Page 9 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

“His name is Braden Jensen.” Collins said, watching my reaction closely. "Twenty-two years old. Missing for about two weeks now."

I frowned, studying the photograph more carefully. In this picture, he looked different—calmer, with a hesitant smile that made him appear younger, almost vulnerable. Not at all like the desperate Alpha who'd burst into my shop.

"He came into my shop," I admitted, pushing the photo back toward the detective. "A few days ago. Burst in before opening hours, looked around wildly, then ran out. The whole interaction lasted maybe thirty seconds."

Detective Collins nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "And that was it? He didn't say anything to you?"

I hesitated, remembering how the young Alpha had stared at me, nostrils flaring as he'd realized I was an Omega. "He noticed I was an Omega. That's about it."

"Did he seem afraid? Agitated?"

"Both," I said, memories of that morning rushing back. "He was sweating, eyes darting everywhere. Like he was being chased." I paused, suddenly wondering if I should be more careful about what I revealed. "Why? What's this about?

"Is that why your officer tackled me at the funeral home? You think I had something to do with this missing person?"

Collins didn't answer directly, which was answer enough. "We're following all possible leads. Jensen was last seen near the mortuary where you were making deliveries."

"And you immediately jumped to 'the Omega florist must be involved' rather than, I don't know, asking me questions like a normal person?" I could feel my temper rising again, the memory of being pinned to the floor making my skin crawl.

"That wasn't my call," Collins said, his voice level. "But I am here now, asking questions."

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. "Well, I don't know anything else. He came in, looked terrified, and ran out. That's it."

Collins studied me for a long moment, his blue eyes searching my face as if he could extract more information through sheer force of will. I met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to be intimidated.

"If he contacts you again, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know." He slid a business card across the counter—a different one from the first he'd given me. This one had his personal cell number scrawled on the back.

I picked it up, turning it over in my fingers. "Why would he contact me? I told you, we barely spoke."

"Sometimes people in trouble seek out help in unexpected places." Collins straightened, adjusting his suit jacket. "And you strike me as someone who might be sympathetic to those in difficult situations."

I frowned at this, eyes narrowed but didn’t say anything. Collins gave another smile as he took another business card out of his suit.

"If you remember anything else, or if he returns," he said finally, sliding a business card across the counter, "call me directly. Day or night."

I looked at the card but didn't pick it up. "Is he dangerous? Should I be worried if he comes back?"

"We don't believe he poses any threat to the public," Collins said carefully. "But he may be in danger himself."

"From what?"

The detective's expression closed off slightly. "That's what we're trying to determine."

A heavy silence fell between us. I could hear Jamie shuffling around in the back room, probably straining to hear our conversation. The detective seemed in no hurry to leave, his eyes traveling around my shop with interest.

"You run this place alone?" he asked, the sudden shift in topic taking me by surprise.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.

Collins shrugged, his eyes still roaming the shop. "Just making conversation."

"No, you're not," I countered. "Detectives don't 'just make conversation.' Everything is information gathering with you people."

A smile ghosted across his face. "Perceptive."

"Experienced," I corrected. "And yes, I run this place with Jamie's help. My grandfather started it, my mother took it over, and now it's mine. Family business."

"Impressive," he said, and the strange thing was, he sounded sincere. "Not many family businesses survive to a third generation these days."

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