Greta’s stomach clenched. “Shit. Is that why he left the engagement party in such a rush last week?” She stared at the ceiling fan, watching it spin lazy circles above her head. “Ugh. I was an ass to him at that party.”
“You’re an ass to everyone at parties.”
“Not like that.” She remembered the slap, the way his hand had caught her wrist, the heat that had flashed between them. “I was drunk and hurting, and I took it out on him.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Does it count if I only thought about it?”
“No.”
“Then no.” Greta sat up and decided to change the subject before she felt worse.”How’s the campaign going?”
Naomi was running for sheriff, trying to become the first Native woman to hold the office in the county’s history. She had bigger problems than Greta’s inconvenient attraction to a neighbor.
Naomi laughed. “I crushed him in the debate last night. You should’ve been there. It was beautiful.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be. I would’ve loved to see Goodwin’s face. Corrupt asshole shouldn’t be wearing a badge.
“I didn’t say that in the debate, but I may have implied it.”
She snorted. “I’m sure you did. Good for you.”
“Thanks. And how’s the search going? Any new leads?”
Her chest tightened. The search. Alice. The endless, fruitless hunt for her twin sister, who’d disappeared fifteen years ago. Almost sixteen now.
“Nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been up and down every trail within twenty miles of the Crooked Creek campground. Nothing.”
“You’ll find her.” The certainty in Naomi’s voice was the only thing that kept Greta going some days. “I know it.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t have the energy to argue. “Hey, I should go. Client hike at seven tomorrow.”
“Call me if you need anything. And Greta?”
“What?”
“Take the man some banana bread or something sweet. Be neighborly.”
“I don’t bake.”
“You could always roll in some sugar and?—”
“Goodbye, Naomi.” Her best friend’s delighted laugh came through the speaker just as she hung up.
She got up and forced herself to shower, then plodded to the kitchen to make a sandwich, which she ate standing at thecounter while she stared out the kitchen window at Bear’s house. The lights were on downstairs in what she guessed was the living room. Upstairs, a single lamp burned in what must be Logan’s bedroom.
Bear fucking McKenna. Right across the street.
This was going to be a problem.
She closed the curtain with a decisive yank. “We are not thinking about the Sasquatch across the street anymore,” she told Atlas firmly.
Atlas yawned, showing all his teeth in what looked suspiciously like skepticism.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She grabbed it, expecting Naomi again, but it was a security alert for her shop.
“What the hell?” She threw on a hooded sweatshirt over her pajama top and grabbed her Maglite and gun from the kitchen drawer, then shoved her feet into her boots. “Atlas. Let’s go, buddy. Someone’s fucking with my stuff.”
