Page 64 of Show Me

I don’t remember the drive. One second, I’m reading her text.

Ruby: Someone was in my house.

The next, I’m turning onto her street, tires hitting gravel too fast, engine sputtering when I jump out of the truck. Her back door is unlocked. My heart slams hard enough to make the world narrow.

“Ruby?”

“I’m here.” Her voice is high-pitched and breathy.

I step inside and see her near the kitchen table, phone clutched in both hands like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She’s shaking. Not the subtle kind she hides. Full, uncontrollable tremors.

The sight hits something deep and immediate in my chest. Fear. It’s not an emotion I experience often, but I know what it is. I close the distance in two strides. “Hey.”

She looks up at me like she’s been holding herself together with duct tape, and I’m the first solid thing she’s seen. “They were inside.”

I don’t think. I pull her into me. Her arms come up, gripping the back of my shirt like she’s afraid I might disappear. Her face presses into my chest, breath hitching against the flannel.

“I’ve got you.” She’s cold, shaking hard enough that I feel it through my ribs.

“This is real.” Her voice breaks. “This isn’t small-town weird.”

“No.” I rub her back in a slow circle. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Don’t say that. I expect you to call me over something like this.” I keep one arm around her and scan the room, windows closed, front door locked, nothing obviously disturbed. “Were the doors locked?”

“Yes, they were locked.” She nods against my chest, then steps back reluctantly, like letting go costs her something. “I don’t know how they got in, but the box was here in the kitchen.” She points to the counter. “There.”

I don’t comment as I brace my hand against her back, taking a step forward. The box sits on the counter, exactly where she pointed. White. Centered. Her name written across the top in the same block lettering as the other notes.

Someone was in her house. The fucking asshole. “You touched it?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Good.”

My phone is already in my hand.

Me: Need you at Ruby’s. Break-in.

Jake: On my way.

I set the phone down and move through the kitchen, eyes scanning for anything out of place. The window over the sink is locked. The back door shows no damage. But the trim around the frame….

I crouch. The weather stripping is pulled loose at the end. A thin gap where the latch meets the frame. “Here.”

Ruby steps closer, arms wrapped around herself.

“They slipped something in,” I explain, pointing. “Pried the latch without breaking it.”

Her face goes pale. “So they could do it again.”

“No. Not after tonight.” That’s not going to happen. Her eyes snap to mine. I don’t look away.

A car pulls up outside, gravel crunching under the tires. Ruby exhales, shoulders sagging with relief. “Jake.”

A minute later, the door opens and Jake steps inside, posture alert, eyes sweeping the room in one practiced motion. He’s in jeans and a jacket, badge clipped at his belt.