5. Scarlet Sage #2
“I’ve had worse afternoons,” I say.
His hazel eyes stay on mine. “That doesn’t make this one acceptable.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. It’s care, barely deep enough to qualify, but it’s more than I’m accustomed to receiving from people.
Wes crosses to the hallway without saying anything.
He closes the bedroom door the deputy left open before moving through the living room, restoring a few displaced objects with careful hands.
The carved owl goes back into the window.
My grandmother’s quilt is folded over the chair again.
The research stack is straightened without a single page being shuffled out of order.
I register the whole sequence as reclamation.
When Wes returns, he pulls off his jacket and holds it out to me.
I look from the dark canvas to his face. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Whatever helps.”
“That is dangerously vague.”
“Then wear it.” His tone is gruff enough to sound like an order, but he doesn’t step closer or try to put it on me.
I release Roman’s hand long enough to take the jacket.
The fabric is warm from Wes’s body. Cedar and clean soap rise around me as I slide my arms into sleeves long enough to cover my hands. The weight settles over my shoulders, and my body responds with an easing so intense that heat burns across my cheeks.
Wes has the decency not to look satisfied.
Roman keeps one hand offered near mine. I take it again.
For a few breaths, the house feels like it did this morning.
Wes returns to the doorway. The sharp certainty he carried in has developed visible cracks since Tom left, and I watch him recalculate in real time. His gaze moves between me, the storage box of dried flowers, the rooms the deputies searched, and back to me again. He is methodical even in doubt.
Finally, he looks directly at me. “You reacted in the bakery when Roman mentioned the plant compounds.”
“I noticed something before that.”
His focus sharpens. “At the fountain?”
I nod.
Roman’s thumb rests warm against my hand. “You told us the lilies didn’t belong there. You never told us why.”
I look down at our joined hands. Earlier today, I would have told them to read one of my books and leave me alone.
Since then, they have watched half the sheriff’s department tear through my house, challenged Tom, and put everything back without treating my things like they belonged to them.
There is also the very small but very significant weight of Wes’s jacket or the fact that Roman asked before touching me.
I pull the jacket tighter around myself. “Swamp lilies show up in some of the older sweetheart traditions.
Wes leans one shoulder against the doorway. “What kind of traditions?”
“The ones we don’t advertise on postcards.”
“Like what?” Roman’s fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“Release rituals,” I explain.
“Bond breaking?” Wes asks gruffly.
“No. At least, that isn’t how the stories describe it. More like loosening an established bond for a limited period. It lets someone move outside the normal pressure of a mate bond.”
Wes’s gaze shifts toward the drying bundles the deputy left exposed. “And someone put those flowers where people leave offerings to strengthen their bonds? Seems strange.”
“Exactly.”
Roman is lost in thought for a moment before he speaks up. “In theory, GatorX does something similar.”
I look at him.
“The older versions of the drug dulled a bond for a few hours,” he says. “It numbs out pain, distress, and recognition cues like scent. It allows enough escape from the bond that someone could make choices without feeling everything they normally would.”
“Temporarily,” Wes adds. “The new supply isn’t wearing off.”
A chill moves over my arms despite the jacket. “What does that mean?”
“People are losing mate-scent recognition after the drug should be out of their system.”
I look toward the storage box again. “So, the drug gives people temporary relief, but now something is making the separation last.”
“Yes. That’s what we’re here to try and understand,” Roman says.
Wes steps closer to the table. “Do you think the lilies are part of it?”
“I think somebody put release flowers at a place built around strengthening bonds on the same morning you arrived tracking a drug with a wetland signature.” I shake my head. “It feels connected but isn’t proof.”
“Agreed.”
I exhale. “Now the Love Stone is gone.”
Roman glances toward Wes.
“Bonds are failing,” I continue. “Your drug is damaging bonds. Those flowers were where they should never have been. And the one object this town believes protects bonds has disappeared.”
Wes studies me for a long moment. “That’s enough to investigate.”
“Not enough to arrest the town witch?”
Roman snorts.
Wes’s mouth almost moves. “Not today.”
Their familiar rhythm loosens something in my chest.
Wes’s gaze returns to me. “We need to see your research.”
I hesitate.
“It isn’t to build evidence for Tom,” he says. “You’re the one who knows where the history and the case overlap.”
I look at Roman, then back at Wes. “Okay.”
Wes nods once. “Then maybe we start to figure out what we’re actually dealing with.”
I don’t know where all this will lead, but I nod again.
I can almost hear my tarot deck say I told you so.