CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I threw my hand over my mouth, muffling the shriek that escaped from my constricting lungs. Heart hammering, I raced back in the direction of my purse, running into the table and another chair before finally reaching it.
A second crash shattered the silence.
And then another.
Tears coursed down my cheeks. I riffled through my bag, searching desperately for my phone. Where was it?
I whimpered. Was someone in here with me? Silently walking toward me? A strangled cry escaped my throat as I thrust my hand deeper into my purse.
My fingers closed around my phone. I whipped it out, thrusting the light from the screen between me and the door. I half expected to see someone standing there ready to strike, but the light panned across the table and the chair I'd knocked over.
I sagged onto the couch, my hands shaking as I unlocked the phone. I had a new text from Chris. Police released the building. Just wanted to let you know. I can get back in there tomorrow. I dismissed the message with a swipe of my finger, barely registering what it said.
I called 9-1-1 and waited for the operator to connect. "9-1-1, what's your—"
"I'm at work," I whispered. "At Camelot Flowers in downtown Star Junction. All the lights went off, and then I heard breaking glass."
"Are you alone, ma'am?" the operator asked calmly.
"Yes," I whispered as I kept my gaze focused on the faint outline of the door across the room. "I'm in the back room."
"Stay where you are. I'm sending a unit to you. What's your name?"
"Okay. Um, my name? It's Gwen. Guinevere Stevens."
"Okay, Guinevere. Help is on the way."
I pressed my back into the couch, wishing I could melt into it and disappear. I didn't hear anything coming from the front of the store, but if I couldn't hear them coming, how could I keep myself safe?
I counted my breaths. One hundred breaths. Still nothing. I flinched. Had the door moved? Was it a shadow?
Then I heard it—feet crunching on broken glass. The phone fell from my hands. I fumbled for it, but the darkness swallowed it. I jumped to my feet, my body torn between running or fighting. Where would I run to? I was trapped.
"Gwen?" a deep voice called from the front of the store.
Finn? A sob escaped my throat, and I crumpled onto the couch.
"Gwen?" Finn called out again.
"I'm in here," I tried to say, but my sobs intensified, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath.
The door banged open, and Finn's large frame filled the doorway. The flashlight in his hand played light around the room until it landed on my tear-streaked face.
"Gwen!" Finn shouted as he ran to me, setting the flashlight on the bench, the light tossing shadows around the dark room. He dropped to his knees in front of me and scanned my body, his hands moving lightly along my arms. "Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?" he asked.
I buried my face in my hands, wracking sobs overtaking my body. All the fear I'd been carrying since finding Justin poured from my body in salty tears. Every time I'd told someone I was fine had only added to the growing pit in my stomach. I'd convinced myself I could live with the pit. Justin was dead. Chris was a suspect. What did I have to complain about?
Finn eased my head up, his hand warm against my chin. "Are you hurt?" he asked again.
"No." I hiccupped and wiped my sleeve across my wet face. "I'm not hurt," I said.
The fear in Finn's eyes melted into relief. "I have officers sweeping the building and surrounding area. Whoever broke the windows is gone," he said.
I nodded my understanding, my tears slowing. The hiccups continued. I pulled in a deep breath and held it.
"You want to get up?" he asked gently. "There's more light out front shining from the street through the broken windows."
"Yeah. Okay," I murmured.
Finn let go of my shoulders and grabbed my hands. "Come on, here you go." He pulled until I was standing. We stood there, a breath apart, his hands still wrapped around mine.
"I dropped my phone," I said vacantly. It felt like I was mentally wading through quicksand.
Finn let go of my hands and said, "Oh, okay. Let's find it." He talked to me in low, soothing tones I would've normally found condescending. Right now, though, it was the only thing tethering me to the small bit of composure I had left.
He picked up the flashlight and swept the beam over the floor. My brain was moving at half speed, and my body seemed to be following suit. "How are you here?" I asked. "I called 9-1-1."
Finn picked up my phone and my purse, looping it over his shoulder. He directed me toward the door, his hand planted on the small of my back. "I was home, and I heard the call go out on the scanner. When I heard your name, I jumped into my truck and raced over here," he said.
