Page 148 of What We Become

Whoever did this didn’t simply find an empty house.

They knew exactly when it was safe to enter.

“So someone walked into a heavily monitored house, removed Micah’s flowers, replaced them with sunflowers, and left without anyone noticing.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“Wonderful. That’s much worse than porch flowers.”

I set my laptop on the coffee table and head into the kitchen. Holden has already turned the counter into a crime scene, complete with black gloves and several clear evidence bags he must keep in his car for emergencies. Most people carry jumper cables and a first-aid kit. My boyfriend carries a mobile homicide laboratory.

“Don’t touch anything,” he says from the doorway.

I glance over my shoulder. Sage has come downstairs, swallowed by one of our T-shirts, her face pale and her arms folded tightly across her middle.

I hate the flowers for making her look like that.

“Hey, kitten.”

Her expression crumples before she charges straight toward me and buries her face against my chest.

I wrap my arms around her automatically, feeling the slight tremor running through her frame. She’s breathing too fast, the shallow panic breaths I recognize from the nights she wakes up gasping and pretends she was just thirsty.

“Hey,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t answer, just presses closer. Her fingers dig into my back through my shirt, then her shoulders set, and she starts hauling her own breathing back down by hand.

“How did they get in the house, Milo?” Her voice comes out muffled by my chest.

I let out a heavy breath and hold her a little tighter. “I have no idea, kitten. But I’m going to find out.”

She nods against me, and I release her as she steps back, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Micah appears beside her and catches her by the shoulders. “Let’s go sit down, baby girl. Give these guys some space.”

“I don’t want to sit,” Sage responds. “I want to stay right here.”

“Okay. I’ll stay with you then.”

Sage lets out a breath and leans against him.

“What have you learned so far?” I ask Holden, who just clenches his jaw.

“Zilch. I’m dusting the vase for prints.”

“It’s our vase. It’s going to have all our prints on it.”

“Then I’ll eliminate all of yours.”

“Do you have my fingerprints on file?”

Holden gives me a flat look.

I smile despite everything. “Aw. You do collect sentimental keepsakes.”

He goes back to dusting.

Knox has already searched every room, cupboard, and cavity large enough to hold a person. He’s now moving around the perimeter outside, checking locks and windows with the kind of concentration that suggests he intends to intimidate the house into telling him what happened.

I pull the security tablet from its mount and open the logs.