Page 2 of Loco

That damned woman never did anything predictable. Ever. But moving deeper into Piersville was extreme, even for Sayla Du Plessis.

I wasn’t sure if it was fate, sheer coincidence, or just Murphy’s law screwing with me, but I’d ended up buying the house directly across from hers on Magnolia Road. And the kicker was that we’d closed on our homes within fourteen hours of each other. She’d beaten me to it—only because of some last-minute paperwork holdup on my end—but the result was the same. We were now neighbors, and she had absolutely no idea. I’d made sure of that.

Even Evie—my sister and her best friend—hadn’t been let in on my little secret. Sure, I’d told her I’d bought a house, but I’d been deliberately vague about where. The last thing I wanted was to put Evie in the middle of whatever reaction Sayla was about to have. Because there would be a reaction, that much I was sure of. She was going to kill me, possibly in my sleep.

Glancing around my half-unpacked living room, I noted the haphazard placement of furniture and the stacks of boxes that still needed to be dealt with. The guys from work who weren’t on shift today helped me move everything in, loading up two trucks and knocking them out in record time. This meant the furniture had been placed in whatever spot seemed convenient at the time, with zero thought given to practicality.

Anyone who’s ever moved house knows the difference between where you think something should go and where it actually needs to be. It all looks seamless in your head—or even on a perfectly curated online vision board. Reality, however, has a way of smacking you upside the head.

Case in point: the couch, currently positioned in the direct path of the afternoon sun, meaning my TV screen was now more glare than the picture. If I kept it there, I’d be baking in a personal sunspot every day, sweating through my shirt like a germaphobe in a public bathroom. And at night, the paranoia would kick in—because there was nothing worse than feeling like someone was watching you through the slats of your blinds while you tried to relax.

Yeah, this would take some work, but that was a problem for later.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the front porch, settling into one of the chairs with a slow exhale. Lifting my boots, I propped them against the railing and took a swig, my gaze settling on the quiet street in front of me. Magnolia Road had a picturesque charm—tree-lined sidewalks, well-kept lawns, the kind of place that felt welcoming but had just enough space between houses to avoid nosy neighbors.

Except for Sayla, who had no idea her new neighbor was me. Sayla, who was about to drive up any second now and see the U-Haul parked in my driveway. That was going to be fun.

I smirked to myself, already picturing her reaction. Sayla had been in business with Evie for years, but for the longest time, the only things I could get out of her were a blush, a squeak, or a sarcastic comeback. She’d had a crush on me—something she’d been horrible at hiding—but I hadn’t been in a place to entertain it. I wasn’t blind, I’d noticed, but my job in Palmerstown had required absolute focus. What we’d been up against back then wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Now, things were different.

We weren’t operating blindly at Palmerstown P.D. anymore, just waiting for the next storm to hit. But the damage had been done. I had no idea where things stood between Sayla and me, but I knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t be happy when she found out I’d moved in across the street.

That thought alone should’ve entertained me, but my mind veered down another track. One that made my grip tighten around my beer bottle, dirty cops. The phrase alone made my jaw clench.

Anyone in law enforcement knew the struggle. ACAB—All Cops Are Bastards—was something we heard constantly, and it pissed me off more than I could put into words. Because while there were plenty of bastards wearing badges, there were also men and women who took the responsibility seriously. Who wore that badge with honor. I’d wring the neck of any cop who abused their power.

The Palmerstown Police Department had two officers currently under close surveillance. They weren’t allowed to take callouts alone, and they weren’t partnered with each other anymore. A dozen measures had been put in place while our sheriff, Judd Bailey, gathered enough evidence to nail them to the wall. Firing them now would only allow them to cover their tracks, and we couldn’t afford that.

But that didn’t make it any easier to stomach. The thought of them made my fists itch. The abuse of power, the unchecked corruption—it made me sick. A badge wasn’t a free pass to do whatever the hell you wanted. And the higher-ups who turned a blind eye were just as bad as the ones getting their hands dirty.

If I ever got five minutes alone with either of them…

“Yo!”

The call snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see Mark Montgomery strolling up the porch steps, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Looking mighty serious over there,” he drawled, leaning against the railing. “Did she find out already?”

I snorted, flipping him off as I took another drink. “Don’t think so. But if you hear screaming and cursing later, that’s probably it.”

Mark let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’d be more concerned if everything stayed peaceful and calm.”

I raised a brow. “How come?”

“Means she decided to smother you in your sleep.”

He said it so casually, like it was a genuine possibility, and hell, maybe it was.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

Mark shrugged, his grin widening. “Probably because you’re still high off the thrill of playing Secret Neighbor. Give it a few hours. The reality check’s coming.”

He wasn’t wrong. But for now, I lifted my beer and wiggled it in his direction. “Want one?”

“Water, if you’ve got it, please. I have to have dinner with the Townsends in an hour and trust me, it’s always better to be sober for that.”

With a snort, I pushed up from my seat and motioned for Mark to follow me into the kitchen.

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