Chapter 2
Storm Warnings
Logan’s POV
Julia Thompson. My chest tightens, a visceral reaction I haven’t felt in years. My pulse stutters for half a beat before it slams into a steady, unrelenting rhythm.
Every muscle in my body goes taut, my hands clenching at my sides as if bracing for impact. It’s like an old wound ripping open, one I thought had long since healed.
I never thought I’d see her again.
Yet, there she was tonight, standing under the dim glow of the streetlamp, looking exactly like the ghost that haunted me for seven years..
I should’ve walked away.
Hell, I should’ve let her deal with her own damn problems. But the second I saw her, all those old instincts kicked in—the same ones that made me want to protect her back then, even when she didn’t need or want my help.
She’s still the same in some ways.
Still stubborn. Still reckless. Still breathtaking.
But there’s something else now. Something behind her eyes.
A secret.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time as a sheriff, it’s that secrets can get people killed.
I scrub a hand down my face as I sit behind the wheel of my truck, parked just outside the station. The night air is heavy, thick with the scent of rain and ocean salt, like a storm’s brewing—not just in the sky, but in my gut.
I shouldn’t give a damn about Julia’s secrets.
But I do.
And that pisses me off.
I exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Damn her. Damn this town. Damn whatever the hell she’s gotten herself into.
Because whether I like it or not, I’m already in it.
The station is mostly empty this time of night, save for Frank Grady, my deputy, who’s sitting at his desk nursing a cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
“Rough night, boss?” he asks, barely looking up.
“You could say that.”
I toss my hat onto my desk and settle into my chair, forcing my mind to focus on work instead of the memory of Julia’s wide, startled eyes when she saw me tonight.
Frank glances at me over the rim of his cup. “You look like someone just kicked your dog.”
“Yeah? And you look like you’ve been sleeping in your patrol car again.”
He smirks. “Guilty as charged.”
I shake my head, flipping open a file on my desk. I need a distraction.
Because if I sit here too long, I’ll start replaying every second of tonight’s encounter. The way Julia’s voice hitched when she told me she could handle herself. The way her breath caught when I got too close. The way she shivered when I told her I wasn’t giving her a choice.
Damn it.
“Any updates on the vandalism cases?” I ask, forcing my focus back to business.
Frank leans forward, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. We had another one.”
I glance up sharply. “Where?”
“The back alley behind McAllister’s Diner. Someone slashed a couple of tires, busted out a storefront window.”
“That’s three incidents in two weeks,” I mutter.
Frank nods. “It’s not just random acts of stupidity anymore. It’s targeted. Someone’s sending a message.”
I exhale, flipping through the reports. The vandalism cases started off as minor—damaged mailboxes, spray-painted walls, slashed tires. But now, it’s escalating.
And something about it feels off.
“Any leads?” I ask.
Frank hesitates. “That’s the thing. We got a description of a suspect this time.”
I glance up. “And?”
Frank scratches his head, looking uneasy. “It was a woman. Mid-thirties. Blonde.”
The air in the room changes.
My grip on the file tightens.
No.
Not her.
“Say that again,” I say, my voice lower, sharper.
Frank shifts in his seat. “Witnesses said they saw a blonde woman near the alley before the damage was found. Didn’t get a clear look at her face, but…” He hesitates.
“But what?” I growl.
He exhales. “Look, I’m not saying it was her, but… Julia Thompson fits the description.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks.
I don’t want to believe it.
But I can’t ignore it either.
Julia’s been back in town for less than forty-eight hours, and suddenly, crime is picking up? suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Witness got a plate number?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head. “Nope. But they said the woman was acting strange. Like she knew she shouldn’t be there.”
I lean back in my chair, my mind racing.
Julia wouldn’t vandalize a damn thing. That’s not who she is.
But she is hiding something.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t figure out what.
I should go home.
I should sleep.
Instead, the rain has started falling by the time I pull up in front of Julia’s place. The porch light flickers, casting a dim glow over the small house and casting soft shadows across the small yard.
She’s inside, sleeping and safe, hopefully.
But the words on that letter sit like a weight in my gut.
I glance toward the windows, looking for movement. For any sign that she’s not safe. I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean much.
