Page 89 of Rules to Love By

“It’s been vandalized over a number of weeks, and the owner is adamant that Mr. Richards here knows something about that,” Clairemont told him.

“Well, I don’t,” Marcus said.

Schiffer flattened a hand on the counter between them. “Please don’t say anything else, Mr. Richards.” He turned back to the cops. “Are you accusing him of anything? Arresting him? Laying charges?”

“Look.” Clairemont stepped up. “We are only here to ask where he was last night. That’s all.” He shifted his gaze to Marcus. “Tell us you were here, all tucked up nice in your bed, and we can leave.”

Marcus said nothing.

Clairemont heaved a heavy breath. “So where were you?”

Marcus looked at Schiffer.

Schiffer studied him a moment, then turned to the police. “Gentlemen, I just walked in the door. I haven’t had time to brief my client yet, and until I do, I’m afraid he’s not going to answer any of your questions. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here.” He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a card. “My office. We can set up an appointment for an interview once I’ve had some time to talk to my client.”

“Told you,” not-Clairemont muttered.

“We don’t know anything,” Clairemont snapped at him. “Go wait outside.”

That got him a scowl and cold shoulder, but the cop left, striding noisily through the filling front room of the inn. Heads turned and people speculated, as people did when a cop walked through the place with an air of righteous superiority.

Clairemont sighed once he was gone. “I apologize for that,” he said to Lucky. “He’s not good at subtle.”

Lucky snorted. “He’s not very good at his job, actually.”

Another sigh. “He has blind spots.”

Lucky’s jaw jumped, and he crossed his arms over his chest, but he said nothing, just moved closer to Kreed, who dropped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Look.” Clairemont turned back to Marcus. “You may have a tough fight ahead of you. This isn’t the first time the diner owner has mentioned you.”

Marcus clenched his teeth so hard his jaw began to ache, but hearing Johnathan given that much power made his gut burn. “He’s not the owner,” he snapped.

“He says—”

“He lies. A lot.” Before he could explain any further, the back door flew open and Eli stormed in.

Everyone jumped except Schiffer, who remained an eddy of calm around Marcus.

Eli’s worry was so heavy it weighed down the air in the room. The thickness made it hard to breathe. Marcus tried to force his jaw loose, but the tightness just worked its way down his throat. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he tried to pull the air through his nose.

Clairemont moved to stand behind Eli near the back door of the kitchen. “We’ll be in touch.”

The door wafted open, as if on a breeze, to give him room past Eli to make his exit. Which he did, and the door shut again with a definitive click. Marcus wouldn’t have been surprised if the hook swung into the eyelet on the frame too, but apparently, Mildred was going for polite dismissal rather than all-out hostile eviction.

The air Marcus finally got into his lungs dragged along the razor-sharp constrictions in his throat. The sound was harsh and loud in the quiet.

Schiffer turned, put a hand on his shoulder, but then Eli was beside him, spinning his stool and moving in to pry out a space between Marcus’s knees.

“You’re okay,” he promised. “Here.” He placed a hand on the back of Marcus’s neck and kneaded. “Stop trying so hard. Just let it come.”

His gaze was so warm. So soft.

Stop trying so hard. Oh God. If only. The problem was, once in, the air refused to leave. He kept gasping lungful after lungful and couldn’t let it go.

“Shh.” Eli touched their foreheads together. “Listen to me, okay?” He moved his head so his mouth was right next to Marcus’s ear. His whisper was lighter than air. Impossible for anyone to hear but Marcus. “You’re going to stop everything. Right now. Stop thinking. Stop panicking. Stop breathing.”

Marcus quivered but managed a nod.

---