Page 92 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Scarlet sits up with shaky hands.

Her scent sharpens with fear, and her hands shake as she reaches for her clothes.

“Scarlet,” Wes says.

“Every time,” she whispers.

“Every time, what?” I ask.

Her green eyes lift to mine, bright with panic she is trying to turn into composure.

“Every time I get close to anyone in this town, bonds break and danger comes looking for whoever stood nearest to me.”

Then the porch light flares white through the front window. The camera alarm starts again.

Chapter 21

Wes Osprey

The camera alert cuts through the room, and every soft part of Scarlet locks. A minute ago, she was warm and loose against Roman’s chest, a quilt over her legs and both our scents worked deep into her skin. Her mouth is swollen from mine. Her hair is tangled from Roman’s hands. Tenderness colors the way she shifts on the couch after taking both of us inside her.

She dresses quickly. Her fingers drag the bright fabric of her skirt into place as though clothing can turn what happened between us into a sealed room no danger can enter.

The sight awakens a violent protectiveness in my chest.

Roman checks his phone first. “Pepper sent a preliminary update.”

I look at mine. The grainy camera feed shows movement near the greenhouse. A pale blur passes through the lower corner. A dark shape bends near the ruined marigold bed before slipping out of frame toward the water side of the property. It’s nothing useful, just enough to know someone is outside.

“Stay inside,” I say.

Scarlet’s head snaps up.

It was the wrong thing to say. The command is already between us, sharp and familiar in all the worst ways. Her honeyed scent collapses beneath panic.

“Right,” she says too calmly. “We’re back to that.”

Roman’s regretful gaze meets mine over her shoulder.

I force my alpha down before instinct turns one bad sentence into another. “That came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.”

Scarlet reaches for her boots beside the couch. The movement pulls her mouth tight, and I know she’s sore even before she pauses to hide it.

My alpha wants to carry her upstairs, lock every door, and handle the threat without letting it breathe near her. But that isn’t how I keep Scarlet Sage. I crouch in front of her rather than standing over her. “I need you with us.”

Her fingers still on the boot leather.

Roman lowers his phone. “That’s better.”

Scarlet studies my face. Fear is twisting the room around her, but she hasn’t disappeared behind it yet. “What did the camera catch?”

“Movement near the greenhouse, not enough to identify anyone.”

She puts on one boot, then the other.