My gut tells me she’s in trouble.
And my gut is never wrong.
I sit there for another minute, debating. Memories of Julia flood back —laughter echoing on the beach, whispered promises in the dark, the way she left without a word.
My instincts scream to walk away, to let her handle whatever trouble she’s gotten into. But another part of me, the part that never stopped wanting to protect her, won’t let me.
If I knock on her door right now, she’ll know something’s wrong. She’s already jumpy as hell—I saw it in her eyes earlier.
Cursing under my breath I peel away from the curb.
I need to stop this.
I need to stop thinking about her.
But just as I turn onto Main Street, my radio crackles.
“Sheriff, you at the station?”
It’s dispatch.
“I was just leaving,” I reply. “What’s up?”
“You might want to head back.”
There’s something in the woman’s voice that makes my spine straighten.
“What is it?”
“We got an envelope delivered for you.”
I frown. “So?”
Dispatch hesitates. “It’s… uh, it’s got Julia Thompson’s name on it. And it ain’t a love letter.”
A chill runs through me.
“I’m on my way.”
When I get back to the station, the air is thick with tension.
Frank is waiting for me near the front desk, his expression tight.
“You’re gonna want to see this,” he mutters, handing me a manila envelope.
It’s unmarked. No return address. Just my name scrawled across the front.
I rip it open.
Inside is a single sheet of paper.
LEAVE NOW, OR SHE PAYS THE PRICE.
My blood turns to ice.
“Son of a bitch,” Frank mutters, reading over my shoulder.
I don’t speak.
I can’t.
Because right now, all I can think about is Julia.
Her face when she saw me tonight.
The way she looked over her shoulder like she was being watched.
Someone’s targeting her.
And now they’re daring me to do something about it.
Game on. The paper in my hand is lightweight, but it feels heavy as a damn boulder.
A slow burn of anger spreads through my chest, making my grip tighten around the letter. I read it again, just to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. Same four words. Same threat.
“Who the hell delivered this?” I snap, my voice harsher than I intend.
Frank exhales through his nose. “Some kid. Says a guy paid him twenty bucks to drop it off. No name, no description, just a man in a ball cap and sunglasses. Classic move if you don’t want to be remembered.”
I curse under my breath.
This isn’t just some harmless prank. Someone went out of their way to make sure this message got to me. And that tells me two things.
One —whoever sent it knows Julia’s back in town. Two—they know I’ll protect her.
“You think it’s connected to the vandalism?” Frank asks, watching me closely.
I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to think clearly. “Could be. But this isn’t just about the town, Frank. This is personal.”
And personal means dangerous.
Frank nods. “So, what’s the plan?”
I fold the letter, my jaw tight. “We find out who the hell sent this. And we make damn sure they don’t get anywhere near Julia.”
Because one thing is crystal clear—someone is watching her.
And I’ll be damned if I let them get to her first.
The rain has started falling by the time I pull up in front of Julia’s place. The porch light flickers, casting a dim glow over the small house.
She’s inside. Sleeping, hopefully. Safe, hopefully.
But the words on that letter sit like a weight in my gut.
I sit in my truck for a minute, debating. If I knock on her door right now, she’ll know something’s wrong. She’s already jumpy as hell—I saw it in her eyes earlier.
But if I don’t?
If I wait until morning to tell her someone’s targeting her?
That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
I mutter a curse and kill the engine.
The sound of my boots against the wooden porch is muffled by the rain, but as soon as I raise my hand to knock, the door yanks open.
Julia stands there, wrapped in a thin robe, her blonde hair damp and tousled. She stares at me, eyes wide, breath quick.
Like she was already expecting me.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I lift the letter between two fingers. “We need to talk.”
Her expression shifts, and I see it —the flicker of fear she tries to mask with defiance.
Her expression flickers —fear, recognition, guilt?
“Julia,” I press, voice steady. “Who’s after you?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
Lie.
She knows something.
And that means we’ve got bigger problems than I thought.
Julia doesn’t let me inside right away.
Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest, scanning the dark street behind me like she’s expecting someone else to be there.
She’s on edge.
And that just confirms what I already suspect.
She’s been looking over her shoulder long before I showed up tonight.
