Page 16 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“That’s one way to put it,” Wes says.

Her eyes cut back toward him. “You think I took it.”

“According to dispatch, your name was on the museum visitor log this morning.”

“Because I was at the museum this morning.”

“That’s usually how visitor logs work,” I say.

She cuts me a look. “You’re significantly more charming when you’re not helping.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

The corner of her mouth twitches.

What sits under her composure is not defensiveness. She might be afraid of what the theft means, but she doesn’t appear afraid we will discover she caused it. That reads as sincere enough that my assessment shifts several degrees.

Wes continues to struggle beside me. His instincts are running hot, and he is actively choosing not to act on any of them. His hands flex once at his sides, and his breathing has gone shallow.

I brush my knuckles against the back of his hand. He glances at me.

Breathe, the touch says.

He takes a deep inhale before turning back toward Scarlet. “You know something about the stone,” he says.

Her laugh comes a beat too fast. “Everyone in town grows up hearing stories about the stone.”

Wes shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

The air between them shifts, in the way it does when two people are standing close enough to a live wire that they can feel the heat before making contact. From where I stand, I feel it too. Her scent changes with the sexual tension, the thinness sharpening into warm sage and honey.

Wes’s shoulders lower a fraction in response.

Scarlet holds his gaze for one second too long and steps back from the doorway. “Fine. You can ask your questions.” She points at Wes before he can look satisfied. “But only if I get something in return.”

“That’s not how investigations work.”

“Then maybe your investigations need better incentives.”

I lean against the porch railing. “What kind of incentive?”

Her green eyes sharpen with the first real mischief I’ve seen since the bakery. “Tarot.”

The humor drains from Wes’s face while I fail to hide my amusement.

“No,” he says.

Scarlet shrugs. “Then no questions.”

“That’s not a real negotiation.”

“Neither is showing up at my house, implying I committed grand theft of a priceless piece of folklore, and yet here we are.”

“We didn’t imply anything.”

“You brought backup jawlines and investigative tension to my porch.” She tilts her head. “The implication was there.”

I cough into my fist. Wes doesn’t look at me because he knows what my face is doing.