Page 38 of Saving Her Heart
"I mean really talk. About us. About what this means. About whether we should actually do this."
"I know."
"I'm scared."
"Of the threats?"
"Of us. Of trying again. Of getting hurt again." She takes a shaky breath. "Of how much I want to try, anyway."
I reach over and take her hand, intertwining our fingers. "Me too."
She squeezes once before letting go. "Okay. Let's go save my building."
The building looms before us, windows gaping like broken teeth, that threatening message sprawled across the brick like a promise of worse to come. Residents huddle in groups, some crying, all afraid.
Kendall squares her shoulders, ready to face this latest disaster. But I see her hand shake slightly as she reaches for the door handle.
"Hey," I say softly.
She looks at me.
"We've got this. Together."
She nods, takes a breath, and transforms into the competent property manager everyone needs right now. But just before she gets out, she leans over and kisses me quickly.
"For luck," she says.
Then she's gone, striding toward the chaos with her phone already out, calling what I assume would be restoration companies and insurance agents and security firms.
I watch her for a moment—this woman who makes me want to break all the rules—then follow.
Because that's what I do now. I follow where she leads.
Even if it means breaking every regulation in the book.
Chapter 9
Kendall
The broken glass crunches under my feet like tiny bones. Every ground-floor window of the lobby in Building 3 is gone, jagged edges catching the late afternoon sun like teeth. The message sprawled across the brick—"QUIT NOW OR NEXT TIME IT GOES UP IN SMOKE"—still reeks of gasoline, making my stomach turn.
"Don't touch anything," Jax says, his hand on my lower back, steering me away from the worst of the damage. "This is a crime scene now."
Crime scene. My building is a crime scene.
"Ms. Greene!" Mrs. Rodriguez rushes toward me, her two young children clinging to her legs. "Our apartment, the window, it's all gone. Glass everywhere. We can't stay there tonight. The building isn’t secure."
"We'll get you relocated," I promise, already mentally calculating vacant units. "The complex will cover temporary housing."
"But our things?—"
"Everything will be secured. I promise."
More residents approach, all with the same fears, the same questions. Where will they go? Is it safe? Who would do this and why?
I know who. But knowing and proving are two different things.
The police presence is overwhelming. Three patrol cars, Captain Ramirez himself, and what looks like someone from the state fire marshal's office. They're taking this seriously now. Too bad it took a gasoline threat to get here.
