Chapter 9 #2
She nodded, her shoulders hunching like she was trying to make herself smaller. "If he set it, that puts him on the same list as the developers. Money and control. Two of his favorite things."
Colby thought about the man he'd seen on the sidewalk, leaning against the building like he owned the whole block. That easy smile aimed at the barista. The expensive jacket, the good shoes, the air of someone who'd never been told no in a way that stuck.
"He's on Diaz's list," Colby said. "That matters. She's not going to let him slide just because he's got a good smile and knows how to work a room."
Sabrina looked away, toward the window, toward the light that didn't care about any of this. "Then there's the third thing she said. Strangers. People who came through the inn that I turned away or who left angry."
He frowned. "How often did that happen?"
"More than you'd think," she said. "We only had so many rooms. Summer festivals, wedding weekends, holiday rushes.
.. I couldn't house everyone who wanted a bed.
Most people understood. They'd shrug, ask if I knew anywhere else in town with availability, and wish me well. Some didn't take it that gracefully."
"Anybody stand out?" he asked. "Someone who got really angry? Not just disappointed, but actively hostile?"
She stared at some point past his shoulder, sifting through years of memories, faces blurring together.
"There was a couple last fall who got loud when I couldn't fit them in.
But they were drunk. Came back the next morning to apologize and buy breakfast." She paused.
"There was a man about two years ago who told me I'd 'regret this' when I wouldn't bump another guest to make room for him.
Something about how he was more important than whoever was in the room he wanted.
I wrote his name down at the time and then forgot about it when nothing happened. "
"You have records? Guest ledgers?"
Her laugh was brittle. "Had. The guest ledgers are all ash now. Along with everything else."
He nodded slowly. "Right."
Sabrina let out a rough breath, her whole body seeming to deflate. "I hate this. This feeling. Like I have to look over my shoulder in my own town again. Like anyone I pass on the street might be the person who decided to burn down my life."
Again.
He heard the way she said it. Quiet. Tired. Weighted with years of looking over her shoulder at a different threat, one who wore good suits and counted her glasses.
He reached over and covered her hand with his. "You're not on your own this time."
"I know." Her fingers curled around his, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath her feet. "I just... I don't want to spend the rest of my life jumping at shadows and suspecting everyone who ever rang my doorbell."
"You won't," he said. "But until Diaz has a name and a case she can make stick, we stay careful. That's not paranoia. That's smart."
Her gaze flicked up to meet his. "Careful, as in... you wrapping me in bubble wrap and locking me in a closet?"
"Careful as in me doing what I'm good at.
" He lifted their joined hands, pressed his thumb along the back of hers in slow, soothing strokes.
"I can't control what Gavin does or doesn't do.
I can't undo whatever some angry guest might have decided.
But I can control this house. I can make it harder for anyone to get close without us knowing. "
She squinted at him. "That sounds like a very Colby way of saying 'I'm about to overdo it.'"
He stood, tugging her gently up with him. "Come on. Let me show you what I'm thinking."
He walked the perimeter of the small house with her, room by room, pointing out the features and flaws he'd cataloged in his head since he first signed the papers.
The deadbolt on the front door was solid, recently replaced.
The latch on the back door was older but functional.
He tested each window in sequence, checking how smoothly they moved, whether the locks engaged properly.
Most of them cooperated. The one in the spare room, the room she'd been sleeping in, stuck halfway open and refused to budge further.
"That's not great," he muttered, forcing it closed with more effort than should have been necessary.
"I'll live," she said, watching him work.
"You will," he agreed. "But I'd rather you didn't have to climb out a stuck window in the dark if something goes sideways. Windows should open when you need them to."
She folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorframe. "You really think he'd come here? To your house?"
"I don't know what he'd do," Colby said honestly. "That's the problem. I don't know him, don't know his patterns, don't know how far he's willing to go. Until I do, I treat him like he might do anything. That's how you stay ahead."
He moved to the hall closet, reached up to the top shelf, and pulled down a small cardboard box he'd shoved there when he moved in and never thought about again. Inside was a set of battery-powered motion sensors he'd bought on impulse and never installed.
"I picked these up when I first got the place," he said. "Meant to set them up and then life got in the way."
She raised an eyebrow. "You own motion sensors and forgot to put them up? You, the man who notices when a cabinet hinge is off by two degrees?"
"Life got busy," he said. "Consider this me catching up."
He stuck one sensor near the front door, positioning it so it would catch anyone approaching from the porch. Another went by the back entrance. A third mounted high on the wall near the hallway, covering the route between the bedrooms and the rest of the house.
Each one blinked to life with a tiny red light when he tested it, and a soft chime confirmed that the motion detection was active.
"If anything trips those, they chime," he explained. "Not high tech, nothing fancy. But better than nothing. Better than wondering."
"So in addition to the sticky cabinet and the squeaky faucet, I now have a robot army," she said.
"The cabinet and faucet build character," he said. "These tell you if someone's where they shouldn't be."
He opened the junk drawer in the kitchen, rummaged until he found a pack of wooden shims, and then went to each of the windows. He wedged the shims into the tracks, creating resistance that would slow anyone trying to force them open from outside.
"This won't stop a determined person," he said, testing one. "But it'll give us time. A few extra seconds of noise before they get through."
"Us," she echoed softly.
"Yeah." He met her eyes. "Us."
She watched him for a long moment, something working behind her expression. "I don't want to be the woman who can't walk across a room without a chaperone. I spent years feeling like I needed permission to exist. I don't want to go back to that."
"You're not," he said. "You're the woman who's smart enough to let someone stand next to her while the world's being weird. There's a difference between needing a babysitter and accepting backup."
Her mouth flattened like she wanted to argue, then gradually eased. "So I'm not a damsel, I'm a project manager with a security consultant."
"Exactly. You're in charge. I'm just... infrastructure."
She exhaled, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "Okay. I can live with that framing."
He stepped back, surveying the small house with fresh eyes.
The locks were basic but solid. The motion sensors added a layer of early warning.
The shims would buy them precious seconds if anyone tried the windows.
It still didn't feel like enough. It might never feel like enough, not until Diaz had a name and a pair of handcuffs ready.
But it was something. It was what he could control.
Sabrina reached for his hand again, as if she could read the restless calculation still running through his head. "If you turn this place into a fortified bunker, I'm going to start labeling your tools with passive-aggressive sticky notes."
"That's fair," he said. "I'm aiming for secure, not suffocating."
"Good." She squeezed his fingers. "Because I'm on board with alarms and locks and sensible precautions. I am not on board with you installing a tracking chip in my ankle."
"Tracking chip wasn't on the list," he said. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."
Her laugh came easier this time, some of the genuine warmth returning. "You're trying to help. I know that. I'm grateful, even when I'm being difficult about it."
He turned his hand in hers and laced their fingers together properly. "We're facing this together. That's the whole point. Not me deciding everything while you sit in a corner. Together."
Her gaze softened, the hard edges of worry smoothing into something closer to hope. "Together sounds... really nice, actually. I'm not used to it, but I'm trying to get there."
He leaned in and brushed a quick kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of his own shampoo in her hair. "Good. Because I'm kind of attached to you at this point."
Her eyes went bright, suspiciously shiny, but she smiled. "You're not half bad yourself, Landon."