the charley bar on the sliding doors tonight?”
“Uh, no.” Actually, Holly hadn’t used that security bar at all. She never thought about it, since neither she nor her aunts had bothered to lock any doors until after Fitz’s break-in. And after the new hardware was installed on the exterior doors, she’d thought the house was secure—or at least more secure than just about every other dwelling in Seashell Bay.
When Micah slid the glass panel open, her stomach dropped. She knew she’d locked that door.
He walked across the screened porch and grasped the knob of the door that led outside. When that one opened too, Holly sucked in a harsh breath. “Micah, I’m sure I locked both those doors.”
She spun and swept a frantic gaze around the kitchen. Nothing there seemed disturbed.
Micah came back inside. “Do your aunts keep their prescriptions in the kitchen?”
“No, in their bedrooms. And the over-the-counter stuff is in the bathroom.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, sweeping past her.
Holly hurried behind him, glancing into the living room as she passed. Nothing seemed out of place there either.
This can’t be happening to me again. And not here—not in Seashell Bay.
Then she realized how stupid that was. Of course it could happen in Seashell Bay. There had already been two break-ins, and everyone was aware that her aunts were cooped up at Maine Medical. As for her, half the town knew she was at the social tonight, and the other half would likely have guessed as much. Breaking in through the porch would go unnoticed even in daylight. In the dark, a burglar could take his sweet time picking the locks.
“I know Beatrice grabbed most of their prescriptions before she got into the ambulance,” Holly called out to Micah’s quickly retreating back. He was running up the steps two at a time. “And she didn’t ask me to bring anything else later.”
“If he was after drugs, then I guess he picked the wrong house,” Micah said over his shoulder.
“Not exactly. Beatrice had some she didn’t take with her.”
Grimacing, he headed into Beatrice’s room while Holly hurried to Florence’s. She flipped the light switch and slammed into a mental wall.
The room had been ransacked. The antique armoire had been emptied, as had the drawers from the matching walnut dresser and bedside table. The contents now littered the hardwood floor. The closet door had been yanked open, and her aunt’s dresses, sweaters, and some coats were piled in a heap in front of it.
Holly glanced back at the dresser. Florence had kept her meds lined up there, but they were gone.
She felt like her heart was trying to punch its way out of her chest. “Oh my God, Micah.”
“I know,” he growled from down the hall, reading her reaction. “Beatrice’s is trashed too.”
She bent down and picked up Florence’s mahogany jewelry box, desperately
looking for the art deco diamond brooch from her aunt’s grandmother. It was a beautiful piece, probably the only thing worth stealing in the room. That brooch was not only valuable—worth about ten thousand dollars, according to their insurance appraiser—it meant the moon and stars in sentimental value to Florence.
Holly rooted frantically around on the floor, but there was no sign of the brooch there either. Several other small pieces were gone too. Near the jewelry box rested a half-empty pill bottle she remembered seeing earlier, an antibiotic prescription filled almost a year ago. After putting the bottle back on the dresser, she went down onto her knees and retrieved a gold-framed photo that had been tossed halfway under the bed. The glass was shattered, so she held the frame carefully to avoid getting cut as she scrambled back up.
Her heart shredding, she stared at the faded color photograph of Florence, Beatrice, and Holly’s mother, young and gorgeous and staring at the camera with a dazzling smile as they posed in front of Jenkins General Store. The picture had stood on her aunt’s dresser for as long as she could remember.
Choking back tears, she carefully shook the broken glass into the wastebasket and set the frame back on the dresser. Somehow, it felt like a small act of defiance in the face of such wanton destruction.
“Holly, come to your room,” Micah said in a calm voice. Too calm.
She wheeled and rushed down the hall.
Micah stood like a statue in her doorway, his dark gaze full of regret. He slowly moved aside to let her pass.
The pretty, cozy space was barely recognizable. Her clothes had been ripped out of the drawers and strewn across the floor and bed, and the closet emptied. The top of her dresser had also been swept clean, her books and cosmetics in a jumbled heap on the floor. A few bottles had cracked open, leaking concealer and moisturizer that made a mess on the polished floorboards.
Even worse, Drew’s picture had landed in the corner opposite her bed, and the glass was cracked. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick it up, knowing that looking at her husband’s face right now would slice her heart in two. “The son of a bitch.” Holly hardly recognized her own voice it was so choked with anger.
Micah came up behind her and put his arms around her, embracing her tightly. Holly gave in to furious tears then, turning into his chest as she tried to choke back the sobs.
“Just take some deep breaths,” he said in a soothing voice as he gently stroked his hand up and down her spine. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She wanted that to be true, but right now she felt shattered. How could this happen to her again? And what would it do to her aunts?
Holly pulled in a few shuddering breaths, then slipped out of Micah’s grasp. He seemed reluctant to let her go. The truth was, she didn’t want him to let her go, but she needed to start dealing with the cleanup and aftermath.
She went down on her knees and began to sift through the mess. Of course, the two hundred or so dollars in cash she’d stashed in her top drawer was gone. The only other item of value she’d brought with her was a gold Tiffany pendant with pavé diamonds that Jackson had given her not long after they started dating. It was worth a considerable sum, and now she could kick herself for bringing it with her.
Fortunately, she’d left her computer and iPad locked in the store’s office.
“See anything missing?” Micah asked, hunkering down beside her.
All her other jewelry was costume—cheap and cheery—and based on a quick look around, Holly suspected none of it had been taken. “A diamond pendant and about two hundred dollars cash so far.”
Micah’s eyes pinched shut for a split second. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“The pendant was from Jackson, so at least there was no sentimental value,” she said. “But Florence is going to be devastated to lose her grandmother’s brooch.”
