Page 26 of Shadow Justice

And someone had learned how to use that against them all.

CHAPTER FIVE

After the last courthouse retiree left Sanctuary and the front door locked behind him, Holly felt as if she’d lived three separate days in one.

There had been the ordinary day that began with coffee, customers, Roni, and the steady rhythm of work. There had been the FBI day, with victim names and a loyalty card sealed in an evidence bag. Then there had been the evening Reid had just spent moving through her shop as if he belonged behind the counter, carrying cups and refilling sugar canisters while quietly turning every familiar table into a question she didn’t want to ask.

Now the shop was closed, the lights were dimmed, and rain tapped softly against the front windows. Nell’s book club had gone home with their tote bags and worry. Hank Toler and the retired courthouse crew had left behind coffee rings, crumbs, and the echo of laughter. Sanctuary looked like itself again, warm and messy and ready to be reset for morning, but Holly couldn’t shake what Reid had said without quite saying it.

Anyone could watch a lot from here.

She stood near the counter with a damp rag in one hand and stared at the community board where flyers layered over one another in cheerful chaos. Book club, knitting night, cards, local writers. A lost cat named Pickle. A handwritten notice for piano lessons. She loved that board because it proved people came here to connect. Now every notice looked like information a killer could exploit.

Reid came up beside her, close enough that she felt him without being crowded by him. He’d spent the evening being careful moving around her, and she was starting to notice the care more than the intrusion.

“I need to survey the building for security issues before we go upstairs,” he said.

She was tired, and he’d earned the assessment by not making the evening harder than it already was. He hadn’t interrogated her customers, hadn’t taken over, hadn’t turned Hank or the book club into suspects with faces. He’d done dishes, cleared mugs, and listened. Somehow that made the next part easier to accept. She nodded. “I’ll walk you around and give you access to anything you need.”

His gaze moved to hers, and she caught a flicker of surprise before he smoothed it away. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m probably going to get cranky when you insult my locks.”

He laughed gently. “I’ll only suggest upgrades if I truly believe you need them.”

“Wise.”

They started at the front door. Reid checked the deadbolt, the strike plate, the hinges, and the old brass handle she’d fought to keep because it suited the historic storefront. He asked when the lock had last been replaced, who had keys, and whether the landlord had ever entered without notice.

Holly answered each question because the answers mattered, even when they scraped against her nerves. Maya had a key for opening shifts, which she usually did on weekends. Roni had one for dog-related emergencies. There was no landlord other than her.

Linda from the bakery didn’t have access, but kept an eye on the front if Holly stepped away and Maya wasn’t working. No, there had never been a problem with someone getting in after hours. Yes, the alarm worked. Yes, she set it every night. Yes, she knew the code should probably be changed—she hadn’t done it since the grand opening.

“I can do that before I leave,” Reid said.

The words made her stiffen. Before I leave. He meant the building, maybe the case, maybe some vague point in the future when federal agents and staged evidence stopped hovering over her life. Her mind went somewhere else entirely, to another morning and another leaving, and she busied herself removing her apron and hanging it up behind the counter.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not giving you a code that lets you judge me for using Blue’s birthday.”

“You used your dog’s birthday as your alarm code?”

“Not anymore, I won’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Good.”

She rolled her eyes. The edge she’d carried all afternoon had dulled, not because she’d forgiven him, and not because the day had become less frightening. She was simply aware of him now in a way that didn’t fit neatly into anger. It was easier when he’d been a memory she could resent from a distance.

They moved to the patio. Holly unlocked the side door and stepped out beneath the awning while Reid checked the latch on the gate, the planters, the umbrella stands, the hooks where customers clipped leashes while they sat outside with their dogs. The rain had eased to a fine mist, and the patio smelled like wet brick and rosemary from the planter by the gate.

“This is approved outdoor space,” she said before he could ask. “Dogs are allowed here, but not inside because of health codes. Blue is only downstairs before or after hours when he’s passing through.”

He glanced toward the street. “From across Main, someone can see most of the patio, the front tables, and the register. At night, with the lights on, they can see even more unless the glass reflects enough to interfere.”

“I like that people can see in,” she said, quieter now. “It makes the shop feel welcoming.”

“It is welcoming.”

“You make that sound dangerous.”