Maggie #2
Goosebumps creep slowly down my arms. “What’s missing?”
“Sedatives for surgery recovery. Pain medication.” His voice lowers. “Some antibiotics too.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would they take those?”
“I know. I don’t get it either.”
One of the officers walks over holding a small notebook. “Miss Hayes?”
I turn toward him automatically. “Yes.”
The next twenty minutes blur together into questions. What time did we close? Who has keys? Any recent problems with clients? Any angry volunteers? Did we notice suspicious vehicles recently?
I answer everything as calmly as I can while mentally replaying Mama’s car over and over again. Finally, the officer steps away to speak with his partner, and Jules looks back toward me, concerned.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“Maggie.”
I hesitate. Then I realize not telling him is probably impossible anyway because the second he notices my hoodie is missing, he’s going to lose his mind. So, I exhale slowly and lean against the edge of the desk.
“There’s somethin’ else.”
His expression changes instantly.
“What is it?”
“Mama called me before you did.”
Concern flashes across his face. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but somebody broke into her car last night. Or maybe early this morning.”
Jules straightens so fast he nearly knocks over a stack of folders.
“What?” he asks, clutching at his chest.
“The driver-side window got smashed. They dumped her registration papers everywhere.” I swallow hard. “And they left my shelter hoodie folded on the front seat.”
Every ounce of color drains out of his face.
“Maggie.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not know because you are standing there way too calm right now.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You have a stalker.”
The words hit me hard enough to make me blink. “What?” I almost laugh. “No. No it’s not possible.”
“Yes.” He points dramatically toward me. “Yes, you absolutely do.”
“Jules—”
“Oh, my word.” He starts pacing immediately. “Okay. Okay, first question. Could it be the Russian hottie man?”
I stare blankly at him. “Alexei?”
“Yes, Alexei.” His eyebrows lift. “Maggie, the man has approximately seven thousand terrifying suits and enough emotional intensity to accidentally start a small war.”
“That doesn’t make him a stalker.”
“It doesn’t eliminate him either.”
I cross both arms over my chest. “It’s not Alexei.”
The answer comes too quickly and way too certainly.
Jules notices immediately. His eyes narrow. “Oh wow. You trust him already.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Mhmm.”
I ignore him. Mostly because I don’t actually have a good explanation for why I know it isn’t Alexei. I just know. The idea feels wrong down to my bones.
“He wouldn’t do this,” I say matter-of-factly.
Jules studies me before sighing dramatically.
“Fine. We’ll temporarily remove the Russian hitman from the suspect list.”
“Thank you.”
“But if he suddenly starts lurking outside your apartment reciting poetry in the rain, I reserve the right to revisit this conversation.”
Despite everything, I snort out a laugh.
Then his expression turns serious again. “What about Ryan?”
My stomach clenches.
Ryan. Not exactly the name I wanted dragged into my morning.
“No,” I say quickly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Ryan and I dated for approximately six exhausting months before I realized he thought “supporting my career” meant complaining every time I missed date night because an abandoned dog or cat needed me. The breakup hadn’t exactly been peaceful. But I know it’s not him.
“This isn’t him,” I say firmly. “Ryan was selfish, not criminal.”
“Those overlap more often than you’d think,” Jules insists.
I shoot him a look.
Jules sighs and rubs both hands over his face. “Okay. Fine. Angry client maybe?”
“That’s more likely.”
Unfortunately, that’s actually possible. We’ve dealt with ugly situations before. Denied adoptions, animal-seizure reports, and people who were furious that we wouldn’t return neglected pets. Most eventually calm down. Some don’t.
One woman threatened to “ruin my life” because we refused to let her adopt a husky while she lived in a camper with six cats and no electricity.
Animal rescue attracts deeply wonderful people. It also attracts absolute lunatics. Still, none of that explains my hoodie. And the longer I stand here thinking about it, the harder it becomes to ignore the uncomfortable feeling twisting low in my stomach.
Jules notices my expression.
“Hey.” His voice drops. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nod. Or at least I try to. But tension still clings to me while we spend the next hour cleaning up the damage left behind.
We refile paperwork, sweep broken glass, and calm nervous volunteers.
By late morning, the shelter slowly starts feeling more like itself again, though worry still sticks to everything.
