Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Holly had asked if he thought she was in danger. Reid had given her the only honest answer he had.
He could tell she wanted to argue with him.
She stood beside him on the corner across from Sanctuary Coffee, one hand wrapped around Sweet Blue’s leash and the other curled into a fist. Mist had gathered in her hair, turning the dark blonde strands near her temples damp and making them curl, and the dog stood at attention while traffic moved slowly along Main Street.
Through the shop windows, Reid saw Maya wiping tables, the warm glow of pendant lights, and the kind of ordinary afternoon that should’ve belonged to soup, coffee, and customers lingering too long over second cups.
Before the loyalty card, he would’ve classified Holly as a possible collateral target, someone connected to a location the offender was using. After the card, the assessment changed.
The message had been left inside her shop, phrased around the name she’d chosen, and placed where she’d find it. That didn’t guarantee the offender was focused on her personally, but it took the possibility out of the theoretical.
Now she stared at Sanctuary as if the building had betrayed her by becoming vulnerable.
Reid kept his attention on the street even though he wanted to study her from head to toe. He checked the parked cars, the delivery entrance beside the bakery, the reflection in the pharmacy window, the man crossing the street under a black umbrella. Nothing jumped out. Nothing felt wrong.
That was the trouble with a careful predator. The world looked normal until it didn’t.
Blue tugged toward the shop, done with drizzle, conversation, and whatever human tension kept slowing the walk. Holly let the leash slide an inch through her fingers, then looked at Reid. “You’re not sure.”
“No.”
Her mouth tightened. “Points for honesty, I guess.”
Reid had done enough pushing for one day, so he let it go.
The fact that she’d agreed to the cover story, agreed to let him work in her shop, and agreed—however grudgingly—to let him stay near her apartment tonight said less about trust than it did about Holly’s priorities.
She was angry with him, hurt by him, and still willing to endure his presence if it meant protecting her shop.
That told him more about the woman she’d become than any file could have.
The light changed, and Reid moved first, stepping off the curb to put himself between Holly and the slow roll of traffic.
“You’re going to do that all the time, aren’t you?” she asked as they crossed.
“Do what?”
“Shield me from anything with wheels, sharp edges, or suspicious intentions.”
“Yes.”
She glanced at him, and the smallest curve touched her mouth before she looked away.
It wasn’t a smile exactly, but he’d take it.
He had no right to expect warmth from her, not after the way he’d left, not after being dropped into her life with a federal cover story and a plan that required her to lie to the people she loved.
They reached the patio gate, and Blue shook hard enough to fling mist across Reid’s pants.
“Blue,” Holly said. “Manners.”
The dog looked pleased with himself.
Inside, Sanctuary smelled of coffee, melted cheese, and the soup’s faint herbal note.
Holly unclipped Blue near the private stairwell, murmured something to him about being a civilized citizen, then led him upstairs.
Reid watched the landing until the apartment door closed behind them and then went to the camera feed on the counter tablet, which showed Blue trotting straight to his water bowl.
Maya leaned over the tablet from the other side of the counter. “He’s dramatic when he drinks. Like he’s been crossing a desert instead of walking three blocks.”
“Cattle dog,” Reid said. “Everything’s a mission.”
Maya gave him an assessing look, less wide-eyed now than she’d been earlier. “You sound like Roni.”
He gave her an easy grin. His sister was one of a kind. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”
She chuckled and picked up a towel. “FYI, Holly’s protective of the espresso machine and her customers. And the plants on the patio. Also the mugs that don’t match but somehow have emotional value.”
“I noticed.”
Maya’s tone softened beneath the teasing. “She built this place from nothing. She acts like she’s practical about it, but she loves every table, every chair.”
Reid moved to glance toward the stairwell again. “I’m getting that.”
The apartment door opened above, and he heard Holly’s footsteps coming down. When she reappeared, her hair had been twisted back and secured at the nape of her neck.
“You need to eat,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes landed on him. “You need to learn where we keep extra napkins.”
Maya made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh and disappeared into the kitchen.
Reid accepted the correction. Holly was willing to let him protect her.
