Page 41 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

I lean back in the chair and rotate the tablet slowly between my hands. “My parents were bonded for twenty-six years.”

Her brows furrow with concern, telling me more about her than she probably intended.

“My father believed every room should feel as tense as he did,” I say. “My mother dealt with that by deciding every argument was temporary until eventually there was only hostile silence.”

Scarlet lowers her glass slowly. “They stayed together?”

“Oh, absolutely. Miserably. With life-long commitment.”

A laugh escapes her before she can catch it. It’s rich and real, the kind that sounds surprised at itself.

Warmth unfurls in my chest. I keep going before I start examining it too carefully. “You learn to read people quickly in houses like that. Tone changes. Breathing patterns. The difference between quiet because everybody’s comfortable and quiet because the next wrong word is going to start a fight.”

Her smile fades carefully around the edges. “That’s a depressing childhood skill.”

“Turns out it’s useful professionally.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

No. It isn’t.

Rain thickens outside, drumming harder against the porch roof. Scarlet moves toward the old icebox and pulls out a pitcher of sweet tea before pausing midway through pouring herself more. “You want some?”

The question carries more hope than an offer of tea should. She’s opening a small door and waiting to see whether I’ll walk through it.

“Yes.”

When she hands me the drink, our fingers brush. Her breath catches shallow in her throat, and her scent shifts in the way it does when her omega answers before she can hide it.

My beta registers the pull between us and the way her sweetness threads through the kitchen air. The instinct is calmer than an alpha’s and considerably more patient, a low, steady recognition, like tuning into a frequency that has been there the whole time.

My thumb passes once across the side of her finger. “Still okay?”

Her green eyes meet mine. “Yes.”

The single word warms her scent further. I take the glass before either of us turns the kitchen counter into a place neither of us can pretend is neutral afterward.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is softer than usual.

I take a long sip of tea. “For the record, Wes absolutely believes these notebooks are a threat to national security.”

Scarlet snorts softly and moves toward the back door. “Wes thinks most things are a security vulnerability.”

“He had hobbies once.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“He restores old motorcycles.”

She blinks at me. “That somehow makes him more intimidating.”

“Correct.”

Another low roll of thunder moves through the swamp.

Scarlet pushes open the screen door. “Come on.”