Page 44 of The Harborer
Shane bent down and studied the bins. The one on the end held individual servings of jams in different flavors. “These should be somewhere over here?” He swung the beam to his left.
“Exactly. And utensils should come after sweeteners, not before.”
He passed her the flashlight. “I’m going to check behind them. Can you keep the light steady for me?”
“Yes.” She held the beam where he asked her to direct it, moving it as he did.
“I don’t see anything back here. If you didn’t keep such a neat workplace, I might be able to tell if something had been stuck back here by an impression in dust, but it’s clean as a whistle.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a criticism or a compliment.”
He straightened, took the penlight from her, and clicked it off. “It’s a compliment with a twist of frustration added in.” One corner of his mouth quirked with a smile, but it didn’t elicit any humor from her. “That means I’d like to solve this for you, but I don’t have enough to go on.”
In addition to the cameras, he needed to change her locks. But was that a good idea? Whoever was fucking with her inventory would know they were on to him or her. Amy’s store as bait, though? That meant Amy was bait. Then again, did she know more than she was letting on?
She wrapped her arms around her middle and lifted those liquid eyes to his. “Shane, I’m scared. Someone is coming in here and messing with my stuff, and I don’t know why. And now we have drugs being thrown from a truck that was in my parking lot. What if the two are connected? What if someone’s moving this stuff through my store?”
He mustered every ounce of willpower to keep from drawing her against him and comforting her. “We’re not sure someoneisgetting in here. Nothing’s missing, just rearranged. But here’s aquestion for you: Assuming someone is moving stuff through, how would they do it?” He had his own ideas, but he wanted to hear hers.
“I don’t know. What if someone packs stuff in my deliveries that someone else picks up late at night?”
“Who does the unpacking when you receive the deliveries?”
Realization seemed to dawn on her. “Oh. That would be me. I need to check what I receive against what I order to be sure everything I paid for is there.”
“Does anyone else do that for you or help you with the unpacking?”Like Cade?
“Not usually, no.” Her arms wound a little tighter. “Are you thinking I’m somehow involved with whatever’s happening?”
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure, and he hated that the doubt existed. His training meant he wasn’t supposed to eliminate any possibilities, so he was going by the book, yet he was struggling to believe Amy was part of whatever sketchy shit was going on.
“No, I’m not,” he hedged.She’s not tied up in whatever this is.It was his gut talking, and his gut didn’t often lead him astray. Then again, his gut wasn’t usually confronted by anything more serious than wildlife run-ins, and it wasn’t normally twisted in a knot of desire either.
“Maybe smuggling stuff inside deliveries isn’t happening, but someone’sstillgetting in here and messing with my stuff,” she said. “What if they sneak in something that makes customers sick? You know, like switching out the sugar packets with fentanyl powder?”
The question jarred him. “How do you know about fentanyl?”
She flung out an arm. “Everyone who listens to the news knows about it.”
Fair point.“This has been going on long enough that you would have heard by now if anyone got sick.”
“That’s not very reassuring.” A beat passed. “I’m still scared.”
He exhaled. “I get it, and I don’t blame you.”
Shadows enveloped the store beyond the counter, and she peered into them, murmuring, “I think I’ll stay here tonight. I’ll sleep on my office couch.”
Wait.“What? Why?”
“I’m not used to the new apartment, and it kind of creeps me out. It’s so dark there. I feel exposed.”
The Vogue Vault stood between a few empty, dilapidated buildings on a block that hugged the outer edge of Bowen Street. There was only one working street light there, and it threw a weak circle on a front corner. The store itself had a motion security light in back meant to illuminate the parking lot, but Shane wasn’t sure it worked. The idea of Amy staying there—especially when she was frightened—didn’t sit well with him, but neither did her sleeping in her store where someone up to no good was possibly letting themselves in.
“So you want to stay in a place where you’re worried someone could be breaking in and engaging in some kind of criminal activity? That doesn’t make sense, Amy.”
She blinked—rapidly, as if she might cry—and alarm bells clanged in his head. “What do you suggest I do, then?” Her question came out in a squeak so breathless he barely heard it.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “Come home with me. No one will bother you there.” His mind raced through his tiny apartment, mentally taking inventory. Had he made his bed today? Left breakfast dishes in the sink? Dirty underwear on the floor? Today had been laundry day, but since he hadn’t had a chance to get to it, his hamper had to be overflowing.
