2. Wes Osprey #2
Scarlet catches him looking and seems to resent the fact that he noticed anything.
I step closer to the counter without thinking about it. Her shoulders tighten.
“You know something,” I say.
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s a bold opener for a man standing between me and the exit.”
Junie presses her lips together.
Roman coughs into his fist again.
I look at the space around us, then angle my body to the side and clear the path. “Better?”
Scarlet’s gaze flicks toward the opening and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “Less ominous.”
“I’m Wes Osprey.” I reach into my pocket and flip open my BESTF credentials long enough for her to see the federal seal beneath the acronym. “This is Roman.”
Roman lifts two fingers in greeting. “The less ominous one.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
His smile brightens. “Fair.”
Her gaze drops to his mouth before she catches herself.
Scarlet notices me watching and lifts her chin.
“You’re Scarlet Sage?” I ask.
“How did you…”
“You’re the historian of Sweetheart Haven,” Roman says casually.
Scarlet turns toward him. “And here I thought my mysterious allure was doing the heavy lifting.”
Roman’s smile returns, small and appreciative. “It’s contributing.”
That startles a laugh out of her.
I wasn’t prepared for the sound. Her whole face changes when she laughs, the sharpness easing for just long enough to reveal something soft underneath. It does something funny to my chest.
Roman glances at me, his interest in her widening in the bond.
I ignore him.
“We need someone who understands the town’s history and the land around the swamp,” I say.
Scarlet folds her arms. “That’s what we’re calling folklore when investigators need a favor?”
“I’m calling it potential evidence, if it helps explain why people are getting hurt.”
Scarlets mouth closes.
Roman shifts his coffee cup between both hands. “We’re asking you to help us understand how the town overlaps with the swamp.”
The bakery listens around us. Scarlet glances toward the front windows. I follow her gaze. The town fountain sits across the square under an unreasonable amount of flowers.
Scarlet’s gaze is haunted, and my gut tells me to press. “What happened at the fountain?” I ask.
Her eyes snap back to mine.
“I saw tourists spending twenty-eight dollars on a charm bracelet that probably cost three dollars to make.”
Junie sighs. The blonde beside Scarlet gives her a look.
Roman studies Scarlet over the rim of his coffee. “That does sound criminal.”
“Exactly.” A smile nearly surfaces before Scarlet swallows it.
I don’t take the bait. “What else?”
“I don’t work with law enforcement.”
“That’s unfortunate, because I’m here asking.”
“That sounded ominous again.”
Roman’s lips curve. “He hears that often.”
“I don’t.”
“Your ability to ignore criticism has reached professional levels.” Roman touches my wrist as he says it.
I turn my hand to catch his fingers and hold them for a moment before letting go.
Scarlet watches. Her scent softens around the edges, and the depleted note beneath it becomes more noticeable as she relaxes.
It makes my instincts restless, my alpha demanding I take her in my arms and scent mark her until those depleted notes ease.
Junie clears her throat. “Scarlet knows the old flood paths better than anyone. She knows the older sweetheart traditions too, from before the town turned half of them into festival attractions. If there’s a connection to the swamp, she’ll know where to look.”
Scarlet gives her a betrayed look. “I came here for cake.”
“You came here because you didn’t want to go home alone.”
The bakery halts, falling silent.
Junie’s face falls.
Scarlet’s hurt is visible for only a moment before she locks it down, but her scent does not hide the pain as quickly.
The blonde beside her reaches for Scarlet’s wrist and squeezes.
Scarlet’s breathing deepens and her shoulders lower.
Then the hand leaves, and the small physical easing disappears with it.
My alpha pushes forward hard enough to make me shift my weight. Everything inside me needs to settle her, to give her the pack frequency and touch she craves.
Roman expression says what he doesn’t need to.
“I’m not the town oracle,” Scarlet says.
“No one said you were.”
“People say it all the time, just not when strangers are around.” Her voice comes out sharper than before.
The reports come back to me. People think she predicts bond collapses.
“Then don’t be an oracle. Be a historian,” Roman says.
Scarlet studies him for a long moment. “You’re the dangerous one.”
My brow lifts. “Him?”
“He asks better questions.”
Roman grins. “I’ve been telling him that for years.”
“And yet I’m usually the one who gets answers.”
“Do you? Or do people confess to end the conversation?”
The blonde beside Scarlet makes a delighted sound.
Roman laughs.
I almost hold out. Almost.
Scarlet’s eyes widen slightly when I smile. The corner of her mouth moves in answer. Interesting.
“Depends on the conversation,” I say.
She picks up her drink. “Wanna guess how this one is going?”
Roman watches the exchange with entirely too much satisfaction.
I return to the reason we’re here.
“Was there something unusual at the fountain?”
Scarlet’s humor fades. For a second I think she’ll refuse again. Then she looks through the windows. “There were swamp lilies mixed into the offerings.”
Roman lowers his coffee. “And that’s unusual?”
“Very.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because they don’t belong there.”
“That’s not much of an explanation.”
She shrugs. “It’s the one you’re getting in the middle of Sweet Tooth.”
Roman glances around the bakery. People are still making a terrible effort not to listen. “Fair.”
I study her. “But you know what they mean.”
Scarlet picks up her bag. “I know enough to check my records before I say anything else.”
“And after that?” Roman asks.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re optimistic. Who said there was an after?”
Junie glances between us. “You already know where to start.”
Scarlet gives her another betrayed look.
“What?” Junie says. “You do.”
Scarlet picks up her bag. I step back automatically. Roman moves with me, leaving the path to the door completely open.
Her gaze drops briefly to the space we made.
The small act seems to matter more than anything I’ve said.
“Finish your coffee,” I tell her. “We’ll talk after.”
“Not likely.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Roman leans one hip against the counter. “For the record, I’m willing to negotiate over more cake.”
“Your investigative standards are inspiring.”
“I value diplomacy.”
Scarlet turns toward the door before either of us can stop her.
“Good luck with your investigation.”
Roman raises his coffee. “Thank you. The pastry has been very informative.”
She pushes open the bakery door and steps into the humid brightness outside. Her scent fades and my alpha hates the loss.
Neither of us says anything for a moment. I look down at the honey cake in front of me. He looks through the window.
I pick up my coffee. “We came here for GatorX.”
“We did.”
“And now a local historian connected to the museum tells us somebody put strange plants at a ritual display the same morning we arrive tracking plant material.”
Roman tears his honey cake in half. “She seems worth following up on.”
“I was talking about the case.”
“Of course you were.”
I give him a look.
He holds out half the cake.
I take it.
The sheriff already knows BESTF is in town.
Federal coordination made sure of that before we crossed county lines, and our next stop is his office for the local files and formal access requests.
That part is straightforward. Scarlet Sage is less so.
I’ve never felt so pulled toward an omega, so desperate to ease that wrong ache in her scent.
Roman brushes his shoulder against mine as we head for the door. “You’re thinking loudly.”
“Must be exhausting being so emotionally perceptive.”
His laugh follows me outside.
We want her. This is going to be a problem. I can already tell.