Page 60 of Her Silver Fox Mountain Men

All three watch me closely, analyzing my expression while my brain works overtime to keep my response under control.

Do not tell them, Elise. This is your problem, your past, not theirs. This is not their concern.

“I have no idea,” I mumble.

“Are you sure?” James asks.

“I honestly don’t know. Who delivered them?”

“One of Shauna’s couriers. I’m familiar with the kid. He showed me the delivery note, and it had your full name on it.”

There it is. A tiny opening. Also my opportunity to cling to the false hope that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t Igor’s doing after all.

“Maybe Shauna sent them just to mess with us,” I suggest. “From what you’ve told me about her, and from what I’ve seen as well, she strikes me as the bitter, vindictive type. It’s easy to stir up trouble like this when you own a flower shop, wouldn’t you agree?”

“She knows better than to try something like this,” Roman scoffs.

Oliver gives him a doubtful look. “Does she, though? Know better?”

“It could also be from one of the clients at the diner. A few of them are aware that you guys are hosting me here until Mr. Ronald finishes the repairs at my place. It was never really a state secret, not in this small town,” I say.

“You look pale,” James remarks, giving me a worried look.

“I’m just weirded out,” I mutter, trying to brush it off. “Whoever sent this, it’s creepy.”

“I’ll find out,” James replies, reaching for his phone. “I’ll give Shauna a call and settle this one way or another.”

“They’re addressed to me. I should be the one to make the inquiries.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod once with confidence. “I’ve got this.”

22

Elise

The next morning I head out to confront Shauna.

I’m not convinced I’ll get anything out of her, but I have to try. Despair is too powerful a force when I can feel the Konstantinov shadow looming over me.

Carefully, I get out of the Ford, which I parked a half block down and across the street, so she wouldn’t see me coming.

“There you are,” I mutter, watching her as she arranges dark pink peonies in a large scarlet container in the window. I cross the street and head straight for the door, determined to get some answers.

“Crap,” I say to myself when she sees me. Her eyes go wide and I hurry forth, but she’s faster.

By the time I reach the front door, it’s locked. Shauna smirks at me from inside as she turns over the sign in the window that says “Out to lunch. Back in an hour.”

“It’s early morning, you bitch!” I shout, banging my fist on the door to no avail. All I can do is watch as she goes into theback, disappearing from my sight altogether. I could call, turn the shop’s phone line red hot. I could spam her website with negative reviews. Anything to get her attention, to get her to come out and talk to me.

“Dammit, Shauna, I need to know who keeps sending me flowers!” I snap and smack the door again.

I’m bawling my eyes out, slapping the glass and calling her every name in my urban dictionary, turning some pedestrian ears red as they decide to cross the street to get farther away from me.

“Oh, God,” I sob, embarrassed as I wipe the tears with the sleeves of my coat.

I must look like a crazy, raving lunatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody calls the sheriff. The last thing I need is for my name to go on any public record in this town.

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