Page 81 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“Were they making it here?” I ask.

“No. Not enough structure. Most likely moving product from a larger site. Storing precursor material, maybe. This place looks like it was cleared in a hurry.”

Ollie lifts his chin toward the water. “Wake line through that channel.”

Sawgrass bends in a faint path through black water, opening toward a cut almost hidden beneath hanging moss. It’s fresh enough that the grass hasn’t settled. We missed whoever was here.

A sour taste coats my tongue. “I brought you too late.”

Wes turns. “No.”

The sharpness catches against the fog still lingering in my nerves. Cold spreads beneath my skin. “You think I knew because I’ve used this place.”

His expression falls. “Scarlet, I know you understand the swamp.”

His voice remains low, but my fear twists it anyway. I know something isn’t right, but I can’t figure out what. The overwhelming feeling that I’m trapped sets in, and my lungs reach for air I can’t find. I step back.

Wes doesn’t follow. “Look at me.”

I can’t. Everything inside me pulls tight.

“Scarlet. Look at me.”

Where I expected an alpha’s bark, Wes’s statement comes out more like a question. It cuts through the fog, and I lift my gaze. When I meet his eyes, they are as steady as an old cedar in rain.

“I’m not accusing you. I’m watching what’s happening to you.”

“What’s happening to me?”

“You’re hearing accusation in things I didn’t say. Fear is filling in intent that isn’t there.”

My stomach drops. “But I’m not bonded. How can there be bond distortion?”

“I don’t know.” His voice stays steady. “That’s why this doesn’t fit the GatorX cases we understand.”

My breath catches, and for once, I have no answer ready.

Wes takes off one glove and holds out his hand, palm up.

His steady voice cuts through the fog. “Tell me what’s real.”

I focus on the warmth of his eyes, and it hits me.

I know Wes. He buys extra hush puppies just so I can steal them from his plate, carries me to bed when I’m too tired to keep pretending I’m fine, and leaves his cedar on my skin until my omega remembers how to breathe. He puts himself between me and the town, and he touches me as though my pleasure matters enough to take all the time in the world. With him, I feel like an omega worth being cared for instead of the town bondbreaker everyone learned to leave behind.

And that scares the shit out of me. But I can tell the difference between his questions and Tom’s conclusions, even when fear tries to erase it.

“You’re here,” I say.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t accuse me.”

“No.”

“You stopped when I moved away.”

“Yes.”