Chapter 10
JETT
I'm standing outside The Sway, enjoying time off. The film production I was supposed to do stunts for next month got pushed back a few weeks due to scheduling conflicts, which means I've got some unexpected free time on my hands.
It's not often I get a break between jobs, and I'm trying to figure out what to do with it. My brothers are both working today, and I've already hit the gym this morning. I'm scrolling through my phone, debating whether to grab a drink inside or head home, when a thought occurs to me.
It's not often I get a break between jobs, and I'm trying to figure out what to do with it. My brothers are both working today, and I've already hit the gym this morning. I'm scrolling through my phone, debating whether to grab a drink inside or head home, when a thought occurs to me.
That's when I see Sharon walking down the street with the kind of energy that suggests she's up to something.
And damn, she looks good.
She's wearing jeans that hug her hips and thighs in ways that should be illegal.
A soft cream sweater that clings to her curves, the kind of sweater that makes you want to touch just to see if it's as soft as it looks.
Her winter coat is open despite the cold, like she forgot to zip it in her rush to get wherever she's going.
She's gorgeous. All curves and softness and strength wrapped up in five feet of barely contained chaos.
Her steps are careful, deliberate, like she's trying to appear casual while actually vibrating with purpose. Her scent hits me even from here. Strawberry and honey mixed with something darker that smells like determination mixed with anxiety.
My alpha instincts sit up and take notice. Not just because she's beautiful, which she absolutely is, but because something's clearly wrong.
And right now, that purpose is radiating off her in waves.
"If you hang around outside bars like that, people are going to talk," I call out, pushing off the wall and crossing my arms over my chest. "They're going to assume you've developed a drinking problem."
She jumps like I've just materialized out of thin air, and her scent spikes with panic before settling back into something more controlled.
"I wasn't hiding anything," she says, but her voice is doing that telltale thing where it gets higher when she's lying.
"I was just casually walking past the bar where I absolutely wasn't planning to do anything suspicious. "
“You’re up to something,” I say, moving closer to her. She's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look small and soft, and her hair is in a messy bun that suggests she got dressed without really thinking about it.
"How do you know?" she asks, even though her scent is basically screaming that she's discovered information she shouldn't have.
"Because I know you," I say simply. "I've watched you for the last couple of weeks. I know how you move when you're excited about something. Am I right?"
Sharon deflates slightly, her shoulders dropping like she's just realized she can't hide from me.
"Mercy told me that Penelope has tabs all over town.
Like, serious debt. I couldn't just ignore that.
I had to know what she's spending money on.
So, I asked some questions, and it turns out she has outstanding bills at approximately four different places in Pine Hollow. "
"And you're here to investigate one of those places," I say, already moving toward the bar entrance. "Which means you need me as backup."
I grab her hand, pulling her toward the door. Her fingers are cold, and she lets me hold them like she's been waiting for someone to do exactly this. Her scent shifts slightly, becoming warmer, and I can smell something like relief mixed with anticipation.
Inside The Sway, the afternoon crowd is thin.
There're a few regulars at the bar, some older alphas playing pool in the corner, and the bartender, Carl, who's been running this place since before I moved to Pine Hollow.
Carl looks up when we walk in, and I watch as recognition flickers across his face.
"Jett, Sharon," he says, wiping down the bar with practiced efficiency. “What can I get you both?”
"We're just curious about someone's tab," I say, deciding to take the direct approach. "Penelope Carter. I heard she might have an outstanding bill here at The Sway."
Carl’s jaw tightens slightly, and he sets down the glass he's been wiping with more force than necessary.
"That woman owes me about three hundred and fifty dollars.
Been coming in here for weeks, ordering expensive drinks, running up a tab, and every time I ask her to pay, she tells me she's about to come into money. But claims she’s marrying into a wealthy family, and it's going to be fine.” Carl gives me a long look like I should know exactly what he means.