We reached the door, and I faltered. What if Finn was wrong? What if whoever had broken in was out there waiting for me? Finn set his hands firmly on my shoulders and spoke soothingly into my ear as if reading my mind, "I promise it's safe. No one is out there."
I took a slow, shaky breath and nodded, steeling myself. Finn reached over my shoulder and pushed the door open. I turned the corner and circled the front counter. An officer stood with his back to us. The light from his flashlight played across a scattered pile of broken glass. In the center lay a large rock. He glanced over his shoulder, and I recognized the boyish face of Nick Holmen.
With Uncle Stan being the police chief, I'd spent time with all the officers and their families at summer BBQs, fall bonfires, even precinct Christmas parties.
"Hey, Nick," I said weakly.
"Gwen," he said in greeting before turning to Finn, all business. "You need to see this."
Finn gave my shoulder a squeeze of reassurance and walked over. The officer handed Finn a pair of gloves, and he snapped them on while crouching down to examine the rock.
I wandered closer as Finn flipped the rock over. It was about the size of a grapefruit but flatter. I'd seen rocks like that in large piles at Palmer's rock yard. The words BACK OFF were scrawled in white across the craggy surface of the rock.
My breath caught in my throat, and Finn twisted to look up at me. He grimaced and stood. "I'm taking you home," he said resolutely. He looked back at the officer. "I'll be back in twenty minutes to process the scene. Don't let anyone touch anything."
"Got it," the officer said.
Finn turned to me and asked, "Where's your car? I'll follow you home and make sure you get in okay."
"Make sure I get in okay? Why wouldn't I get in okay?" I asked in confusion.
Finn glanced at the officer and took my elbow, leading me back toward the front counter. "I think whoever killed Justin just made it very clear how they feel about you asking questions around town," he said, his tone firm but his expression worried. He ran his hand over his short, dark beard. "Am I safe to assume you've still been talking to people about this?"
I shrugged noncommittally.
Finn's lips tightened into a thin line. "That's what I thought. Let's get you home," he said.
We headed toward the shattered front door as the space flooded with light. I winced against the sudden brightness. Tommy came jogging around the corner. "The breaker box is outside," he said, holding up a large padlock. "The padlock's been cut. Whoever did this flipped the main breaker."
I shivered, both from the cold night air whistling through the broken glass and the thought of someone plotting to plunge me into darkness.
"Thanks, Tommy," Finn said. "I already told Nick, but make sure no one touches anything until I get back."
"Understood," Tommy said before stepping through the hole in the glass of the front door. Both windows on either side were also shattered.
"The flowers," I said, groaning. "They're going to die from the cold air."
Finn set his hands on his hips and surveyed the damage. "We'll board up the windows and doors before we leave tonight. We wouldn't want to leave the scene unsecured anyway," he said.
This was all too much. "You don't have to do that," I argued. "I'm sure that's not in your job description." A new thought occurred to me, and I tunneled my hand through my hair. "I'm going to have to tell my parents. They're going to insist on coming back from their trip early."
"Let's worry about one thing at a time," Finn reassured. "Where's your car?"
"Just over there," I said, pointing down the street to where my car was parked alone this late in the evening.
I moved toward it, but Finn put his hand out and said, "Hold on."
"Finn, I just want to go home," I complained.
"Something's not right with your car," he said warily. He jogged toward the car, stopping on the passenger side and staring at the front tire with his arms crossed. "Change of plans," he said briskly as he headed back toward me. "I'm going to drive you home in my truck. It's just around the corner."
"No, I need my car. I need to run errands tomorrow, and I have to come to work. It's cold. I can't walk," I said. I was vaguely aware I sounded like something between a whiny child and a petulant teenager.
Finn stepped between me and my car and said, "Driving your own car home isn't an option. I'll get you home, and then we'll figure how to get you where you need to go tomorrow after everyone's gotten some sleep."
I pushed past him. "Why can't I drive my own…" I started, but I trailed off, staring dumbfounded at the front tire of my car. The red handle of a giant screwdriver glinted in the light of the streetlamp. Just like the one used to kill Justin.