“I told you I don’t need your help, Logan,” she finally says, her voice softer but still stubborn.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “You might not need my help, but you sure as hell need to see this.”
I extend the letter.
She hesitates before taking it. As her eyes scan the words, her fingers tighten around the paper. A sharp inhale. A flicker of something in her expression—fear, recognition, guilt?
“Julia,” I press, my voice steady. “Who’s after you?”
She shakes her head quickly. “I don’t know.”
Lie.
I know when someone’s lying. And Julia?
She’s lying through her damn teeth.
I tilt my head, crossing my arms. “Try again.”
She exhales, frustration flashing in her eyes. “Logan, I don’t know who sent this. But it’s—” She hesitates, like she’s trying to decide how much to say. “It’s complicated.”
Complicated.
That’s a word I hate.
Because it means she’s keeping secrets.
And secrets are what got us here in the first place.
“Why did the witness say you were near McAllister’s Diner tonight?” I ask. “What were you doing there?”
Her lips part, but she hesitates. “I was… I was taking a walk. I couldn’t sleep, so I just needed to clear my head.”
Lie..
“At midnight?” I press.
“It’s a free country,” she snaps, lifting her chin. “I can walk where I want.”
She’s defensive, and that tells me all I need to know. She’s hiding something big. Something dangerous.
“You’re not telling me the truth,” I say quietly. “And if you’re in trouble, Julia, I need to know. I can’t protect you if I’m in the dark.”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking toward the street, as if expecting someone to be lurking in the shadows. Her hands tighten around the edge of her robe.
“I’m handling it,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t involve you, Logan. You don’t understand.”
“Try me,” I urge.
She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Just go home. Please.”
I grit my teeth, my frustration growing. “You think I’m just going to walk away after getting this?” I hold up the letter again. “Whoever’s threatening you, they’re threatening me too. This isn’t just your problem anymore.”
“I know.” Her voice is barely audible. “But you can’t get involved. It’s too dangerous.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’m already involved, Julia. You need to trust me. Let me help you.”
I take a slow breath, reining in my temper. “You need to start talking, Julia. Because if you don’t, whoever sent this? They might do more than just leave threats.”
She bites her lip, glancing toward the dark street again. Her grip on the letter is tight enough to wrinkle the edges.
Then, finally —finally—she whispers, “I think it’s someone from my past.”
I knew it.
My stomach knots. “Who?”
She shakes her head again. “I—I don’t know for sure.”
Another lie.
But before I can push, something changes in her expression. A flicker of hesitation. A shift in the way she looks at me.
Like she’s debating whether she can trust me.
And I realize in that moment —whatever she’s hiding?
It’s not just about her.
It’s about me, too.
“Julia,” I say, my voice low, steady. “I can’t protect you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
She meets my gaze, and for the first time, I see something I wasn’t expecting—guilt.
Like she knows damn well she’s putting me in danger by keeping quiet.
The air between us is thick with unspoken words.
And then —
A sharp crash from the side of the house.
Julia jumps.
I move.
Fast.
My hand is already on my gun as I step off the porch, scanning the darkened side yard. My heart pounds, adrenaline surging.
“Stay inside,” I order without looking back.
Another sound—this time, footsteps.
I take off toward the noise, but by the time I round the corner, all I see is an empty street. Rain slicks the pavement, and a trash can lies overturned near the bushes.
Whoever was here?
They’re gone now.
But the message is clear.
This isn’t just some empty threat.
Someone is watching.
And Julia?
She’s right in their sights.
I curse under my breath, scanning the darkness one last time before heading back to the porch.
Julia stands in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, her expression tight.
I stop in front of her, my jaw clenching.
For a moment, I see the war in her eyes—fear, doubt, and something else. Something that almost looks like hope.
But then she shuts it down, masking her emotions. “Goodnight, Logan.” She closes the door softly, leaving me standing there, drenched in rain and frustration.
I take a few steps back, glancing around the dark street. There’s no sign of anyone watching, but my gut tells me this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As I head back to my truck, I make a silent vow.
I’m going to find out what she’s hiding.
And I’m going to make damn sure that whoever’s threatening her won’t get the chance to hurt her. Or me.
Game on.