Page 27 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Roman catches my eye as he passes me. He is going to be unbearable about this later.

At the door, I look back at Scarlet. “Lock up after us.”

“So bossy,” she says, but there is no real censure in it. She gives a small wave. “Come early. We keep swamp hours around here.”

I know we are too late before we reach the stone.

The offerings have been rearranged. Fresh roses and peonies cover the ledge, but the pale swamp lilies Scarlet described are gone.

Roman circles the fountain once. “Nothing.”

I stop beside the maintenance worker loading wilted flowers into black bags. “Did you clear this display earlier today?”

The beta glances at my credentials. “About an hour ago.”

“Were there swamp lilies mixed in?”

He frowns. “Not that I remember. Anything wilted went in the bags, but I wasn’t looking for anything specific.”

Three identical black bags are already tied shut beneath discarded cups, ribbon, and festival trash in his cart.

Roman comes to stand beside me. “Can we take them?”

“Be my guest.” The worker gestures toward the bags. “But they’re mixed with everything from the square.”

We photograph the fountain, document the cleared display, and take the bags anyway. None of it gives us a clean sample tied to the flowers Scarlet saw this morning.

By the time we return to the SUV, dusk has begun settling between the storefronts.

Roman closes the passenger door and looks at me. “So where next?” He gives me his best shit-eating grin. “Sweetheart Haven has some lovely options for bonded pairs.”

“Don’t start.”

Chapter 7

Roman Osprey

Iglance at Wes from the passenger seat. “Please tell me you aren’t planning to sleep in the SUV again.”

“The sheriff’s office is too public, and the SUV isn’t secure enough for the full case file.”

“You mean the sheriff’s office is full of people who stop talking when we walk into a room.”

“That too.” He keeps both hands on the wheel. His posture is controlled, but cedar fills the SUV, darker than it was when we arrived at Scarlet’s cottage. Wes flexes his hand once against the steering wheel.

I decide to enjoy myself. “You scent-marked her.”

“I had permission.”

“You looked like you wanted to carry her into the house and hold her until that hollow note disappeared from her scent.”

His jaw tightens.

“That wasn’t a no.”

“She is touch-starved and suffering.”

“She’s also beautiful.”