Even the dogs and cats seem restless. Elvis barks furiously at every passing car. Bella refuses to leave my side. And Kevin, the orange menace cat, hisses at everyone who gets too close before finally allowing himself to be distracted by the treat I give him.
By the time I step outside for air, exhaustion presses behind my eyes. I lean against the side of the building and pull out my phone. My thumb hovers briefly over Alexei’s name. Then I press call. The phone rings twice before Alexei answers.
“Maggie.”
Just hearing his voice does something strange to my chest after the morning I’ve had. I press my palm against the warm brick wall behind me and glance back toward the shelter entrance, where volunteers move in and out carrying trash bags full of broken supplies.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
The silence on his end changes instantly as if he hears something in my voice I didn’t mean to reveal.
“What happened?”
I suck in a small breath. “How do you know something happened?”
“Maggie.”
That’s not an answer. And somehow that feels worse.
I close my eyes briefly and lean my head back against the wall. “The shelter got broken into.”
A quiet pause stretches across the line, but it isn’t surprise or confusion I hear on the other end. It feels colder than that.
“The animals are okay,” I add quickly. “Everybody’s alright, but somebody forced open the back door and trashed the offices. They stole medication too.”
His voice lowers immediately. “Police?”
“They’re here now.”
There’s more silence on the line before he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I push my hair behind my ear. “I’m callin’ to tell you not to let Ivy come by today.”
My mind circles back to the shattered back lock inside the hallway. “I just think maybe she should skip today.
“Yes.”
One word. That’s all. Just immediate agreement, and somehow that makes my stomach ache.
“I’m coming there,” he says.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m already leaving.”
The line disconnects before I can argue, and I stay there staring at my phone.
“Well,” Jules says behind me. “That sounded terrifyingly efficient.”
I glance over my shoulder. He stands in the doorway holding a clipboard against his chest while Kevin sits perched on one shoulder like a tiny criminal accomplice.
“He’s worried about Ivy,” I say walking toward him.
“Mhmm.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Because every time that man hears your voice his entire personality turns into ‘locate threat and destroy it.’”
Despite everything, warmth gathers low in my stomach. Which feels inappropriate considering the current circumstances.
Jules studies my expression before pointing at me. “There it is again.”
“What are you goin’ on about?”
“That look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely do.” He adjusts Kevin before lowering his voice dramatically. “Maggie Hayes, you are emotionally attached to a dangerous rich man.”
“I’m hanging on by a thread today, Jules.”
“That’s fair.”
Fifteen minutes later, a black SUV pulls into the gravel lot outside the shelter. That was fast. Way too fast.
Dust kicks up behind the tires, while volunteers glance nervously toward the entrance.
The passenger-side door opens first. Alexei steps out wearing dark slacks and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His expression is hard enough to stop conversation nearby almost immediately.
Relief hits me so quickly that it catches me off guard, which is ridiculous and concerning. Another man exits the driver’s side, younger than Alexei with light brown hair, sharp features, and a tablet tucked beneath one arm.
A third man climbs out from the backseat. Broad shoulders, dark hair clipped short, and a black jacket despite the Georgia heat. He has the kind of face that looks carved out of stone and taught not to smile young.
Every instinct I have understands one thing. Security. Or something worse.
The atmosphere around the shelter changes the minute the three of them start walking toward the entrance. Volunteers move aside instinctively. Even the barking inside feels quieter somehow.
“Well,” Jules mutters beside me, pursing his lips. “See? Mafia.”
I elbow him lightly without taking my eyes off Alexei. He reaches me first. His attention moves over my face quickly, taking inventory in a way that makes heat crawl slowly up my neck despite everything happening around us.
“You’re alright?” he asks
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m okay,” I repeat.
Only then does a fraction of the tension leave his face.
Alexei turns toward the man with the tablet. “Luka. Report.”
Luka nods once. “Forced entry likely happened between one-thirty and four-thirty this morning. One of our men noticed the damage during morning rotation just before staff arrived.”
I stare at him. Then slowly at Alexei.
Morning rotation. One of our men.
The noise around me suddenly feels muffled beneath the rushing in my ears. Barking echoes through the kennel room behind us. I hardly hear any of it.
“You had people watching the shelter?” I ask.
Alexei doesn’t answer right away, which answers plenty. A strange feeling slides down my spine. It’s not fear exactly, more like shock. Because suddenly, the last several days rearrange themselves in my head into an entirely different picture.