"It's not going to be fine," I say quietly, and I can feel Sharon's scent shifting to match mine. We're on the same wavelength now.
"No, it's not," Carl agrees. "Because yesterday I ran her card again, and it got declined. All her cards got declined, apparently. I told her she needs to find another bar, but she just laughed and said she'd pay me after she’s married."
Sharon pulls out her phone, already making notes.
I watch her document everything Carl tells us, her fingers flying across the screen with the kind of focus she usually reserves for wedding planning.
She's in detective mode now, and there's something incredibly attractive about watching her shift into this version of herself.
"Thank you for that information," Sharon says to Carl, and she sounds genuinely grateful. "That's really helpful."
"People like Penelope don't take kindly to being looked into. They get defensive. They get mean,” Carl warns us.
"We'll be careful," I promise, even though I'm already thinking about where we should go next.
By the time we leave The Sway, I've already made a list in my head of the other places Mercy mentioned.
The bookstore. The liquor store. The lingerie store, which is going to be awkward but necessary.
Sharon holds my hand the entire time, and her scent has shifted lighter and sweeter telling me she is excited.
"We're making great detectives," I say as we're walking down the street toward the bookstore.
“Or rather terrible decisions," Sharon corrects, but she's smiling, which suggests she doesn't actually care about the terrible decision part. "We're investigating as if we're in some kind of mystery novel."
"A mystery novel where the characters hold hands and one of them smells like strawberries and honey," I say, running my thumb over the back of her hand. "I could definitely read that."
At the bookstore, a small independent place called Turning Pages, the owner is a woman named Eleanor who looks like she's been reading books her entire life and has absorbed their collective wisdom. She doesn't need us to even ask about Penelope. She just starts talking the moment we walk in.
"That woman bought approximately two hundred dollars’ worth of books and hasn't paid for a single one," Eleanor says, pulling out a ledger that looks like it was designed before computers existed.
"She kept saying they were for research purposes.
That she needed them for some kind of project.
I have her name and address on file, so when she finally pays, I'll know exactly where to send a collection agency. "
Sharon is writing everything down. I'm watching her work, and I'm struck by how focused she is. How determined. How absolutely gorgeous she looks when she's concentrating on something that matters to her.
"What kind of books?" Sharon asks, and I can see the pieces starting to come together in her head.
"Self-help books mostly," Eleanor says. "Books about starting a business. Books about financial planning. A few books about real estate development. Some books about how to manipulate people."
My eyebrows shoot up. "She bought a book about manipulating people?"
"Multiple books actually," Eleanor says, flipping through her ledger.
"She seemed very interested in psychological tactics and how to use them to get what she wanted.
I remember thinking it was a bit ominous, to be honest. Most people who buy books like that don't want to admit they're reading them. "
We leave the bookstore with approximately two hundred dollars added to Penelope's tab and a growing sense that whatever she and Ben are planning, it's much more calculated than we initially thought.
The liquor store is next. A place called The Bottle Shop, run by a man named Gerald who looks like he's seen every type of person and their personal demons walk through his doors. He doesn't seem surprised when we ask about Penelope's tab.
"About two hundred and thirty dollars," he says, pulling out a credit card slip and showing us the amount. "Mostly expensive wine and vodka. The good stuff, not the cheap stuff. She kept saying she was celebrating a major life event coming up. That she'd be able to pay once the wedding happened."
"How much total are we talking about?" I ask, already doing the mental math. Three hundred and fifty at The Sway. Two hundred at the bookstore. Two hundred and thirty at the liquor store. We're already at over seven hundred dollars.
"With the interest and late fees I've been adding, about two hundred and forty-five," Gerald says. "But I'm not going to press charges or anything. I just want to get paid."
By the time we get to the lingerie store, which is called Silk and Sin and is absolutely awkward to walk into together, Sharon is practically vibrating with curiosity. The store owner, a woman named Vanessa with purple hair and approximately fifteen piercings, doesn't even wait for us to ask.