Chapter 33 Maya
MAYA
Nothing happened.
Midday came and went, and the sky didn’t fall. There were no knocks on the door. No black SUVs. Just silence.
I’d been a wreck—shaky hands, jumpy nerves, the works. And Noah? He stayed right there. Never left my side.
And he hadn’t stopped there.
The days that followed were a minefield of calm and caution. He let me stick to my routine of early mornings at Butterberry Oven, grocery lists, and my usual hours behind the counter. But I wasn’t going anywhere alone. Not really.
There were check-ins, constant ones. Calls, quick texts, and his voice in my ear every few hours like a reminder that I wasn’t doing this by myself.
It wasn’t suffocating. Not quite. But just when I thought I couldn’t take another day of being “Noahed” to death, he surprised me.
With an apology.
A real one. Unvarnished, vulnerable, and so him.
And then, he made it up to me. Not by pulling back. Not by loosening the reins. But by asking me out to dinner.
Maggie’s was a staple in Buffaloberry Hill, with a handwritten sign that read: If You Leave Hungry, That’s on You.
The place smelled of fresh coffee, griddled butter, and something sweet—maybe the day’s pie special.
The usual crowd filled the booths. Ranchers taking their break, a group of elderly women swapping town gossip, and a couple of teenagers sharing a plate of fries like they were rationing for the apocalypse.
Noah gave me that worn-in grin that made it impossible for me to stay mad at him for long. “Anything you like, my dear,” he said.
I went with the chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes while he ordered the double bacon cheeseburger, a mountain of fries, and a large soda. Because apparently, subtlety wasn’t his thing.
We ate like people who hadn’t been chased by threats, knives, and deadlines.
Halfway through my plate, he slid out of the booth and mumbled something about hitting the bathroom.
“Told you not to gulp the whole soda,” I said.
He held up a finger. “I blame the fries. They were saltier than usual.”
“Sure,” I said. “Couldn’t be that you ordered enough food for three grown men.”
“You say that now,” he said, already on his way to the back, “but you’ll be grateful when you’re stealing my leftovers at midnight.”
I kept picking at my mashed potatoes. They were friggin’ delicious, and I couldn’t help myself, even though I was already hovering somewhere between full and food coma.
The door chimed as another patron stepped in.
It was Sheriff Colton, the town’s lawman. I’d only recently learned that he wasn’t stationed here full time. Buffaloberry fell under Ravalli County, which meant his main office was down in Hamilton, the county seat. Buffaloberry Hill had a substation and two deputies to manage the day-to-day.
But it wasn’t Colton who turned my stomach.
It was the other man.
He looked different without glasses. Something was off about his eyes. Maybe colored contacts to match the hair. But it was him. He walked in like he knew he didn’t fit. The suit was tailored and city-worn. It was the wrong kind of polished, the wrong kind of calm.
Harlow.
My fork stalled halfway to my mouth, the mashed potatoes losing all their appeal.
The men’s eyes found me at the same time.
Sheriff Colton cleared his throat, shifting back slightly on his heels. “Miss Belrose,” he said, tipping his hat with a nod. “Don’t believe you’ve met Detective Frederic Harlow.”
Harlow didn’t bother with the small-town charm. “I’ll take it from here, sheriff,” he said, barely looking at Sheriff Colton.
Sheriff Colton hesitated for a beat, maybe even considered sticking around, but then he turned and stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Harlow helped himself to the booth, sliding in across from me like we were friends catching up over coffee.
I moved to stand.
Harlow’s hand flattened against the table, a motion meant to halt me before he even needed to say a word. “I just want to talk.”
Talk.
Yeah, right.
That wasn’t the kind of thing you strolled up and said on a friendly visit. Not when you were the kind of man who operated in shadows and loopholes, when you twisted justice until it served your pocket rather than the law.
The diner had gone quieter. It was not completely silent—Maggie wouldn’t allow that—but enough for the shift in atmosphere to be felt.
Enough for a few curious glances to flicker my way.
I wasn’t after a scene, and the last thing I needed was the gossip mill churning before I had my next move figured out.
So, this scumbag had finally caught up to me.
Was this Annamaria’s doing?
She couldn’t come herself, not after sending a ski-mask-wearing thug. She knew she wouldn’t get past Noah. Not with The Lazy Moose crew holding the line.
Elia and Claire would’ve cut her off before she got within shouting distance. And Hank? Right or wrong, big or small, he didn’t ask questions. He defended. Period. And the boys would follow his lead.
So this? This was her next move. Or her father’s. Same difference.
A desperate one.
I’d bet my last dime that she was paying this lowlife a fortune to reach me. Tried going cheap with the first guy and sent a knife, thinking I’d break.
She miscalculated.
“Detective Harlow, how can I be of service?” I asked, keeping my voice smooth and my expression neutral.
Harlow tilted his head, all smug confidence. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?” he mused. “Last time I saw you, Belrose, you were eighteen and running your mouth about how you didn’t do it.”
“I admitted I took the necklace,” I said, unblinking. “But I didn’t assault anyone.”
