Page 51 of Craving

It felt…good, she decided. It was a comfort to have him there. She’d bask in it, at least until she knew what was going on.

“Vick,” Marlon greeted one of the policemen with a nod. The officer was younger than the one who’d attended last time, here with another youngish partner who was busy talking to Daniel.

Vick and Marlon shook hands, and then Marlon introduced Camilla. He must’ve interacted with lots of cops in his job because he seemed to be friendly with the whole force.

The cop nodded to the back of the building, where the kitchen was. “You get that security system up and running yet? Ricky said you were installing one after the window.”

Marlon’s brow was stormier than Camilla had ever seen it. “No,” he said, and it was so low it sounded like it came from the mouth of a beast. “But it’s going in today.”

“Hold on.” Camilla took a deep breath. “I don’t have the money—”

“I don’t need your money,” Marlon snapped.

She reared back, blinking rapidly.

Marlon flinched, then brought his hands up to scrub his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, contrite. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” His eyes met hers as he dropped his hands, turning his palms up in a pleading motion. “Please let me do this for you, Camilla. I won’t be able to rest unless I know you’re safe here.”

Her throat thickened. What could she say to that?

“Okay,” she replied.

After the police were gone, there was lots of clean-up to do. Daniel followed, intending to help until she shooed him away to start making the day’s bread. So, with Marlon murmuring on the phone at the front of the bakery, Camilla stared into her office and took a strong, bracing breath.

Her filing cabinet had been overturned, its contents spilled onto the ground. Her laptop was gone. The desk was pushed into the middle of the room and there was a line of dents in the drywall behind it, like someone had been probing the wall for something.

The safe, most likely. Camilla braced herself and headed into the storeroom. On the far wall, the safe had been installed at chest level. It sat closed, waiting, and Camilla unlocked it with trembling hands.

There wasn’t much in it: the tray from the register with its float of cash, a small reserve of money, and some paperwork. At the end of every workday, she deposited all her excess cash at the bank, so she never had much money on the premises.

But nothing had been disturbed, and Camilla wondered if it was because the intruder hadn’t thought to look in the storeroom beside racks of kitchen implements and spare baking supplies.

She shuffled back to the office, heart heavy, and got to work cleaning up. Marlon helped, silent beside her, and Camilla was grateful. He hauled the filing cabinet up without even a grunt of effort and piled the mountain of mixed-up paperwork onto her desk. The line of dents in the drywall drew a scowl to his brow.

“Did they take anything other than the laptop?”

Camilla shook her head. “Not that I can tell.”

“Hmm.”

Camilla’s mood was dark. She wondered if the broken window had been a warning. Had her ovens been tampered with too? Was this all a message from Frankie?

She couldn’t say any of that out loud, because it would mean admitting she’d taken a loan from a shark. It would mean telling Marlon just how broke and vulnerable she was. She couldn’t do it, and—selfishly—she didn’t want his opinion of her to change.

Would he still look at her with that worshipful expression if he knew how stupid she’d been to sign up for this loan? Would he help her if he knew she was caving to a dirtbag’s extortion?

Camilla wasn’t strong enough to find out. She just wanted her office cleaned up so she could get back to work.

By the time dawn lightened the sky, the office was back to rights, and Camilla was exhausted. Her front-of-house staff were beginning to arrive, and the pastry chef who took the morning shift was already puttering around the kitchen.

Then Marlon’s phone rang, and he strode to the back door and flung it open. After a short conference with the man on the other side, an army of security personnel descended on her space. Marlon clipped out orders like a military general, pointing out areas where he wanted cameras and equipment, clearing space for his people to work. Half a dozen men stalked through her space like ghosts in black uniforms, their gazes serious, their fingers deft as they spliced wires and installed cameras.

“I should be protesting,” Camilla told Daniel, watching the work. “I should refuse his help.”

Daniel finished shaping a loaf with fast, sure movements, tipping it into the waiting banneton. He placed a broad palm down on the lightly floured surface and planted his other hand on his hip. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, Camilla.”

She glanced around at the security personnel, feeling lost. “This is too much.”

Marlon glanced over then, and the storm on his brow told Camilla he wouldn’t accept any protests.

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