Page 33 of Dust and Desire
“Alex?” Logan’s deep voice answered after two rings. “Everything alright?”
“Someone broke into my apartment,” I said, cutting straight to the point. “Tossed the place. Took some of my stuff.”
There was a brief silence. “Stay put. I’ll be there in five. I’ll call the sheriff. Don’t touch anything.”
True to his word, Logan appeared at my door minutes later, his expression grim as he surveyed the mess. Dakota followed close behind, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something harder, more vigilant.
“When did you last lock up?” Logan asked, crouching to examine the door.
“This morning before feed. Around 5:30.” I ran a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat. “Door wasn’t forced.”
“Picked, maybe,” Dakota offered, examining the lock. “Or they had a key.”
The implication hit me like a punch to the gut. “Nobody around here would do that, right? I mean… I get along with the other guys great?—”
“Nobody on this ranch did this,” Logan said firmly. “Someone broke in.” He pointed over to the side window that sat behind the couch. The glass was broken inward. “They just let themselves out afterward.”
“The glass must be behind the couch,” I said, glancing back inside. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Jesus,” Dakota muttered, stepping through to peer behind the couch. “Yeah, it’s all back here. Looks like they covered their hand with something to muffle the sound.”
Logan’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the damage. “What’s missing?”
“My journal,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “Had it in the bedside drawer. It’s gone.”
“Anything else?”
I did another quick scan of the room, checking my few valuables. “Don’t think so. My wallet’s still here, watch too. Just the journal.”
Dakota and Logan exchanged a look that made my stomach clench.
“What?” I demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Probably nothing,” Logan said, but his tone suggested otherwise. “Just seems odd they’d take something so personal and leave everything of actual value.”
Before I could respond, the sound of tires on gravel announced another arrival. Through the broken window, I could see a sheriff’s patrol car pulling up beside Logan’s truck.
“That was fast,” Dakota observed.
“Called him on the way over,” Logan replied, then looked at me seriously. “Alex, I need you to think. Anyone been asking questions about you? Anyone seem too interested in your business?”
I shook my head, then paused. “Wait. Yesterday at the diner, Dolly and I were talking about...” I trailed off, realizing how that would sound.
“About what?” Logan pressed.
Heat crept up my neck. “About Dustin. She was giving me advice about... well, about asking him out.”
Dakota’s eyebrows shot up, but Logan just nodded like he’d suspected as much. “Anyone else around? Anyone who might have overheard?”
“The usual lunch crowd, I guess. I wasn’t really paying attention to who else was there.”
The sheriff’s boots crunched on gravel as he approached, and I felt my pulse quicken. In my experience, small-town cops could be hit or miss when it came to guys like me. But when he appeared in the doorway, removing his hat to reveal sandy hair and kind eyes, I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
“Afternoon, Logan. Dakota.” His voice was warm, professional. He looked at me. “I’m Sheriff Marcus Webb. You must be Alex.”
“Yes sir,” I replied, standing straighter. “Alex Reyes.”
“Hell of a thing,” he said, surveying the damage. “Mind if I take a look around?”
