Page 121 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“Three times,” Callum replies.

A dog barks from somewhere near the back of the house.

“Micah moved the dogs into our bedroom,” Honey says, “because they considered the deputies an exciting new audience.”

“They were licking the front window,” Micah says.

Honey leans lightly into Callum’s side. “Protection takes many forms.”

The three of them fit together with the ease of a pack that has spent years learning one another. Callum’s hand settles at Honey’s waist before she reaches for him. Micah moves closer when her attention drifts toward the box. Honey accepts comfort from both without needing to ask.

Scarlet watches them, and grief moves through her scent before warmth follows. Maribel is too recent. Ellis kneeling before a mate who could no longer feel the life they had built remains close enough to strike straight into that old, aching place in Scarlet where being left behind still lives.

I slide my hand from Scarlet’s fingers to the back of her neck. “Stay with me.”

She turns her face toward my wrist and breathes in. “I’m here,” she says, then presses a brief kiss to my pulse.

The softness of it catches me low in the chest.

Wes adjusts his jacket higher around her shoulders. His fingers linger against her skin longer than the task requires.

Scarlet gives him a sideways glance. “You realize moving the same jacket around doesn’t create additional fabric.”

“The rain keeps touching you.”

“It is falling from the sky. You have limited authority over it.”

His mouth curves. “We will work on that.”

The exchange is quiet, meant for her, but Callum’s attention passes over us.

He notices Scarlet standing between Wes and me, her hand curled around my wrist and cedar threaded through the shirt covering her body. His alpha scent eases by a degree.

He doesn’t announce whatever he sees. He only gives me a small, understanding nod and points toward the side of the house. “Tom cleared the back entrance. We can bring you in that way.”

Honey’s home is bright in the easy way of a place that is used every day, sunlight catching on worn countertops and the soft scuffs of familiar routines. Cookbooks lean against the backsplash. Dog toys fill a basket beneath the window. Three ceramic mugs sit beside the sink in different stages of use.

Micah leads us into the living room, where the curtains remain closed over the front windows. “I asked the neighbors for their doorbell footage,” he says. “Two sent files. The others are checking.”

“That was smart,” Wes says. “Forward the original files to Tom. The sheriff’s office can preserve them and handle any connected searches.”

“I’m sending them now.”

Scarlet crosses to Honey as soon as they are safely inside.

Honey opens her arms, and Scarlet folds into them.

The hug begins carefully, then Honey presses her cheek against Scarlet’s hair and holds tighter. Soft omega warmth flows through the room.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet whispers.

Honey pulls away far enough to look at her. “For what?”

“My name was on the box.”

“You didn’t write it there.”

“It came because of me.”