16. Maggie #2
“She made it here at the shelter last week. A picture of flowers, the sun, and the puppy.”
“And somebody took it durin’ the break-in?”
“I think so.”
“Oh, hell no.” Jules curses under his breath.
I nod. “There was writing on it.” My throat seizes and I swallow hard. “Somebody wrote SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU across the front in black marker.”
Silence crashes through the office. Jules stares at me like the air got punched straight out of his lungs.
“You’re jokin’.”
“I wish I was.”
“Maggie…” His voice drops lower now, his expression thick with concern. “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”
“Because Alexei already looked ready to kill somebody after I showed him.” Frustration rises all over again. “And honestly? I think I was tryin’ not to completely lose my mind.”
Jules rubs his mouth and paces across the tiny office. “That goes way beyond somebody tryin’ to scare you.”
“Yeah.” My stomach twists harder. “That’s what actually scares me.”
“What did Alexei say?”
“That he’d handle it.”
Jules snorts. “Well, that’s comfortin’.”
“Exactly.” Another wave of frustration rolls through me.
“That’s all anybody keeps sayin’. Don’t worry.
We’re handlin’ it. Stay careful. Meanwhile strange men keep circlin’ the shelter and now you’re followin’ potential stalkers through downtown Savannah like we’re livin’ inside some detective show. ”
“At least we’d make it entertainin’,” Jules mutters.
Despite everything, a strained laugh escapes me.
“My nerves are getting’ frazzled,” I admit.
Jules walks closer and side-hugs me.
“You can handle plenty,” he says. “That isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
His eyes search mine before he answers. “The issue is that men like Alexei have spent their whole lives believin’ protection means carryin’ ugly things alone.” He sighs heavily. “And whether we like it or not, ugly things are definitely circlin’ around him.”
A chill creeps down my spine. I remember Alexei outside the shelter yesterday, fury in his icy-blue eyes while security men moved around him like soldiers waiting for orders. I think about how quickly violence shows up under his calm whenever my name and danger come up together.
And I never once doubted he would destroy anybody who tried to hurt Ivy.
Jules groans. “Oh honey, no.”
“What?”
“You’re doin’ the thing again where you start emotionally spiralin’ in complete silence.”
“I’m not emotionally spiralin’,” I say, lifting my chin.
“You absolutely are.”
I roll my eyes weakly while grabbing my keys off the desk. “Come on.”
“Where are we goin’?”
“We still have vendors waitin’ at the market with donations for tomorrow.
” I shove my phone into my back pocket and force myself to move before anxiety roots me permanently to the office floor.
“And unless one of these rich Savannah ladies plans on donatin’ decorative hay bales through divine intervention, we still need event setup supplies too. ”
Jules grabs his clipboard. “Nothin’ says impendin’ emotional collapse like burlap table runners.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He follows me toward the office door before pausing beside me one last time.
“We stay together today,” he says. “No wanderin’ off alone. Not until we know what the hell is goin’ on.”
I nod. At this point, pretending things are normal feels about as believable as a raccoon running the front desk.
By the time Jules and I get to Savannah City Market, it’s hot, noisy, and packed with people squeezing through narrow brick walkways.
Tourists wander between booths with lemonade and shopping bags while live guitar music plays under striped awnings.
The air is thick with the smell of pralines, barbecue, fried dough, and flowers, mixed with a hint of rain from the river.
Under normal circumstances, I would love this. Now, every crowded aisle feels like a perfect place for someone to hide.
“Stop,” Jules mutters beside me while adjusting the oversized tote bag hanging from his shoulder.
I glance toward him distractedly. “What?”
“Stop doin’ the suspicious little raccoon eyes.” He gestures vaguely toward my face. “Like you’re expectin’ somebody to jump out from behind the candle stand holding a sniper rifle.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And yet not impossible anymore.”
Families move between booths laughing while children beg for kettle corn, and tourists stop to admire watercolor paintings. Everything looks normal.
One aisle behind us, Alexei’s security guy, Ivan, strolls past a booth selling homemade jams, pretending to look at peach preserves.
He wears a dark baseball cap and a gray T-shirt, and he looks relaxed.
If I didn’t know he was following us, I’d never notice.
That should make me feel better, but mostly it just annoys me that I’m learning to spot surveillance.
