“Tomorrow. Right. The event. Where I will be professional and not break any laws.”
“Setting the bar high.”
“I’m an overachiever.”
I’m pulling away when my phone rings. Lily. I answer. “I’m alive.”
“Oh, thank God. I was about to call the police. What happened? Tell me everything.”
I glance in my rearview mirror. All three men are standing in front of the house, watching me drive away.
“I have so much to tell you,” I say.
“Then spill.”
And I do…
6
NOEL
I’ve tracked fugitives through three states, tackled armed suspects in dark alleys, and once spent eighteen hours in a freezing surveillance van waiting for a bail jumper to surface.
None of that prepared me for standing in a petting zoo.
The festival grounds are packed, with families everywhere, kids running between food stalls selling kettle corn and funnel cakes, and bounce castles inflated and busy in the distance. Christmas music blares from speakers, competing with the general roar of happy chatter. The kind of scene I normally avoid. Too many people, too much noise, too many variables I can’t control. When you spend your days hunting criminals, you learn to prefer quiet spaces where you can see threats coming.
But somehow, I’m here.
And surprisingly, it’s not as bad as I expected.
Maybe because I can’t stop watching Hannah.
She’s everywhere at once, checking the fence line around the petting zoo, adjusting the hand-painted signs we hung this morning, talking to the teenager manning the ticket booth. She’swearing dark jeans that fit her perfectly and a cream-colored sweater. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a few dark strands escaping to frame her face.
Every time she moves, I catch a hint of her scent on the breeze. Sweet sugar-cookies, coffee, and marshmallow, faint but unmistakable. Delicious enough to eat.
It’s been driving me insane since yesterday.
The petting zoo itself appears decent. We set it up at dawn with a large shared pen with five-foot fences, reinforced gates for controlled entry and exit, all the animals in one place. Two reindeer are in the back corner for now, already drawing stares from people passing by. Our goats are all over the place, the sheep we borrowed are huddled together looking nervous, and that miniature horse Kane insisted on bringing is living its best life near the entrance. Then the chickens and bunnies are having the time of their lives going everywhere. While the fair is running, the petting zoo doors haven’t opened yet.
“Noel!” Hannah is waving at me from the entrance to the small building attached to the petting zoo, the makeshift office. “Can you guys come inside for a sec before we open up?”
I catch Chris’s attention—he’s double-checking water troughs—and jerk my head toward the building. Kane is already heading that way, abandoning his goat supervision.
The structure looks absurd from the outside. Someone painted it to resemble a cartoon elf house, complete with oversized candy cane decorations flanking the door and a shingled roof. There’s a wreath on the door with bells that jingle when Hannah pushes it open.
Inside is better.
One large room, maybe fifteen by twenty feet, with wooden walls painted white and an exposed-beam ceiling. There’s a folding table against the far wall covered in supplies—first aid kit, bottled water, extra animal feed, clipboards with paperwork.A few folding chairs scattered around and it’s warm. Someone hung a mirror on the wall, probably for costume checks or last-minute appearance fixes.
It’s functional. Cozy, even.
And the second the door shuts behind us, Hannah’s scent floods me in full force. I have to lock my jaw to keep from inhaling deeply like some kind of creep.
I’ve spent years learning to control my reactions. Bounty hunting requires it. You can’t let suspects see you rattled, can’t let fear or attraction or anger show on your face when you’re trying to talk someone into custody.
But this is different. I force myself to focus on her face instead of drowning in her scent.
