Page 78 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Her face drains of color. “That’s what they all say at first. You think I’m behind this, that I’m the one breaking bonds.”

The fear in her voice doesn’t match what I said. Her reaction looks too much like the distortion I’ve seen in GatorX cases. I have seen that wild look in motel rooms and hospital bays. GatorX victims turn reassurance into accusation and care into threat when the drug corrupts what passes through an established bond.

But Scarlet isn’t bonded. There is no bite bond between us for GatorX to scramble that way. Which means either I’m looking at ordinary fear that looks like GatorX distortion, or whatever is happening here reaches farther than we already understand.

I lower my voice. “Listen to me. I’m not accusing you.”

Her gaze moves to my hands, then my face, then the water. “That’s what Tom did. He brought the file and waited for me to make it worse.”

“I’m not Tom.”

“You’re an investigator.”

“Yes.”

“You saw my grandmother’s note.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re looking at me like evidence.”

That lands closer than I want it to. I have been looking. At the way she reacts before she speaks. At the knowledge she carries. At the swamp responding to her presence in ways I don’t understand.

I’ve also been looking at her mouth. Her body. The places my hands have touched and the places they haven’t yet. I haven’t been neutral about Scarlet Sage since I scented her in the bakery. I’m not going to insult her by pretending otherwise. “I’m looking at you because you’re scared,” I say. “And because I want you. Neither one makes you guilty.”

Her breath catches. The air between us thickens despite the shade.

Ollie kills the engine.

The sudden silence leaves only water lapping against metal, insects humming in the leaves, and Scarlet’s uneven breathing.

I hold out my hand, palm up. “I won’t grab you or make you stay on this boat if you want off. No moving closer unless you ask.”

Her scent trembles through the humid air.

My alpha hates the distance.

Scarlet swallows. “You sound like you practiced that.”

“I learned from watching people get hurt when nobody gave them choices.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and I watch her fight with what she knows. Fear pulls her one way, recognition pulls her the other, the two of them visible in the tightness around her mouth and the grip of her hands against the bench.

Then she puts her hand in mine. Carefully. As if she is deciding with every inch.

Her fingers curl against my palm, and warmth spreads through me from the point of contact. Her body shudders once, barely visible. Then her breathing eases and her scent warms enough that every instinct I have digs deep into restraint.

She keeps holding my hand even while fear remains sharp in her scent. Whatever she’s fighting, I’m not doing much better.

“That’s it,” I say. “Stay with what’s real.”

Her laugh comes out shaky. “That sounds very official.”

“I can make it technical if you want.”

“Please don’t.”

Ollie, to his credit, keeps his mouth shut.