Page 105 of Show Me

Chapter Fifty-Three

Ruby

By the time the office empties, the light has shifted into that flat, gray-blue that settles over the lot in late fall, swallowing the last of the day before you’re ready for it.

I’m stacking paperwork when I hear the rattle of a jack outside. Metal on metal. Xavier is crouched beside my car, sleeves pushed up, hands flexing with movement. The spare tire is off, propped against the curb, and he’s replacing the one that was ruined.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. He just… did it, and I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or relieved.

I grab my jacket and walk outside, cold air biting at my face the second I step into the lot. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah, I did.” The statement isn’t defensive. Or irritated. More like certain.

I lean against the truck bed of his pickup, watching him work. The clink of tools, the scrape of metal, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It all settles into something quieter than it should be after the day we’ve had.

Once he’s done, he steps beside me, leans off the side, and pulls up a flattened tire. My flattened tire. He rolls it toward him, turning it so the side catches the last of the light. “There.”

I crouch beside him. At first I don’t see it. Then I do. A nail. Driven straight through the sidewall. Not the tread. This is not something I picked up on the road.

My stomach drops hard enough it makes me sway. “That’s not…” My voice catches.

“Not road debris.” His voice is sharper now. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the tire. “You don’t get that driving.”

Silence drops between us. Thick.

He sets the tire aside harder than necessary, grabs a rag, drags it over his hands like he’s trying to wipe something off that won’t come clean. “What happened last night?”

Not loud. Controlled. Too controlled.

I look away. “I told you. I stayed with Bella.”

“Why?” The question hits sharper this time.

Because I was scared. Because someone left another gift. Because I didn’t want to sit in that house alone knowing someone had been there again.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

His shoulders drop a fraction. Then tighten again as his eyes trail over me. “That’s not all of it.”

Of course it isn’t. I stare at the gravel, at the dark oil stains beneath his boots. “There was another box.”

“Where?” Not a question. A demand.

“On my car.”

His jaw flexes. “The cameras?”

“We checked.”

His eyes narrow. “And?”

“Nothing.”

A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Where was the car parked?”

“Closer to the street than usual.”

His expression hardens. “Damn it.” The curse comes low and sharp. He turns away, dragging a hand through his hair.