That didn’t give him permission to manage her, even when the impulse came from concern rather than control.
He found the storage shelf Maya had shown him earlier, carried out napkins, cup sleeves, and stirrers, and restocked while Holly checked the register and the order tablet.
“We have soup, fresh bread from the bakery, and brownies,” Holly said, grabbing three bowls. “Employees who work six hours or more are entitled to lunch. We eat in shifts.”
The soup was good, the bread better, but he declined the brownie.
The afternoon slid toward evening with a deceptive smoothness.
A few customers came in for coffee to go.
Two women split a cinnamon roll at the window table and argued about a school board decision.
A man in work boots bought three sandwiches and a black coffee, then left a five-dollar tip in the jar without a word.
Reid kept to the tasks Holly gave him and watched.
He learned the rhythm of the room by doing what needed done: clearing cups, refilling the water station, wiping tables, replacing empty sugar canisters.
He leaned Holly’s rhythm, too, including her easy way with customers.
She seemed to know practically everyone who came through the door, and each of them smiled, told her something about their day, or made a request for their favorite pastry.
Holly noticed every time Reid did something right and commented on it, which pleased him more than it should’ve.
By five-thirty, Maya was packing up, still watching him with faint curiosity. “Are you working tomorrow, too?”
Reid looked to Holly because this was her shop, her cover, her call.
Holly didn’t miss the deference. “He is. He’ll be opening with me.”
“Cool.” Maya slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be in after class.”
“Thanks for staying late.”
Maya grinned at Reid. “Good luck with the espresso machine. She won’t let you near it until she trusts you with civilization itself.”
“I’ll work my way up.”
“Wise.” Maya waved and headed out.
When the door chimed behind her, Holly moved to the table closest to the front windows and straightened the chairs. “We have two groups tonight.”
Reid set the tub of clean mugs on the counter. “Regulars?”
“Yes. A book club meets in the front corner once a month, and a group of retired courthouse employees pushes the two long tables together and plays cards every week.”
He looked at the seating arrangement again with new context. The front corner offered a view of Main Street and the counter. The long tables sat near the community board, close enough to see anyone going to the restrooms or the back hallway.
“How many groups use the shop?”
“A few.” Her voice held a hint of pride. “Book club, cards, the knitting group, writers sometimes, a local moms’ group.”
“Any sign-in sheets?”
“No. People come, buy coffee, sit down, and talk to each other like humans. That’s generally how coffee shops work.”
He caught the edge in her voice. “I’m asking because predictable gatherings create predictable routines. Our killer may rely on that to target his victims.”
Her hand paused on the back of a chair. “These groups are part of what makes Sanctuary what it is. They’re not case notes.”
“I get that, but they’re people and their routines matter.”
She set her shoulders. She wanted to protect the shop from him turning it into evidence, but she also knew that Nell Truett and the others had come through this place and become victims of a killer. Both truths demanded space, and neither was gentle.
The book club arrived just before six in a rush of umbrellas, tote bags, and paperbacks tucked under arms. Holly’s posture changed immediately.
She stepped back into hostess mode, warmth smoothing over the strain in a way that made Reid’s chest ache.
She greeted them by name, complimented a scarf, remembered who drank decaf and who pretended she did.
Six women and one man claimed the front corner, shedding raincoats and arranging books across the table like offerings.
Reid kept moving to prevent looking like security. He brought waters, cleared the neighboring table, and stocked the pastry case. Several of the women asked about him, and Holly gave them the cover story about why he was there.
Holly brought out a tray of cranberry muffins from the back and then went still enough that Reid noticed.
He followed her attention to the book club. A woman with silver curls was setting a paperback in the place beside her, as if marking an absence. The book’s cover was bright yellow with a botanical illustration on the front.
Holly came to his side under the pretense of reaching for small plates. Her voice was low. “Nell belongs to this group. She’s the only one missing.”
Reid glanced at the table again, seeing it differently now. Seven people when everyone was present. Predictable night, predictable table, predictable orders. A window view that let anyone outside watch the group with little effort. “Was she here at the last meeting?”