Chapter 27
Luke finished eating and knew he needed to leave.
Not because Jenna had done anything wrong. But watching her jump back into her old roles had done something to his chest that he wasn’t ready to examine.
He carried his plate to the sink and stood there a moment longer than he needed to.
The Emily situation hadn’t left him since Micah’s call. The young woman had done nothing more than show up to work, wait on a table, and maybe exchange a few words with the wrong person. Now she was in a hospital bed, and no one could say yet what the damage was.
That was what this was. That was what had followed Jenna home.
He didn’t blame her. He knew, in the part of him that was still thinking clearly, that she hadn’t chosen any of this. But knowing that and feeling it were two different things, and right now the gap between them was wide enough to swallow him whole.
He thought about the kids on the screened porch. About Ruby upstairs last night, not knowing the lights going out hadn’t been a storm. About Naomi, who’d opened this house without hesitation the moment Jenna needed it.
All of them inside the circle now. All of them exposed.
“I need to check on the cottages before my crew arrives,” he said. “Micah should be coming in about an hour.”
“Got it.” She nodded toward him.
Before his heart could crack any deeper, he grabbed his jacket off the hook by the back door and headed out.
The morning was cool and still damp, the grass dark with dew, the sky a pale wash of gray that promised sun later. He crossed the yard toward the cottage construction sight at the far edge of the property.
He’d slept maybe two hours last night. He didn’t need to be functional right now. He just needed to be useful. If he could get the trim work finished on the first two units before Micah arrived, the day would be productive.
He stopped walking as something in the distance caught his eye.
Glass lay shattered on the ground.
He hurried closer.
The windows of one of the cottages had been smashed, he realized.
His jaw tightened.
He scanned the other buildings.
Each had their windows broken.
Luke walked around the cottages, checking the scope of the damage. The back door of the second unit had been kicked in—the frame was split at the latch. Part of the siding had been smashed and hung loose.
Inside, the drywall had been punched through in two places. Paint cans he’d left stacked in the corner had been knocked over, and a trail of sage green had dried across the subfloor.
Luke’s teeth ground together.
He calculated the damage. The siding alone would cost him a minimum of two days. The drywall would need to be replaced entirely. The windows would need at least a week’s lead time if the manufacturer was backed up—and they usually were.
His thoughts drifted to the women this shelter was being built for—women who needed somewhere safe to land. Anger rose fresh inside him.
He’d done everything in his power to make this project seamless. But someone was determined to slow him down.
Jenna stared out the kitchen window and saw Luke lingering at the edge of the construction site at the back of the property. He stood still, his shoulders tense.
Something was wrong, she realized.
Ruby sidled up beside her and stared out the window also. “That’s his something’s-wrong stance.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jenna said.
She watched as Luke moved to the second cottage. Her gaze shot to the building, and her breath caught.
The window . . . it was broken.
Her stomach tightened. “Who would do that?”
“Unfortunately, I know of at least a couple of people,” Ruby said. “I always say when there’s this much opposition, you’re doing something right.”
Jenna hoped Ruby was correct.
She wanted to go outside to Luke. To comfort him. To see how she could help.
Instead, she stayed where she was. That wasn’t her place right now, and she knew it.
She couldn’t walk out there and stand beside him as if what had happened between them was a bad dream they’d both woken up from. Whatever she was to this family at this moment, she hadn’t earned that right yet.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out, expecting nothing—a promotional email maybe or a weather notification. Instead, a Google alert stared back at her. She hadn’t seen the name there in years.
Gerald Moss.
She turned to Ruby. “Listen, do you mind if I slip into my room a moment? I just remembered something I was supposed to do.”
“Of course. Go right ahead. I’ll keep an eye on the kids.”
She thanked her and then hurried upstairs to her room.
Once inside with the door closed, she hit the alert on Gerald Moss. He’d been Roderick’s attorney.
His obituary appeared.
Gerald A. Moss, 71, attorney, passed away after a brief illness.
Brief illness. She read the rest.
He was survived by his wife. Services were private.
Jenna navigated to the comment section and scrolled through the expected messages of condolence, wondering if she’d recognize any of the names. She was almost to the bottom when she read one and stopped.
He always knew how to close a deal. The work continues.—User1988
Her lungs froze. The work continues?
She’d heard Roderick say that exact phrase multiple times.
Realization hit her.
That was code, wasn’t it?
Someone in that organization had left a message in plain sight in language that only someone in their scope would understand.
The Barone family crime syndicate was still alive . . . and thriving.
And they had her in their sights. She was certain of it.