The next ten minutes were a blur as I let Finn guide me to his truck without further complaint and leaned against the window as he drove me home, my thoughts scattered. Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of my house.
"Stay in the truck," Finn commanded as he parked the truck by the curb. "Lock the doors. I'm going to check and make sure everything's okay with your house. I'll be right back."
Before I could respond, Finn was out of the truck and jogging toward my front door. Finn disappeared around the corner of the house. I waited for a minute, but he didn't reappear. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Nine o'clock.
I sent a quick text to my mom and dad, knowing they'd hear the news by morning. There'd be hell to pay if I didn't tell them first. I assured them I was okay, the store was okay, and I was handling the repairs. Too bad I had no idea how to handle any of this. I'd figure it out.
My parents were getting closer to retirement, something they'd never do if they thought running the store was too much for me. Not because they didn't trust me with the store but because they loved me too much to put that burden on me. I didn't tell them how personal the threat had been or how it was obviously connected to Justin's murder. The less they knew about that the better.
I pressed Send and said a little prayer they were already asleep and wouldn't see it until morning. Next, I texted the girls from book club, letting them know I was home. I didn't mention the break-in. They'd only feel bad for not staying. News of the break-in would be all over town by tomorrow anyway.
I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. I imagined trudging up my narrow staircase. I'd strip off my clothes, put on my fuzziest pajamas, and pull the covers up over my head.
A tap at the window startled me. I looked up to see Finn waiting, his breath puffing into the night air. He backed up, and I opened the door, climbing out with my purse clutched in my hand.
"Waking you up in cars is becoming a habit," he said warmly. If it was possible to hear a smile in someone's voice, this moment was it. The small smile slipped off his face, replaced with concern as he added, "I checked the house. Doors and windows appear to be intact. Nothing looks suspicious. I'd like to check inside if that's okay with you."
"If you think it's necessary," I said, sounding exhausted.
"I do," he said simply.
I sighed and led the way up the path. I used my key to open the pale-blue door and walked inside, flicking the switch that controlled the recessed light over the fireplace. "Do you mind if I change while you look around?" I asked.
"You going to a part of the house I haven't checked kind of defeats the purpose of me checking," he explained with a gentle smile.
I tossed my purse on the mid-century modern armchair in pale yellow that I'd found at a flea market last summer and sank down on the couch. "Check away," I said. "I'll be here when you're done."
Finn headed toward the kitchen, and I pulled a fuzzy blanket off the back of the gray couch, wrapping it around my body. Finn reappeared a few minutes later and declared the house free of intruders. I untangled myself from the blanket and threw it over the arm of the couch.
I met him by the stairs and laid a hand on his arm. "Thanks for coming tonight. Judging from the lack of a fancy suit, I'm guessing it's your night off," I said as I scanned his dark jeans and light-blue hoodie. "It really means a lot."
"I had to see what kind of trouble Gwen Stevens had gotten herself into this time," he said. His mouth twitched with a barely concealed smile.
"Watch it," I said as I swatted his chest.
Finn gazed down at me, his whiskey-brown eyes glowing in the dim light above the fireplace. "Believe me, I am," he whispered.
We held each other's gaze for a moment saturated with possibility. Despite my exhaustion, Finn's words both soothed and excited me. All these feelings could only mean one thing—it was time to walk away. "I better get to bed. Do you mind locking the door behind you? All you do is turn the latch on the knob and pull it shut," I explained.
Finn looked at my front door. "You don't have a deadbolt?" His tone left no question as to what he thought about this news.
"No?" I said, my voice rising high at the end.
"I'll come over tomorrow and install one," Finn said as if it was decided. "You can't trust these flimsy door handle locks."
I stepped onto the first stair, bringing my face level with his. I was too tired to argue with him about this. I patted his chest. "Okay, Finlay. If you think I need one, you're more than welcome to install it," I said.
Finn smirked, amusement flickering in his brown eyes. "Finlay?"
"Not it?" I asked flirtatiously.
He leaned in, his breath brushing warm against my lips and whispered, "Not even close."
Before I could respond, before I could get my brain to form a coherent thought, he turned and walked out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him.