She explained about her insurance job and the work she was doing with the museum. “I’ve got an assignment lined up in St. Simons next, so I’ll be staying in town for that, too.”
He nodded. “That explains why you were at the museum tonight—but not why someone was shooting at you. Or what happened to make you scream just now, because I know you don’t expect me to believe it was a spider.”
“I really did think I saw one.”
Something about the way she said that...
“Is that all?”
“No. And if you’re going to ask me what it was, you may as well come in. I didn’t get to eat much at the party and I’m starving.”
“You’re cooking?”
“If you consider bologna sandwiches cooking, then yes.”
“Any chance I could get one of those?”
Kelsey’s snort of laughter wasn’t quite ladylike, but it was cute when she did it. She shook her head as she stuck her key in the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Sawyer Hamilton eats bologna?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He followed her inside, noting that the inside of the house was in better condition than the outside. That made him feel better about her staying here.
“You’re a Hamilton.”
“Who still has to eat to stay alive.”
“But bologna is such...such peasant food.”
The ridiculousness of this conversation was getting to him. At least, that’s the only excuse Sawyer could formulate for what he did next. He reached for Kelsey’s hand, laid it on top of his own palm and brushed her fingers over the calluses on his fingers and palm.
Their eyes met. Held. Sawyer swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected touching her to focus all his senses quite this way, narrow his gaze to where he only saw her. Her green eyes. Staring right at him.
He dropped her hand, tried to recover his composure. “Those are a working man’s hands, Kelsey. When I’m not at work, I’m outside, doing things in the yard, working with my hands as much as I can. I guess I’m just a ‘peasant’ like you. Now, how about that bologna while you tell me what really had you spooked?”
She locked the front door behind them and nodded. “Okay, give me one minute.” And she ran up the stairs.
Not two minutes later she was back, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt. He couldn’t blame her. He was suffocating in his suit. He tugged at his tie, rolled it up and put it in his suit pocket, then slid out of the jacket. “Good idea with the clothes.”
“Yeah, I don’t stay dressed up any longer than I have to. Besides, I needed my gun.”
He didn’t see any gun.
Kelsey grinned, patted her hip. “It’s a good concealment holster. I got my permit as soon as I wasn’t law enforcement anymore. I let the cops do their job and I’m not out to be a vigilante with it, but as far as protecting myself goes, I’d prefer to be able to.”
Sawyer nodded. It was a common attitude in the South, and one that gave him great relief when it came to Kelsey’s safety.
“So, tell me why you really screamed.” He finally brought the subject back to the one she’d managed to dance gracefully away from two different times now.
“Any chance you’ll just let it go?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. There was another note on the door.”
“And you just stood there? Didn’t the shooter use a note earlier to get you to stay in one place so they could shoot at you?”
“Possibly—we can’t really say for sure that that was his method the first time. At any rate, he obviously didn’t shoot at me this time.”
“What did the note say?”
“Basically the same as the other.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. “I balled it up after I read it and held it in my fist while you and I were talking.”
Back when she’d been trying to convince him that she’d been scared enough of a spider to scream. Sure.
Sawyer took the note she was offering.
YOU SEEM TO HAVE A HARD TIME LISTENING. THOSE SHOTS WERE WARNING SHOTS, SO YOU’D KNOW TO TAKE THE NOTE SERIOUSLY. YOU HAVE UNTIL SEVEN TOMORROW. NO ONE ELSE HAS TO DIE.
BUT IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO LISTEN... YOU WILL.
“This is why you screamed?”
She shook her head. Reached into her pocket again. “I bagged it as soon as I took it upstairs.” She slid a paper bag out of her pocket and reached inside.
And pulled out a picture printed on computer paper. It was a picture of Kelsey, from tonight at the museum event. And it was marked through with something red. And sticky.
“That’s not real blood, right?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I called the police when I was upstairs. They’re sending a couple of officers over to retrieve it and process the outside of my house for any trace evidence left on the porch.”
Sawyer took it all in, absorbed the way she said it all, so matter-of-factly and full of confidence. Kelsey had been smart in high school. Quick-witted. But he didn’t remember her being this sure of herself.
“I’m glad you called them.”
“Of course I did. I wouldn’t try to handle this myself...” But her voice trailed off in a funny way, like that was exactly what she was considering doing.
She’d always been independent—he remembered that from school. He also remembered the way it had isolated her, keeping her from being really close to anyone. She’d only ever had casual friends. He doubted she’d kept up with much of anyone from high school...which meant there was no one in Treasure Point for her to lean on for support now, especially with her parents no longer living in town.
Sure, there was her cousin, Clay, but he’d be focused on police work, logging evidence and following procedure. If Kelsey did any investigating on her own, Clay wouldn’t be able to help her. So who did that leave?
Me.
The idea was crazy, but there was no question in Sawyer’s mind that Kelsey Jackson was in danger, and she didn’t need to face this on her own, even if that was how she was used to doing life. Sawyer had to be in Treasure Point, anyway, to be the face of his family at the events surrounding the museum’s opening.
When he wasn’t doing that...
He may as well be talking Kelsey into letting him tag along wherever she was going. Not that he didn’t think she could handle herself, but maybe he’d serve as a good distraction while she shot at the bad guys.
In any case, he was going to stick to her like glue, whether she liked it or not.
Sawyer was pretty sure it was going to be “not.”
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