We stop beside a flower vendor near the center courtyard, where Patricia immediately lights up when she sees us approaching.
“There are my shelter angels,” she says warmly while brushing dirt from her gardening gloves. “Y’all survivin’ over there?”
Jules exhales dramatically. “Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Jury’s still out.”
Patricia laughs before reaching beneath the table for a thick envelope and two decorative baskets filled with dog treats, handmade bandanas, and chew toys.
“Cash donations from several vendors,” she explains while handing me the envelope. “And the bakery stand down near the fountain donated gift baskets for tomorrow too.”
Emotion fills me despite the anxiety riding beneath my skin. “Thank you. Seriously. Y’all are the best.”
“Oh honey, that shelter matters to people.” Patricia squeezes my hand gently. “Tomorrow’s gonna be wonderful.”
I smile, but the reassurance doesn’t really sink in. Tomorrow feels less like an adoption event and more like a countdown.
We continue weaving through crowded aisles, collecting donations while vendors stop us every few feet to ask questions about the event.
Jules somehow ends up carrying three tote bags, two decorative signs, and an entire box of dog toys while still managing to gossip with practically every human being inside City Market.
“Miss Eleanor says if one more Labrador puppy pees on her booth tomorrow, she’s filing emotional damages,” he informs me solemnly while balancing a basket against his hip.
“She says that every year.”
“And every year she still donates homemade dog biscuits shaped like little bones.” Jules sighs. “That’s community right there.”
I actually laugh. It feels strange after the last two days.
For a few minutes, the market almost distracts me. The noise, heat, and constant movement make things feel normal enough that my shoulders finally relax a little. Then Jules’s expression changes. Just enough that the humor slips from his face while his attention moves somewhere over my shoulder.
“What?” I ask.
His voice lowers instantly. “Blue polo shirt near the ceramics stand. Don’t stare.”
I keep walking beside him while pretending to adjust the tote bag digging into my shoulder.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man standing beside a pottery booth farther down the aisle.
Maybe in his mid-thirties, with a ball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses hiding his face.
He shouldn’t stand out in a crowd this big, but the way he keeps watching us makes my skin crawl.
“You see him?” Jules murmurs.
“Yeah.”
I glance through the crowd searching for Ivan, but the gray T-shirt and fake interest in peach preserves are suddenly nowhere in sight—no sign of him anywhere nearby. My pulse jumps.
“I don’t see security,” I whisper.
Jules notices the tension in my voice but keeps calm. “Just keep walkin’.”
We continue deeper into the market, moving around tourists and vendor booths while my nerves get tighter with every step.
“Maybe it’s nothin’,” I murmur.
“Honey, men who casually browse pottery don’t stare at people like serial killers in documentaries.”
“That’s wildly unhelpful.”
“It’s accurate though.”
We stop beside another booth displaying handmade leather dog collars and embroidered pet bandanas while I force myself to smile politely at the older couple running the stand.
“Maggie Hayes.”
The male voice behind me sends pure adrenaline crashing through my bloodstream. I jerk hard enough that one of the tote bags nearly slips off my shoulder.
The man from the pottery booth stands beside the table now pretending to examine leather collars while his attention stays fixed on me beneath dark sunglasses.
Every instinct inside me screams danger. “You startled me,” I manage tightly.
He gives me a small smile. “Sorry about that.”
Jules immediately steps between us. “How about you get the hell away from her,” he snaps.
The man’s attention moves lazily toward Jules. “Relax.”
“No, you relax.” Jules plants one hand against the man’s chest and shoves him backward hard enough to make the nearby vendor gasp. “You’ve been followin’ us halfway across the damn market.”
People nearby start looking over. The atmosphere changes fast enough that I feel it straight through my ribs.
The man’s expression darkens beneath the sunglasses.
Then Jules grabs my arm. “We’re leavin’.”
We turn quickly and start speed walking through the crowded aisles while panic pounds so hard inside my chest that my breathing becomes uneven.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but I hated his face instantly,” Jules hisses.
I risk one glance backward and immediately wish I hadn’t. The first man is still hanging out near the vendor booth, but farther down the aisle, another man has fallen into step behind us. Every turn we make, he makes too, keeping the same pace through the crowded market.
“Oh my God.”
Jules looks back once and curses beneath his breath. “Run.”