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“Sarah, this didn’t happen because I came here instead of heading straight home. This happened because the guy is the asshole of all assholes—and I’ve known a lot of assholes.” Hearing a car approach, I turned … only to see a patrol car, driven by none other than Joshua. I groaned. “Speaking of assholes … It had to be him who came, didn’t it?”
Sarah’s landlady, who insisted everyone call her ‘Nana,’ had called the cops after hearing a commotion outside. Unfortunately, the only description Nana could give of the culprit was that he was medium height and medium build, since he’d worn a ski mask and her eyesight wasn’t all that great.
“Really, I hadn’t expected the police to show,” I added. “At least not for a while, anyway. Car vandalism is a low priority around here.”
“You know how protective Nana’s son is of her. He probably pulled some strings to have the police come out here so he could be sure she was okay.”
As Joshua and Bartley slowly walked toward them, Joshua whistled at the sight of the car. “Quite a wreck.” Only once he’d circled the vehicle, taking in every detail, did he look at me. “Hello again, Miss Lyons. Is this your vehicle?”
Like he hadn’t pulled me over dozens of times. “It is.”
“Have you touched it at all since discovering it this way?” asked Bartley as he began to snap photos of the damage from different angles.
“No,” I replied simply.
Joshua pulled out a notepad and pen. “What time did you arrive here, Miss Lyons?”
“I came straight from work. Got here about five-thirty.”
He scribbled on his pad, but it honestly wouldn’t have surprised me if he was simply sketching obscene stickmen or something. “And what time did you leave the building?”
“About twenty minutes ago, when Sarah’s landlady called her, asking if she knew who the blue Nissan in the parking lot belonged to—Nana had called each of her tenants, one by one, asking about the car. We came outside and found it this way.”
“Did you notice anyone following you here?”
I shook my head.
“Anyone loitering around when you parked your car?”
Again, I shook my head.
Joshua rubbed at his jaw. “Interesting that both your car and your old apartment were vandalized recently.”
Yeah, I figured he’d say that.
Bristling, Sarah folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t have said ‘interesting.’ More like ‘awful.’”
Bartley squatted to peek beneath the car as he asked, “Who might wish to do such a thing to your property, Miss Lyons?”
I shrugged. “Any number of people.”
“Can you be more specific?” Joshua clipped, impatient.
“There are plenty of people who find my existence offensive, Joshua. You’re one of them. And I do recall a time when you vandalized my car.” One I’d had as a teenager.
He stiffened, nostrils flaring. “I scratched it with a key, I didn’t—” He cut himself off, cheeks reddening. The confession had come eight years too late, but it was better than nothing. “This is much more than a scratch,” he pointed out.
“Yes, I can see that.”
Standing, Bartley said, “We’ll get someone to come out here and dust it for prints.”
I blinked, surprised they’d bother. Nana’s son obviously had some real pull.
Joshua spoke, “You’ll need to come down to the station and file a report.”
The muscles in my shoulders bunched. I did not want to spend my evening with Joshua in any capacity whatsoever.
Sarah elbowed me. “Here’s Blake.”
My whole system sighed in relief as I caught sight of his Maserati. Moments later, Blake was striding purposely toward me; muscles tight, jaw set into a hard line, exuding a wintry calm.
His hands caught my face. “You okay, baby?”
“I’m fine. As for the car? Not so much.”
He looked at it, lips thinning. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Blake curled an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
Joshua stepped toward us. “She needs to file a report—”
“Tomorrow,” said Blake. “It’s late.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow is fine,” Bartley said, gesturing for Joshua to back off.
Instead, Joshua crossed to us. “Blake, I appreciate that you’re just being protective of your … girlfriend. For that reason, you should want to find out what’s happening. You don’t think it’s a coincidence that both her old apartment and her car have been targeted by vandals, do you? I want to find out who these guys are. It’s my job. And there’s something Kensey isn’t telling me, which is stopping me from doing my job. Bring her down to the station so we can get this sorted out.”
“So eager to believe the worst of her,” mused Blake. “It can’t be that she genuinely doesn’t know who’s doing this, can it? No. It must mean she’s hiding something from you just to make your job harder. Even if she was hiding something, could you honestly blame her for not trusting you to be of any help?”
Joshua’s mouth tightened. “I’m a cop. No matter the victim, I do my job.”
I snorted. “Like you did when I was almost mugged at knifepoint? You didn’t even investigate.”
He lost some of his bluster, and his eyes momentarily dropped to my scar. “You couldn’t give us a description.”
“And I can’t give you a description for you this time. I didn’t see or hear anything.” I shrugged. “So, I guess you have the excuse not to investigate this either.”
Bartley’s eyes darted from me to Joshua, glinting with confusion. Clearly, Joshua hadn’t told him about the mugging. “Buchanan,” he called out. “Let’s go talk to the landlady.”
Once the two men walked away, I blew out a breath and turned to Sarah. “Wait for Bastien inside. I’ll feel better if I know you’re not standing out here on your own.”
She saluted me. “I already have strict instructions to do so from Bastien anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s mega bossy.” Backing up, she gave Blake a stern look. “You take care of my girl.”
He frowned. “She’s my girl.”
Laughing, Sarah turned and headed inside the building.
As I climbed into his Maserati, I let out a tired sigh and clicked on my seat belt. “You know, I didn’t realize how much I liked my car until I saw it all banged up.”
Beginning a slow drive out of the lot, Blake rubbed my thigh. “When you said it had been trashed, I didn’t think you meant it was that bad.”
“I’ll have to rent a car while I wait for the insurance money to come through.”
“I have a spare you can use.”
My brow creased at his ever so casual tone. “You have a spare car?”
“Yeah.” He stopped at a red light. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t like the idea of you driving any car after what’s just happened. As I was coming here to pick you up, I was thinking of just chauffeuring you everywhere so that I know you’re okay. But it struck me that Smith could be banking on that. He might not want you to have a car for some reason, and I’d rather you did in case you ever need one. It makes sense for you to use my spare until the insurance company coughs up the money.”
