Page 6 of Shadow Justice

Heat rose in Holly’s face. “You have not been trying to set me up with Reid since forever.”

“Only because he joined the Navy and left town before I could implement my plan.”

Holly turned to a stack of clean saucers. Roni had no idea that her plan had briefly, disastrously, beautifully implemented itself the night before Reid left for the Navy. She didn’t know Holly had spent years pretending one night hadn’t become the measuring stick no other man could survive. She didn’t know every failed date had been doomed before appetizers because Holly kept comparing ordinary men to a memory with dark eyes, broad shoulders, and quiet confidence.

“Tell him I said hi,” Holly said, proud of how normal she sounded.

Roni’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe welcome home? Come by for coffee? Please have your sister stop throwing dentists and pasta men at me because her matchmaking strategy is becoming a cry for help?”

“You need to get to work, Roni.”

Roni laughed and pushed away from the counter. “Kiss Blue for me. And wear something Sunday night that doesn’t smell like espresso.”

“Goodbye, Veronica.”

Roni froze at the door and turned slowly, one hand pressed to her chest. “That was unnecessary violence.”

Holly blew her a kiss and Roni left. Holly watched through the front windows as her best friend splashed through a shallow puddle, nearly lost her footing, recovered with a flourish, and disappeared down the sidewalk toward her SUV.

Reid was back. Not visiting, but back in Blackridge, helping care for his grandfather, sitting on Roni’s daycare floor with puppies, and asking how Holly was in that careful, controlled way of his.

Roni had been thrilled when he’d called to tell her he was retiring. The now former Navy JAG lawyer was gorgeous, brilliant, and probably still far too good at leaving.

Holly gave herself three seconds to feel the old ache, then turned back to the shop.

By midmorning, the crowd thinned to the regular lull between commuters and lunch.

Maya glanced at the clock. “I’m going to run to the bank and grab more receipt tape unless you need me here.”

“Go,” Holly said. “Better to do it now before lunch.”

Maya untied her apron and hung it on the hook. “Text me if the oat milk apocalypse hits.”

“Always.”

Holly restocked the pastry case, wiped down tables, and carried a gray ceramic mug to Mrs. Alvarez, who came in every weekday at ten-fifteen, ordered chamomile tea she never finished, and worked on her novel-in-progress.

The rain had picked up, blurring the view through the front windows. Holly made a note to bring in the patio chairs if the wind got worse. The patio was one of her favorite parts of Sanctuary, even on wet days—the little fenced space along Laurel with string lights, planters, and dog hooks mounted at every table. Blue considered the patio his kingdom when he was allowed out to visit.

Holly returned to the counter and found a loyalty card lying beside the register.

At first, she thought someone had forgotten it. That happened all the time. People abandoned punch cards, sunglasses, gloves, umbrellas, and once a ceramic garden gnome with no explanation. She picked up the card, intending to tuck it into the little lost-and-found box under the counter. Then she noticed every circle had been punched.

All ten of them.

That was odd but not impossible. Customers sometimes saved completed cards for weeks before redeeming them. Holly flipped the card over to check for a name.

The words on the back were written in neat black block letters over the Sanctuary Coffee text.

Some people don’t deserve sanctuary.

Holly stared at the card as her brows drew together.

A prank. It had to be a prank. Maybe Hoyt had left it. Maybe some teenager thought ominous coffee commentary was hilarious. Maybe someone from the courthouse had a bleak sense of humor after too many arraignments.