Chapter 13 #2
“She’s weak, frightened, and still heavily medicated. She can’t describe her attacker. Male, she thinks. Dark clothing. That’s about it.”
“Did you show her a photo of Hopper?”
“Yes. She couldn’t confirm it was him.”
Relief and fear tangled together so tightly Holly couldn’t separate them. Nell was awake. Hopper might not be the killer. The person who had hurt Nell was still out there.
“Can I see her?” Holly asked.
“Not yet,” Claire said. “Family only, and we don’t want to overwhelm her. I’ll let you know when that changes.”
“Please.”
“Reid, I’ve notified the remaining Dodge jurors and coordinated temporary protection or regular checks depending on cooperation and risk level. Some agreed to leave their homes for now. Some didn’t. Local deputies are assisting.”
“I’ve got protection on my grandfather, too, just in case,” Reid said.
“Good.”
The call ended, and Holly tucked the information into places that were already too crowded. Hopper out. Nell awake. Jurors protected.
Midmorning brought a lull after the commuter rush, the kind of pocket in the day when Holly usually checked inventory and pretended she wasn’t counting the minutes until lunch. Maya was in the back loading the dishwasher when the bell over the door chimed and Allen Davies walked in.
Holly knew something was wrong before he reached the counter. His coat was buttoned wrong, one side slightly higher than the other, and his usually neat hair hadn’t been combed. His face carried strain, but beneath it was anger held so tightly it seemed to vibrate.
“Allen,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He looked past her to Reid, who was restocking lids near the pickup counter. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Holly’s stomach tightened. “Of course.” She moved to the corner table where the support group always met. “What’s wrong? Is it about Hopper Shaw?”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not him.”
Reid set the sleeves down and moved closer, cleaning off a table near the side window.
The glare Allen gave him was quick and cold. “I’m being watched,” he said.
Holly’s pulse jumped. “Watched by who?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He gave a short, humorless laugh.
“There was a dark sedan outside my house this morning. Same car later near my office. If the Bureau has decided I require observation, they could have the courtesy to say so. If it isn’t the Bureau, then apparently I’m meant to wait until someone leaves a cup beside my body. ”
Holly recoiled. “Did you call Agent Dawson?”
“No. I don’t need her or her partner telling me to stay out of her investigation again.”
“If someone is watching you, she needs to know.”
“Does she?” His eyes flashed. “The remaining jurors get deputies and safe houses. Hopper gets dragged in on the anniversary of Emma’s death. And those of us who stood with him and his family are expected to accept whatever crumbs of concern the system has left over.”
Holly heard pain in the words, but there was something else beneath it, something sharper than fear.
“How do you know about the jurors?” Reid asked.
Allen snapped his gaze toward him. “People talk.”
Reid was now only a few feet away, no longer pretending to work. “Which people?”
“Former jurors who woke up this morning to law enforcement at their doors. Old courthouse acquaintances. People frightened enough to call the man who prosecuted the case that apparently never finished taking from them.” His attention returned to Holly.
“I’m not guessing in the dark. They’re protecting the jury. ”
“Then let them protect you too,” Holly said. “Call Dawson, or call Shadow Point Security.”
Allen’s expression cooled further. “Shadow Point.” His gaze flicked to Reid. “I’m sure they’re all excellent at deciding who gets locked behind gates and who gets treated like a problem to be managed.”
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“Fair?” Allen’s laugh came softer this time. “Hopper has spent these past few years trying to survive what happened to his sister, and yesterday he was treated like grief made him probable cause. Today, the jurors get protection. The people who loved Emma get suspicion.”
Reid crossed his arms. “Give me the description and plate of the car you saw. I’ll contact Claire and confirm whether it belongs to a federal or local detail.”
Allen looked at him for several seconds, and Holly saw the instant he understood more than Reid had meant to show.
Not everything, maybe, but enough. Reid wasn’t just Roni’s brother helping behind the counter.