“I’m sure. Anyway, you know you’ll need to make a list of everything that’s missing.”
“Of course.” She forced herself to say what they might both be thinking. “Cain could have come straight here from the dance.”
He reached out and gently brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Yeah, he could have.”
“He was asking me a lot of questions about Florence and Beatrice.”
If looks could kill, Micah’s expression would be enough to do it. “Cain or his buddy could have done this for sure, but thinking it is one thing and proving it is another.” He helped her up from the floor. “I didn’t see any drugs in Beatrice’s room. How about in Florence’s?”
“Just an expired antibiotics prescription.” But she knew that Micah should have found one prescription bottle in Beatrice’s room—the hydrocodone Holly had picked up only a few days earlier. Her aunt used it whenever her back acted up, and she hadn’t taken it with her to the hospital. “But you’re sure there’s nothing in Beatrice’s room?”
He frowned. “Are you saying she had drugs there?”
“There should be a full bottle of pain pills.” She headed to Beatrice’s room, where the mess was similar to the other two rooms.
Micah started sifting through the debris on the floor.
“We know he took them,” Holly said morosely. “Why even bother looking?”
“You’re completely sure Beatrice didn’t take that bottle with her?”
“Of course I am.” God, now she sounded like a bitch.
Micah got up. “Okay, I’m going to get my camera out of the car and take some pictures. After that, I’ll take a good look around outside and talk to your neighbors up the street. Then I’ll come back here.”
She was glad Micah wouldn’t be rushing off. “I doubt the neighbors will have seen anything. There’s no line of sight to the porch.”
“No, but they might have noticed a car parked nearby that they didn’t recognize or someone hanging around the neighborhood who doesn’t live here. Anyway, it’s standard practice in a burglary case to talk to the neighbors as soon as possible.”
“Okay, sorry to be so snappy.”
Pulling her into a brief hug, he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be silly. You’re doing great.”
He let her go, taking all the warmth with him as he headed out to the hall. “I should take a quick look at Florence’s room.”
Still feeling shaky, Holly followed him.
Micah picked up the pill bottle and stared at the label. “Seriously? A half-used, year-old antibiotic prescription? Aren’t you supposed to finish the whole thing?”
Holly let out a sigh. “Florence following doctors’ orders? Please. But I’m sure she was going to take that bottle back to Watson’s for disposal at some point. She and Beatrice always do that with their unused meds.” She sank down onto the messy bed, trying to figure out where to start with the cleanup.
Micah eyed her. “Why don’t you call Morgan or Lily to help you clean up the mess and keep you company? I really don’t want you staying here alone tonight.”
She tried to pull herself together. “I doubt the burglar will make an encore appearance. I’ll be fine, Micah.”
He propped his hands on his hips, scowling slightly and looking every inch a lawman. He also looked like everything she could want in a man—strong, dependable, protective, and loving. Concern for her came off him in waves.
“That’s not what I’m worried about. I can barely imagine what it feels like to have your home invaded twice in one year. I’d like to not just arrest the guy—honest to God, I’d like to tear him apart.”
Micah thrust out his jaw and clenched his huge fists, looking like he totally meant what he said.
“Me too,” Holly said grimly. “But just catch him, okay?”
“You’re damn right I will.” Micah turned and headed for the stairs.
Holly listened to him jog downstairs, and then heard the front door slamming behind him. She dragged herself back to her room and, crouching down carefully, picked up Drew’s picture. Only a few shards of glass were still attached to the damaged frame. In the dead q
uiet of the empty house, she gazed down into her husband’s smiling eyes.
Shit, Drew. What do I do now?
Chapter 22
For the last half hour, Micah had cautioned himself to think like a cop, not like a man who wanted to beat the crap out of the guy who’d just hurt the woman he loved. Just because Logan Cain was a grade A jerk didn’t mean he was a burglar. But his gut was pointing him more and more in the direction of Cain and his pal Horton as the guilty parties. Too many coincidences, especially for one little island.
And dammit, he did love Holly. He’d known that for a long time, but hearing her choked sobs as he held her in his arms tonight—as she was trying so hard to hold it together—had toppled all his emotional walls and cracked his heart wide open.
He’d do anything to protect her and help her get over what had happened to her both tonight and in the past. Anything.
But don’t be stupid, dude. And sure as hell don’t do something that might jeopardize a felony conviction later.
His tactical flashlight in hand, he’d spent about ten minutes carefully moving around the exterior of the house, looking for footprints or anything else that might even approximate a clue. He’d scrambled down the shallow rocky ledge to the shoreline below on the slight chance that the thief might have beached a boat down there and made his way up to the rear of the house. But he’d found no footprints there or anywhere else. And it might not have mattered much if he had anyway, since God only knew how long it would have taken to get a crime scene technician over to collect and analyze the evidence.
While he knew it would always be hard to get the kind of resources he needed to do his job in little Seashell Bay, he’d never had to confront the frustration until this series of break-ins.
After finishing his circuit, he’d walked up Island Road to the Garvey house, the closest to Florence and Beatrice’s place. A pajama-clad Ken and Janet had welcomed him inside and offered coffee, which he’d declined. Neither had seen anything going on at the Jenkins house tonight. Janet did, however, mention that she’d noticed a man walking down the hill when she looked out an upstairs window as she was getting ready for bed. Because it was unusual for people to be walking about at midnight in Seashell Bay, Micah’s ears perked up. Unfortunately, her description was almost uselessly vague. Fairly tall. Not fat, not thin, neither young nor old. Just a fairly tall guy wearing a baseball cap and a dark jacket.