Page 9 of Saving Her Heart
Captain Ramirez has probably already heard about it. He'll want the full report just for the entertainment value, and then he'll tell the story at Hooplas for the next month.
My phone buzzes again as I'm getting out of the car. This time it's a text from dispatch.
Dispatch: The captain wants to see you about the Hibiscus Point incident. Says to bring coffee.
Of curse he does. I head for the break room first, already rehearsing how I'm going to explain this without mentioning that the property manager involved was Kendall. Not that it matters. In a town this small, everyone will know by noon, anyway.
Chapter 3
Kendall
The board meeting is in six hours, and I'm standing in my apartment trying to decide if I should wear my navy power suit that says 'competent professional' or my black dress that says 'attending my own funeral'. My phone hasn't stopped buzzing since the goat video went viral. Currently at 47,000 views and climbing. Lucky me.
A knock at my door interrupts my fashion crisis. I open it to find Mrs. Parsons holding a casserole dish.
"I made Harold's favorite," she says, shuffling past me into my kitchen. "That nice police officer seemed hungry earlier."
"Mrs. Parsons, you shouldn't be—" I stop as she opens my refrigerator and starts rearranging things. "How did you even get up here?"
"Oh, the elevator. Such a nice young man helped me. Very tall. Said he was here about building security?"
My stomach drops. I grab my phone and check the building's security app. Sure enough, there's a code enforcement vehicle in the guest parking. So is the animal control vehicle. Shouldn't they have left by now?
"Mrs. Parsons, I need you to stay here for a minute, okay?"
"Of course, dear. I'll just tidy up. This place needs a woman's touch. Harold always says?—"
I'm already out the door, barefoot again because apparently that's my thing now. The hallway stretches toward the elevator, and I can hear voices coming from the stairwell. Official voices using words like "violation" and "immediate compliance."
The elevator dings, and Jax steps out.
Not the code enforcement officer or animal control. Jax. In civilian clothes—jeans and a henley that does things to his shoulders that should be illegal.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
"The code enforcement guy needed access to document the damage." He holds up a key ring. "The property management office was locked."
"You could have called."
"I did. Six times."
I check my phone. Between the viral video comments and Valerie's threats, I've missed dozens of calls. Six are from the police station.
"Also," he continues, "there's been another incident."
"Another—what kind of incident?"
"Gertie escaped from animal control."
"The goat escaped?"
"She's very resourceful. Apparently she can open gate latches." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that way that used to make me want to fix it. "She's somewhere in the building."
As if on cue, a scream echoes from two floors down, followed by what sounds distinctly like bleating.
"That sounded like Mrs. Patterson," I say.
"The rose lady?"