He wasn’t just a friend staying close because Holly was rattled.
He had a direct line to the FBI and had been inside the investigation from the start.
Allen’s attention cut back to Holly. “You knew.”
The accusation hurt more than she expected. “Knew what?”
“That he’s working with them.” His voice rose, the anger in it causing several heads to turn from nearby tables. “You let me come in here and trust my situation with you, while he stood behind the counter measuring every word.”
Holly shook her head and reached out to him. “Allen, it isn’t like that.”
“Isn’t it?” His eyes held hers, and the man who had helped her fight Carl Whitmer seemed to recede. “I thought Sanctuary was honest. I thought your compassion was honest. I didn’t realize it stopped the second someone frightened you enough to make you doubt the people you claim to care for.”
The words hurt in a way a physical blow couldn’t. Holly had built Sanctuary out of honesty, out of welcome, out of the belief that people deserved a place to be seen without being judged immediately by their worst day. Allen knew that.
Reid moved before she could answer. He stepped between them just enough to break the line of attack without blocking Holly from the room.
“You can be angry at me,” Reid said. “You don’t get to punish her.”
Allen’s face flushed. “I’m speaking the truth.”
“I think you came here scared and angry, and you’re putting both on her because she’s safe enough for you to target.”
The quiet force in Reid’s voice made the shop seem to hold its breath. Holly should have told him she could defend herself. Right then, with Allen’s accusation still burning in her chest, Reid’s defense felt like a hand at her back.
Allen looked around the shop, taking in the customers who’d gone silent. Maya stood frozen near the hallway with a dish towel in her hand.
“Safe,” Allen said the word so bitterly it barely sounded like him. “Yes. That’s what this place pretends to be, doesn’t it?”
Holly’s throat tightened. “Allen, please.”
He looked at her one last time, and some of the anger seemed to fold inward, becoming wounded dignity. “I hope you never learn what people become when the place they trusted turns against them.”
He walked out before she could answer.
The bell over the door chimed after him, bright and cheerful and cruelly ordinary.
For several seconds, no one moved. Then Maya cleared her throat, and Holly pulled herself together because the shop was full of customers and Sanctuary could not collapse simply because its owner wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the room, forcing her voice to hold. “Everything’s fine. Does anyone need a refill?”
Maya grabbed a coffee pot and started making rounds.
The customers slowly returned to their drinks and conversations, though in the softer, self-conscious way people did after witnessing something so unexpected.
Holly went behind the counter because it gave her a place to put her hands. She picked up a rag and folded it twice before she realized she was folding a wet rag for no reason.
Reid sidled up to her. “What he said wasn’t true.”
She looked down at the counter. “Some of it was. I did let him believe you were just helping.”
“To protect the investigation and protect you.”
“I lied.”
“That doesn’t make your compassion fake.”
The tears came too fast, and she blinked them back hard. “He helped me. I keep saying that as if it proves something, but he did. When I was scared and overwhelmed, he helped me. And now he looks at me like I betrayed him.”
“He came in here and used the best parts of you against you.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to defend Allen one more time, to say he was frightened and grieving and maybe being watched by someone who meant him harm. But the part of her that had heard his voice go cold when he understood Reid’s role couldn’t quite manage it.
Reid took out his phone. “I’m calling Claire.”
Holly nodded. He stepped to the end of the counter and called.
The line went to voicemail, and his message was brief.
“Claire, it’s Reid. Allen Davies came into Sanctuary claiming he saw a dark sedan outside his house and office this morning.
He believes he may be under surveillance.
Confirm whether any agency has eyes on him, and if not, I need you to treat this as a possible threat report. Call me back.”
He ended the call and looked at Holly. “We’ll find out.”
She wanted to ask what they would find out. Whether Allen was being watched by the FBI, the killer, or no one? Whether his anger had been fear or manipulation?
Instead, she nodded and finished the morning with her heart sitting heavy in her chest.