He chuckled, shaking his head like I was some cute little liar. “Sure. And how about this time? No one was assaulted. But curiously, the same necklace has gone missing.”
“Wow,” I said dryly. “So it wasn’t just me who was after it.”
Harlow’s amusement flickered, then drained away as he leaned in, his voice dropping to something meant to rattle me. “Have you heard about another burglary at the Belrose Mansion?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s kinda far from here to take notice.”
His lips curved, but his eyes stayed sharp as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Where were you on the morning of September thirtieth, between five and seven?”
The exact date I’d fed that thug. So they’d taken the bait.
Harlow was watching me, waiting for the slip, the tell. “Ms. Belrose?”
And then a shadow loomed over the table.
Noah.
He didn’t say a word at first, but the tension in the diner shifted, ready to snap. The charm that usually rounded his edges was gone. What remained was a man who had already assessed the threat level and was one second away from action.
His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was deciding whether to go for words or something more direct. Harlow must’ve sensed the shift because he stiffened, his eyes darting toward the exit.
Noah stepped in close, crowding Harlow. My man was one second away from dragging the cop out of the booth. But he didn’t. Barely.
“You’re at the wrong table, sir.”
Harlow leaned back. Not exactly rattled, but not nearly as smug as before. “Relax, cowboy. We’re just having a chat.”
Noah’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“Yeah, see, that’s the part I’ve got a problem with.
The way you’re talking to her. Like you’ve got some kind of right.
” He smiled then, but it was all a threat.
“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna cut your little chat, get up, and walk out before I decide to stop being polite. ”
“Noah,” I warned.
He stepped aside, giving Harlow a wide path.
Harlow made the right choice, keeping his sorry mouth shut and shuffling his way out of the booth.
Maggie appeared from behind the counter, drying her hands on a dish towel, her eyes sharp as tacks as she glanced between me, Noah, and the detective still dragging his heels. “Noah, everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Maggie,” he said, his voice even but firm. “Sorry about the noise.”
She huffed a chuckle. “Hey, diners thrive on noise! Let me know if you need anything.” Then, after glancing at the out-of-towner, she added, “And I see the sheriff’s just outside.”
Noah’s gaze flicked toward the window, where Sheriff Colton leaned against his cruiser, watching everything unfold.
Harlow straightened his jacket. “Law sure runs loose out here. In my town, threatening an officer would’ve been game over.”
Noah just looked at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t expect you to crack that fast. Guess they don’t build them tough where you’re from.”
“Good night,” Harlow said. But his eyes cut back to me. He couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t leave without taking one more swing. “Let’s keep this simple, Ms. Belrose. Where were you on the morning of September thirtieth, between five and seven?”
I met his stare, spine straight, mouth shut.
Let him wait.
Harlow shook his head as if he were disappointed but not surprised. “Guilty people don’t look afraid like you.”
That was the moment Noah moved. “She was with me,” he said in an iron voice.
“Oh?” Harlow mused. “All morning? Can anyone corroborate that?”
Noah took a step forward. “We’re done here,” he said, his voice dropping to something lethal. “Now get out.”
Harlow gave a smile, like he already had the outcome mapped out in his head. He stepped away, making it halfway to the door before pausing. Then, without looking back, he tossed one last parting shot over his shoulder. “Once a thief, always a thief.”
The diner, which had been buzzing with murmured conversation, went deathly still.
I felt the weight of their stares before I saw them.
Maggie, her lips pressed in a thin line. A couple at the counter, exchanging looks. The old rancher in the corner, shaking his head.
Even the scrape of a fork against a plate sounded loud.
I dropped my gaze, stared at the red leather of the booth, and traced the cracks with my eyes, willing myself not to react. Not to see the shift happening in real time.
And the small-town silence that said, we remember.
Noah’s arm came around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Across the street, Harlow lingered by the sheriff’s cruiser, watching and waiting.
Once we were inside Noah’s truck, I groaned. “Why did you do that?”
“You were with me,” he insisted.
I tried to compute. Chances were, he had been with me. I just hated how he’d gotten involved now.
“Noah—” I bit down the rest, frustration braced tight against the fear starting to stir.
“Maya.”
My heart twisted. The decision to stay, to fight this, suddenly felt like a trap closing in.
“I’ll have to come clean,” I decided.
“No.” His voice was steel. “Not happening.”
“I don’t want to drag you into this. You already did it yourself, but I won’t let you go any further.”
“I’ll go as far as I have to.”
My breath hitched, and my head shook as a tear slipped down my cheek. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to—”
“To what?” His voice sharpened. “Keep you safe?”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple. “Noah, I’m not worth your life.”
His grip on me tightened. “You are.”
My throat clenched. “Do you even know what this means?”
“Of course I do!” His eyes burned into mine. “I know exactly what I’m doing. If you’re guilty, then I am too.”
A war erupted inside me, logic versus emotion, past versus present, fear versus the terrifying pull of hope.
“I’m not letting them take you, Maya,” he said, his voice rough. “So you just have to accept it.”
A single, unsteady breath left my lips.
And then I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging to him so I didn’t shatter completely.
We were tied now. Whatever happened to me didn’t stop at my skin. It reached him too.