Page 7 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

"You still got something to say?" I ask, one eyebrow cocked in an exaggerated arc. The detective stays quiet, studying me, maybe trying to figure out what kind of woman gets the better of men like them.

"Yeah," I say, as if I’m reading his mind. "That’s what I thought. Real strong and silent type. Real impressive." I give him a last, haughty look, when one of them surprises me with a quick flash of his badge.

"You’re a tough one," he says, and I don’t know if it’s a compliment or an accusation, pity or grudging respect. I’m not interested in finding out or giving them anything more."If you’ve got any more questions," I tell him, "you know where to find me if you ask Mr. Garner. You do your homework first, though. It’ll save you the embarrassment next time." My voice is level, calm.

I’m already thinking of my shop, of the wild abundance I’ve made there, of how sweet it’s going to feel to lock the door behind me and blast the loudest music that will drown out the roar of my blood and the stink of these Alphas. The thought lifts me, buoyant, light, untouchable.

"I’ve had enough of this testosterone-fest for one day," I say, giving them a smile sharp as a blade. "Don’t know about you, but I’m heading home." I spin on my heel, expecting to be grabbed and hauled back, but their silence is more binding than any rope. It’s a shock collar on my freedom, and I want to rub their noses in it.

At the door, I throw them one last line. "Next time we do this, let’s try to remember our manners," I say. "And maybe you could leave the tackle-box at home?" I shoot a glare at the Alpha who started all this, who kicked it all off, who might have won if I were anyone but me.

The Alphas watch, stunned and reeling and ready to bolt, as if they think they can catch me after all, but I’m already gone. I don’t even have to see it to know the look on their faces, the Oh-shit-she-means-it look, I’m out of the building before the echo of my words fades, and there’s nothing but the city to hold me. There’s nothing but air and sky and the speed of my own heartbeat.

Chapter Five

Igentlymadeanotherflowerarrangement, trying to keep my hands and mind occupied. The funeral home incident had left me shaken, though I'd rather die than admit it to anyone. Two days had passed, and I still felt phantom hands gripping my shoulders whenever I let my guard down.

"You're making that face again," Jamie said, leaning against the counter.

"What face?" I asked, not looking up from the roses I was trimming.

"The murder face. The one that says you're plotting someone's demise while arranging peonies."

I snorted. "Not murder. Just mild maiming."

Jamie raised an eyebrow but didn't push. That was the thing about him—he knew when to back off. Instead, he slid a steaming cup of coffee toward me. "Extra shot. Figured you needed it."

I took the cup gratefully, letting the warmth settling over me before I sighed.

"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip. The rich bitterness coated my tongue, a welcome distraction from the memories that kept resurfacing like unwelcome ghosts. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Shocking," Jamie replied dryly. "The bags under your eyes have bags of their own. Want to talk about it yet?"

I shook my head, focusing on the delicate petals beneath my fingers. "Nothing to talk about."

"Right," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Because normal people totally get tackled by police officers and then just brush it off."

"I brushed it off fine," I insisted, perhaps a bit too sharply. "The guy was an ass. End of story."

Jamie watched me for a moment, his expression soft with concern. "You know, it's okay to admit when something rattles you. Even badass people like you.” My lips twitched at this before I gave in.

"Okay, fine. I might still be a little pissed off." I took a long drink, letting the rich coffee wash away the bitterness in my mouth. "You would be too if some Alpha decided to use you as a wrestling mat."

Jamie nodded, his eyes serious. "True. But you handled it. Like you always do."

"I shouldn't have to handle it. That's the point." I set down the scissors with more force than necessary. A few rose petals scattered across the counter. "Why is it that Alphas think they can just—" I made a frustrated gesture with my hands, unable to find words adequate enough to express my rage.

"Because they usually can," Jamie said quietly. "You're the exception, not the rule."

The bell above the door jingled, saving me from having to respond. I plastered on my customer service smile, ready to greet whoever walked in. He was tall with light blond hair that reached his shoulders in soft curls, wearing a well tailored dark grey suit. His blue eyes connecting with my own as he made his way over. As he got closer I couldn’t help but feel small compared to him, not just how tall he was but the aura he gave off. Definitely Alpha, and probably a head Alpha at that.

“How can I help you today?” I asked, being in full customer survive mode. The man’s lip twitched but titled his head at me then looked at Jamie before back to me.

“Are you Vivian Reed?” He asked, eyes fully on me.

“Yes that would be me. Is there a problem?” I asked, not liking that he wanted to know something about me. That is never a good sign when an Alpha comes looking.

“There shouldn't be.” He gave a small smile to me as he reached into his suit pocket before handing me a business card. I took it with a frown still looking at him before I let myself read the card.

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