Page 28 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

"Listen to me," Collins said, his voice dropping lower, losing some of its commanding edge. "There was a moment when I thought we might not get here in time. When I thought..." He trailed off, jaw clenched tight. "I'm not letting you risk your life out of stubbornness."

"One night," I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll go with you for one night while we figure this out. But I need your word that I can check on the shop tomorrow, and that Jamie will be kept in the loop."

Collins studied me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, but then he gave a curt nod. "Fine. One night. We'll reassess tomorrow."

Relief flooded through me, though it was tempered by the knowledge that I was still leaving my shop—my sanctuary—behind. "I need to lock up properly, salvage what I can—"

"The police will secure the scene," Collins interrupted, glancing at the approaching patrol cars. "Theodore will handle the security system remotely. Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died on my lips as police cars screeched to a halt outside the shop, their lights painting the street in alternating flashes of red and blue. Officers poured out, hands on their weapons as they approached.

"Detective Collins?" one called out.

Collins straightened, his professional mask sliding back into place. "Secure the perimeter. Suspect fled north, approximately three minutes ago. Male, medium build, dressed in black with a ski mask."

The officer nodded, already speaking into his radio as he dispatched others to search the area. I watched with a surreal detachment as my flower shop became a crime scene, yellow tape already being stretched across the entrance.

"Come on," Collins said, his hand settling on the small of my back to guide me toward a sleek black SUV parked nearby. "We need to go now."

I let him lead me away, shock finally setting in as the adrenaline began to ebb. My legs felt wobbly, and I was grateful for his steadying presence, though I'd never admit it out loud.

"What about my car?" I asked, grasping at practical concerns to keep the panic at bay.

"Theodore will drive it to the safe house later," Collins replied, opening the passenger door for me. "Right now, I want you with me."

I slid into the leather seat, oddly comforted by the clean, masculine scent that permeated the vehicle —a subtle blend of coffee, sandalwood, apricots and something distinctly Collins. He closed the door after me and rounded the vehicle, sliding into the driver's seat with a fluid grace that belied his size.

As we pulled away from the curb, I couldn't help but look back at my shop—my pride and joy, my inheritance, my future—now surrounded by police cars and crime scene tape. The reality of what had just happened hit me with sudden, brutal clarity.

Someone had tried to kill me.

I turned away from the window, staring straight ahead as Collins navigated through the quiet streets of the city. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the police radio mounted beneath the dashboard.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, my voice sounding small even to my own ears.

"Somewhere secure." His voice was clipped, professional, but I could hear the undercurrent of tension. "Somewhere they won't think to look."

I nodded, suddenly too exhausted to argue further. The events of the past hour had drained me completely, leaving me hollow and numb. We drove in silence for several minutes, the city lights blurring as we moved away from the commercial district toward the outskirts of town.

"I'm sorry about your shop," Collins said finally, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "We'll make sure it's taken care of."

"It's just... everything I have is there," I said, my voice catching unexpectedly. "My grandfather started it, my mother built it up... it's all I have left of them."

Collins glanced at me, his expression softening slightly. "It's not destroyed, Vivian. Just damaged. We'll help you rebuild."

"We?" I asked, raising an eyebrow despite my exhaustion.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Figure of speech."

We lapsed into silence again as he turned onto a winding road that led up into the hills overlooking the city. The houses here were larger, set far apart from each other, each property surrounded by trees and high fences. Old money, old power.

"This isn't what I expected," I said as we passed through an ornate iron gate that opened automatically at our approach. "I thought safe houses were supposed to be... inconspicuous."

"That's because this isn’t just a safe house.” Collins gave me a look, one I couldn't’ quiet understand.

“Then where are we?” I asked, not understanding why we weren’t going to a safe house like implied earlier.

“This is my home," he clarified at my surprised expression. "My pack's home."

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