How had my quiet life become this unrecognizable tangle of craziness?
Toweling dry my hair, I stared at the rumpled sheets of the bed. How had I not woken up when he’d left? Probably because I’d slept better than I had in recent memory while in his arms. Not something I expected in the least.
You sleep in my arms.
Did that mean he was planning on sleeping here every night? Was I even okay with that? The memories kept replaying on a constant loop as I brushed my teeth, put on makeup, and blow-dried my hair.
Apparently getting lost in the thoughts of amazing sex from the night before wasn’t good for my punctuality, because I arrived at the gallery five minutes after I should have been open. But it wasn’t like there was a line of customers out the door, so no one would ever know.
As I walked inside, a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over me. Trinity should be here today. She should be working with me, and arguing about how to rearrange at least one wall. Instead, I was trusting in Rix that she was safe and he was getting her back. Even though it seemed to be taking a ridiculous amount of time. That’s the funny thing with faith, you don’t get to question if you were going to believe. And if I was believing Rix, I’d have her back soon.
I did. I believed him. I had faith.
And then the front window of my gallery shattered.
Dropping to my knees, I crouched on the floor, covering my face and waiting for the sound of gunshots or screams. But when none came, I blinked open my eyes slowly and turned my head toward the front window. Broken glass covered the old wood floor, and in the middle of it was a brick.
Once I’d pushed up to my feet, I walked on unsteady legs toward it. A piece of paper was wrapped around it, but the writing wasn’t visible. I wanted to touch it, but thoughts of all the cop shows I’d seen over the years stopped me before I reached for it.
Fingerprints. Maybe there were some. I needed a cop.
Obviously, Rhett was the first one to come to mind. The saying kill two birds with one stone came to mind, but it seemed less than ideal considering the brick I was staring at.
The shattered front window mocked me as I walked to my desk and pulled my phone out of my purse. I had two calls to make, one to Rhett and the other to the man I could always count on.
My daddy.
Two crime scene technicians collected evidence while one of Rhett Hennessy’s colleagues questioned me about the events of the morning. Was I usually late for work? Did I see anything before the brick came through the window? Did anyone yell anything? Did I hear a car? Could it have been someone on foot? Did I have any enemies or possible motives for someone to vandalize my gallery?
I answered all of his questions patiently, and stumbled over a not that I can think of in response to the last question. The fact that Trinity was still missing and I wasn’t able to report it to the cops definitely was at the forefront of my mind. It wasn’t a stretch to think it could be related. Or maybe it was just some random crime. I had no idea.
Rhett had asked his colleague to interview me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding a conflict of interest by not doing it himself. I had to tell him. I had to find my lady balls and woman up, and tell him that nothing was going to happen between us.
But I wasn’t doing it in front of this audience.
A crime scene tech unwrapped the paper from the brick just as my father walked through the front door.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay, baby girl?”
When he rushed toward me, for some reason tears burned in my eyes, and I blinked them away. He was the picture of dad to the rescue.
Ignoring everyone else in the room, he pulled me into a hug and squeezed. “You scared the hell out of me. I haven’t told your mother yet because I want to know what’s going on so I can answer her questions.”
Typical Dad, protecting his ladies from anything he could.
I quickly relayed what I knew, which wasn’t much, and my father looked to Detective Fortier.
“So, what do you think?”
The good detective shook my father’s hand. “We’re just starting our investigation, but have no doubt we’ll figure out what happened. Probably just random vandalism. Someone who got started partying a little too early and found a brick to play with.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s the case,” the crime scene tech said. She was in her mid to late twenties, and had blondish-brown hair and blue eyes.
Detective Fortier crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”
Rhett joined the powwow and looked at the paper she was carefully holding with her latex-covered fingertips. On the paper was a grainy picture with a red slash through it. I didn’t get a clear view of the image until the crime scene tech held it up in front of me.
“Do you know this girl, ma’am?”
My stomach dropped to the floor. Trinity. Her hair was a ratty mess—not something she’d ever allow on purpose—and she had a forlorn expression on her face.
Oh my God. I needed to call Rix.
“Isn’t that the girl who works here? The one you’ve been mentoring for years now?” my father asked.
Rhett’s sharp green gaze drilled into mine. “The one that was missing but you said was no longer missing.”
All three men and the two crime scene techs looked at me.
In that moment, I had a choice. I could lay it all out for the cops and put Trinity’s safety in their hands, or I could keep my mouth shut and trust that Rix would get her back. Like right now.
My mouth opened and closed again without words coming out. Finally, I said, “I think this has to be some big misunderstanding. I don’t know why someone would do this.”