Page 32 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Wes’s breathing begins to slow. “We meet her at first light,” he says.

“Five thirty.”

“That is not first light.”

“Swamp hours.”

His chest moves beneath my cheek with a quiet laugh.

When sleep pulls at us, the last thing I feel is his bond warm around mine, and the last thing I smell is the trace of sage and rain still lingering. I want to see what it feels like when I carry her scent too.

Chapter 8

Scarlet Sage

Morning fog hangs low over the swamp road when Wes knocks on my screen door at five thirty sharp. I open the door wearing sleep shorts, an oversized sweatshirt, and enough suspicion that it qualifies as a weapon.

“You break into women’s property before sunrise often,” I ask, “or am I getting special treatment?”

“I thought the swamp kept early hours,” he replies. His gaze moves over me once before returning to my face with irritating discipline.

He’s back in his standard uniform of irritatingly tall, dark, and handsome. The black has been swapped for a gray shirt paired with dark jeans, and his boots are wet from the marsh grass. His hair looks slightly rougher than yesterday.

Next to him, Roman looks extremely polished and delicate for someone who has arrived in a swampy marsh before six in the morning.

Wes and Roman are standing close enough that their shoulders nearly touch. Cedar and spice drift through the screen between us, carrying the settled warmth of an established pack. It makes me want to cuddle up between them.

“We checked the fountain after we left here last night,” Wes says.

That wakes my brain faster than caffeine would have.

I step onto the porch, the thick, hot air curling around my bare legs. “And?”

“The flowers are gone.”

Something small and ugly yanks on my insides at the recognition that we lost the only possible lead.

“Town maintenance says they clean offerings every night,” Wes says. “Except nobody remembers throwing out swamp lilies.”

Roman moves forward, carrying a cardboard drink tray and a paper sack from Sweet Tooth. “Good morning,” he says. “How did you sleep?”

My gaze flicks to Wes. “The jacket helped.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

I take the iced coffee anyway. Honey drizzle, extra cream, and caramel syrup, exactly the color of a bad decision I’m going to make regardless. “You bribed Honey.”

“She seemed delighted by the opportunity.”

“She likes anyone willing to eat enough sugar to die respectably.”

Roman holds out a wrapped breakfast sandwich. “She also said you forget to eat when you’re researching.”

“I eat.”

“Powdered donuts are your go-to dinner, according to Junie.”

“That woman treats privacy like it insulted her.”