Chapter 15 #2
The sound of my name on his lips did something to me I couldn’t name. I wanted to stay in that quiet stolen warmth, but the knock at the door came sharp and sudden. We froze.
Eric’s body went taut. “Stay here.”
I reached for his arm. “It’s probably Sandy. . .”
But he was already moving, crossing the room in three long strides. When he opened the door, Becket stood on the other side, coat unbuttoned, expression grim.
“Perfect timing,” Eric muttered.
Becket’s eyes swept the room, landing on me, then on the envelope on the floor. “Something happen?”
Eric handed him the photo without a word.
Becket’s expression hardened. “Where did you get this?”
“It was left by the door,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady as I looked between them. “They must have known I spent the night here. They’re watching me.”
Becket took the photo from Eric’s hand and studied it carefully, not rushing, not reacting. His jaw tightened once, controlled. “The phrasing matches the earlier messages,” he said, then looked up at me. “But this is escalation.”
My stomach turned.
“They wanted you to know they can find you,” Becket continued, folding the photo back into the envelope.
“That distance doesn’t protect you. And stepping onto this property?
” He glanced toward the window. “That’s deliberate.
It tells me they’re either reckless or confident enough to think the badge doesn’t apply to them. ”
Eric shifted closer to me; his presence solid. “Let’s slow this down,” he said, placing a hand lightly at my back. “One thing at a time.”
Becket nodded once, acknowledging him. “Agreed.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen before slipping it away again.
“Here’s what I know. I got a call this morning from a financial contact out of Sherbrooke.
There’s movement in Marcel Bellerose’s accounts.
Old money. Quiet money. It’s being rerouted through a shell company tied to a recent commercial purchase in town. ”
My pulse spiked. “The old mechanic shop.”
“Yes,” Becket said. “Which tells me someone’s consolidating. Cleaning things up. Making sure nothing traces back to Marcel directly.”
Eric’s voice dropped. “And Harmony fits into that how?”
Becket met his gaze. “She’s leverage. She testified. She cooperated. From their perspective, she’s unpredictable.”
“I didn’t tell the police everything,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I gave them what they needed. When my father’s associates got involved with that Montréal crew, when Braden was taken, I didn’t have a choice. People were getting hurt.”
Becket’s expression didn’t change, but something sharpened behind his eyes. “Which makes you a liability to anyone still operating under Marcel’s shadow.”
Eric exhaled through his nose. “So, we’re talking about intimidation.”
“Yes,” Becket confirmed. “Pressure. Fear. A reminder of where you came from and who still thinks they own you.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “Olivier’s always believed blood means loyalty,” I said quietly. “And Nico does whatever keeps him on the winning side.”
“That tracks,” Becket replied. “Both have motive. Both have access. And both know this town well enough to stay just inside the lines.”
Eric glanced at him. “And anyone else?”
Becket hesitated, just long enough for me to notice. “I’m keeping an open list,” he said carefully. “Anyone with proximity, opportunity, or something to gain from stirring things up.”
That didn’t make me feel better.
“I don’t need theories,” Eric said, his tone firm but controlled. “I need to know what you’re doing about it.”
Becket straightened. “I’m pulling camera footage from Main Street and the access roads. I’m flagging recent property purchases tied to Marcel’s old network. And I’m increasing patrols near the flower shop and the Maple Valley property.”
I nodded. “I don’t want this turning into a spectacle.”
“It won’t,” Becket said. “But you’re not handling this alone.”
Eric’s hand tightened briefly at my back. “And if another message shows up?”
Becket’s gaze locked on mine. “You tell us immediately. No exceptions.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”
The room settled into a tense silence. Eric didn’t say anything, but I could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t voicing pressing in around us.
Becket slipped the envelope into an evidence sleeve. “This isn’t about the past,” he said finally. “It’s about control. And someone’s losing it. You both should lay low for a while. Especially you, Harmony.”
“I’m not running again,” I argued.
He gave a small nod of respect. “Then at least don’t walk alone after dark.”
When the door closed behind him, silence filled the loft.
Eric turned toward me—arms crossed. “You heard him.”
“I’m not hiding. I’ve learned it doesn’t help me anyway. If they want to find me they will. Hell, they know I spent the night here in the loft.”
“This isn’t hiding, Harmony. It’s surviving.”
Something in his tone made me pause. “You really think they’d come after me here?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked to the window and looked out across the street. “I think whoever sent that photo wants you scared. And if fear doesn’t work, they’ll find another way.”
I swallowed. “So what do I do?”
“You stay close,” he said simply.
“To who?”
His eyes met mine. “To me.”
It should’ve sounded like an order, but instead it felt like a promise.
He moved closer again, stopping just in front of me. “I meant what I said last night. I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”
The words warmed something cold inside me. I wanted to tell him I could take care of myself, that I’d learned how to fight the darkness on my own, but I didn’t want to fight anymore. Not like this.
“Okay,” I agreed quietly.
He blinked, almost like he didn’t expect me to agree. “Okay?”
“I’ll stay close,” I said. “For now.”
His mouth curved slightly. “You’re terrible at following orders.”
“I’m not following yours,” I said, my voice steadying. “I’m choosing to trust you.”
For a long second, he just looked at me. Then, without a word, he reached for my hand and gave it a small squeeze.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.”
When he left, the quiet felt heavier than before. I sat at the table, the photo now sealed in Becket’s evidence sleeve, and stared out the window at the orchard stretching beyond the town.
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of apples and rain, the same scent that had always meant freedom to me.
But this time, it felt different. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
And for the first time in a long time, I realized maybe I wasn’t just part of the Bellerose story.
Maybe I was the piece that could end it.