Gideon sighed, his hands cupping my jaw as he lifted my face. He smiled softly at me, stroking my cheeks. “I know,” he said. “It’s okay, baby.”
Even now, he was protecting me.
My heart cracked wide open, and tears fell down mycheeks. He kissed them away then caught my lips in his, and I pressed myself up against him as tightly as I could. I couldn’t say the words—not yet—but maybe I could show him. Maybe the knot inside me would loosen, and when it finally came undone, Gideon would still be there, loving me.
“Stop crying,” he chided softly as he kissed my jaw. “I can’t stand it.”
“They’re happy tears,” I said. “I think.”
He huffed a laugh and kissed me harder. We forgot about the movie we were supposed to watch and focused on showing each other what we felt with touches and kisses and strokes.
A while later, when we decided to wander down to the water to look at the full moon and the brightness of the stars, I leaned my head against his arm and felt the shell around my heart crack open.
I wasn’t sure if I would design wedding dresses or plan retreats with Mrs. Gretzinger or take Etta’s investment offer. I wasn’t even sure if I’d do more than make Lola’s dress. But I had the space and time to figure it out. There was no deadline looming in two weeks, because Gideon and I were meant to be. We walked back to the cottage in easy silence. I kept my fingers tangled in Gideon’s. In my heart, there was the soft fluttering of hope.
And then we walked up to the cottage, and reality came crashing back down on top of me.
Blue spray paint covered the blank canvas of the garage door:
GO HOME WHORE
Gideon reached into his pocket for his phone, and Jack’s face appeared a moment later. Gideon’s grip was tight on mine as he said, “I need everything we’ve got surrounding the cottage.”
“Why? What’s… Oh, shit,” Jack said when Gideon flipped the camera to show him. “Sadie okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“We’ll find out who did this,” Jack promised. “You’re one of us now. Got it?”
I looked at Gideon, who was holding back his rage with every fiber of his will. His jaw was stone hard and his eyes blazed. I was one of them. For the first time in my life, I belonged.
I gulped and nodded. “Thank you.”
We made it to the front door as Gideon hovered beside me, scanning the forest. Then we went inside and he told me to stay put, and he methodically cleared every room in the cottage. When he was sure there was no one inside, he came over to me, wrapped me in a hug, and said, “Take what you need for a few days. We’re going somewhere more secure.”
I didn’t protest. I packed up one of my suitcases with the essentials and let Gideon lead me back to the car. He hauled the suitcase into the back once I was settled inside, then got behind the wheel and drove.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“My place.” Gideon’s tone told me he was beyond words, so I sat back and watched the trees and the buildings and the hills go by. We parked outside the Marswood Security building and Gideon hustled me up to the top floor.
His apartment was spartan and clean, but therewere a few touches that reminded me of Gideon. He had a few pictures of his family hanging in the living room, and a fantastic kitchen with all the trimmings. As I snooped, Gideon brought my suitcase to the bedroom. He stalked back out when there was a knock at the door.
He checked the screen next to the door and unlocked the door to admit Jack and Knox. Knox carried a laptop. Bennett was absent.
“We’ve got a car turning onto Maple Street at 9:43 p.m. and back out twelve minutes later,” Jack said, naming the road the cottage was on. “Plates are obscured. We’ll find this asshole.”
“Spray paint seems to be similar to what Mr. Titty’s used to tag around town,” Knox said as he opened his laptop and sat down at the kitchen island. “Can’t be sure it’s the same, though.”
“We just can’t get any footage of this guy—or guys,” Jack added, frustrated. He crossed his arms as he stared at the laptop screen, where Knox was loading up the grainy footage of the car driving onto the cottage road. He pulled up security footage from the front of the house, where a man darted up to spray paint the garage, his face out of view. He looked taller than the other shots of Mr. Titty I’d seen, and his shoes were different.
“You guys think whoever did this is Mr. Titty?” I asked as Knox replayed the video.
“It seems like a logical conclusion,” Jack said, shrugging. “Same spray paint. Escalation of threat.”
Gideon was silent as he glared at the screen, where the video played on a loop.
“This person is wearing dress shoes,” I said. “Mr. Titty had sneakers on in both other shots.”
