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A sudden burst of sadness welled up — sharp and unexpected.

She didn’t attach meaning to things.

And yet—

Her bedroom … destroyed.

She gave a scoffing laugh. “Get over it. Assess it. Same as any disaster scene.”

Safety first. Clear the glass.

Then mop up the water.

A quick trip to the kitchen provided a trash can, gloves, and a broom. She picked out the larger shards first, then started sweeping the smaller pieces together.

Then she became aware of the silence. The lashing wind had eased, the thunder and lightning gone. Just a soft patter of rain remained. She’d been busy for several minutes. Where was Ronan?

Oh. Oh.

No!

She dropped the broom and bolted, skidding to a stop in the doorway of her open office.

Ronan stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

Photos. Strings. Notes.

A man’s face pinned dead center.

Computer monitors flickering with live feeds.

“The fuck, Felicity?”

She looked at it like an outsider — suspicious as hell.

The board she could explain away. Work.

The security feeds — one of them his house — not so much.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she whispered, crossing the threshold.

He gave her a withering look, then pointed at the monitors, one by one.

“That’s my place. Beau’s house. Nate’s. Books ’n Bakes.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” Except it was.

His eyebrows climbed beneath his disheveled hair. “This should be good. Because it sure looks like you’re spying on us.”

“Come on, Ronan. You know me…” She trailed off, hearing how weak that sounded.

He stepped closer. “Right. See. That’s the problem. I don’t know you, Felicity. You keep yourself so locked down, nobody gets in. And this…” His arm swept the room. “This says you’re doing it for a reason. You wanna share?”

“I…” The words caught. She swallowed. “I can’t.”

His jaw tightened. “So, if I go to the sheriff and tell him his deputy’s spying on him, you think he’ll take kindly to that?”

“You can’t do that.” She grabbed his arm. “Please, Ronan. I’m not spying — I’m…”