Page 45 of Healing the Heart

“Not what, who. Jordan called me that several times.”

“Not to mention emblazoning it across your car.”

Slowly, she turned to him, almost hating to ask. “What about my car?”

His brows slammed together as he looked down at her. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?”

Nodding toward the wall, he told her, “They spray-painted something similar across the side of your car last night.”

Her second “Oh my god!” was higher in pitch and at twice the volume. She didn’t know how much more her sleep-deprived,horror-stricken brain could take. “That’s why Detective Owens and Officer Briggs were so freaked out. Not about the murder. Naturally, that was horrible, but they were extra concerned about me getting out of town or getting security. This wasn’t random.”

“We don’t think so. No.”

Her gaze fixated on the crimson paint dripping like blood. She didn’t think that was by chance, either. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Swiftly, Noah moved her into the hallway as he urged, “Take deep breaths.”

She tried, but the gulps of air she drew in were shaky and not deep at all. Feeling like she was coming apart, Fiona slumped against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself. Her whispered words were barely audible above the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. “He’s insane. Who reacts like this over a canceled club membership?”

Noah pulled her close, his strength supporting her more than the wall ever could. She clung to him, grasping fistfuls of his shirt like a lifeline.

“It was more than one canceled membership. Eric spread the word, and they blackballed him at every club, public or private, from here to Texas. It probably started out as revenge, his plan to shake you up by vandalizing your car and leaving his message. But whatever happened in the garage between his two associates escalated it to a murder case. If it is Jordan, which I firmly believe it is, it makes him an accessory to murder.” As he spoke, he dialed. “It’s Noah. I need a team at Fiona’s. Someone tossed and vandalized her place. And call Brent Owens. Tell him his case just got more complicated.”

When the call ended, she gripped him tighter and in a small, petrified voice, asked, “What do I do now?”

“You can’t stay here. You’re coming home with me.”

Her head dropped back, and she gazed up at him through eyes blurred by tears.

“No arguments,” he preempted in a tone leaving no room for debate. “Unless you’ve got a better, safer, more acceptable option.”

She shook her head, and a lone tear escaped.

The tension lines around his mouth softened as he wiped her wet cheek with his thumb, his touch so incredibly gentle it brought her to the brink of tears for a different, much better reason.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured. “Try not to worry. This was sloppy, and using words and threats he’s used with you before was stupid. We’ll get him, Fiona, and until we do, I swear I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Noah,” she replied, adding with as much weariness as resignation, “I suppose I should pack a few things.”

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

“It would be quicker if I do it. You don’t know where anything is.”

He hesitated, his expression grim, and she stiffened.

“They trashed my bedroom too. Didn’t they? What don’t you want me to see?”

“Let’s just say the CSI team won’t have to look too far for DNA evidence.”

“I don’t—”

“He left his calling card on your bed, Fiona.”

“You mean he...” She grimaced and shuddered in disgust. “Ew! Who does that?” Abruptly, she spun and picked her way through the debris to the kitchen and grabbed the magnetic notepad and pen off the side of her fridge. “I’ll just make you a list.”

“Good call.”

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