Page 85 of Lucky Haven

“In the middle of the night? Where are you going?”

I think about lying to her. Just for a second. It would be easy to shrug her question off, to deflect or misdirect. Or just outright tell her a fake plan.

But Haven deserves to know what I’m thinking at the same moment that I’m thinking it. “I need to go back to New Harvest.”

“Nobody’s there at midnight.” Her eyes go wide. “You want to break into my uncle’s church?”

“I left something there. We’re just retrieving it. Middle of the night is the perfect time to get what we need without anyone interfering.”

“You didn’t leave anything there.”

“Says who?”

She stares at me. Then she gestures at her dress. “I can’t start my criminal career dressed like this.”

“You’re not coming with me.”

“The hell I’m not.”

“Oh, well if you’re cursing…”

“Cash, I’m not letting you do whatever your insane plan is without me. In fact, if you want something retrieved, it should be me who does it.”

“You aren’t going in there alone.”

“Then we’re in agreement. You’ll come with me.” Before I can argue, she darts to her bedroom. I follow, leaning against the doorway to watch as she changes into black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. She also packs a bag with what she wants to take back to the ranch, and before we leave her apartment again, she hands me a knit black toque. “You can’t wear your cowboy hat to do whatever we’re about to do.”

“Smart.” I curve my hand around the back of her neck and hold her still. “I’m not going to put you at risk. I promise you. We’re just gonna go and take pictures of the register book at the front of the church.”

Her eyes flare in shock.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it when we were there. We walked right past a book that has exactly what we need—samples from everyone who might hate you for something you never did.”

I’m furious with her uncle all over again. Fred Bingham has everybody’s fucking handwriting in a book. He knew that we came to see him weeks ago. He’s known all along that he could help me figure out whose handwriting was on that first note, and he didn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care about his niece, and he’s to blame for this note tonight, one way or another.

So I don’t fucking care about him.

Haven, though…

I care about her so fucking much.

Which means doing this smart.

I kiss her hard on the mouth, then pat her ass. “Let’s go. You can tell me what you remember about the security system at the church on the way there.”

We park on an access road that runs behind the church, in the dark shadows of a cluster of trees.

The moon is cooperating by hiding behind clouds that have rolled in, so it’s pretty dark as we carefully approach the property limits.

Every door has video cameras, which is standard. What I grilled Haven on was window access. Which rooms have video cameras inside the church, and which windows she remembers being open, maybe to let in a summer breeze.

My clever girl immediately figured out the best plan of action.

“You sure your uncle’s office won’t have videos in it?”

“Completely certain. He would consider it a violation of a solemn space where he helps people commune with God. And he often keeps the current register on his desk, but even if the most recent one isn’t there, one of the complete ones might be good enough.”

“That’s the plan, then. I’m going to throw some shit, try to trigger any motion sensor lights, see if I can map a dead zone through which we can access his window.”