Page 128 of The Sweetest Obsession

They’re standing close to the street corner, thick as thieves next to the local cheese shop, tucked in an out of the way place between that building and the next.

My stomach churns, thinking back to that fucked up encounter at the bar. I couldn’t bring myself to mention that shit to Philia.

I also wish he’d given a reason—just one—to arrest his deranged ass on the spot. There are still a few public obscenity laws on the books, sure, but good luck dragging a man as rich as an Arrendell to court over it. His lawyers would rebuff anything short of public masturbation—and even then I think the scum would get a community service slap on the wrist.

I slow down at the crosswalk to let a few moms with strollers pass in front of me, using the extra time to observe the scene.

Aleksander’s dressed to the nines as usual in a white linen suit today. Ros has a silvery designer dress on, all slouchy bits of fabric that leave her two seconds away from flashing half the town. Her hair’s a mess, her mascara sweat-runny—or is that from crying?

My blood temperature drops a few degrees.

Damn, I don’t know, but she doesn’t look all that distressed. She’s just wearing the same neutral out-of-it look that’s becoming too normal for her.

Ephraim Jacobin is the one who really seems out of place here, coming down from the hills to hobnob with an Arrendell.

My hands tighten on the wheel.

Remembering what happened with Delilah Graves, it wouldn’t be the first time, and we know what was going on there.

Ephraim leans in close to them both, this human scarecrow in handstitched overalls and a cotton shirt under a huge grey trench coat, his thick grey-black beard pouring down his chest. The rest of his face is hidden as usual by the broad brim of his hat.

I still get a nasty flash of his hard, shielded eyes and his teeth as he glances over his shoulder.

Something changes hands between them.

Both Ephraim and Aleksander tuck something into their pockets.

Nope. Don’t like this shit at all.

Shame I got no probable cause to stop them just for having a friendly conversation in broad daylight, but dammit, I want to.

Nothing about this scene sits right with me.

I’d bet both nuts it’s something shady.

Of course, I’ve always had my suspicions about the Jacobins, what with their unmarked trucks full of moonshine and God only knows what else—especially after their favorite son was found with a brick of cocaine before his arrest.

Maybe it’s nothing.

But maybe it’s a whole lot of something, too. Especially when there’s no chance in hell Ros would be slumming around with the hillfolk in her right mind.

More importantly, the last time the Arrendells had big dealings with those moonshine-brewing dickheads up in the hills, women wound up dead.

Are we really gonna sit here and let tragedy strike twice?

Last time, the new girl in town almost became their latest victim.

This time, the new girl in town ismygirl, and no, maybe she’s not in overt danger—not yet—but I don’t think it’s unconnected.

When something weird’s up with Ros, Aleksander, and the Jacobins right around the time someone in Arrendell livery is stalking my girl, it reeks to high hell.

I shake my head instinctively.

I won’t let anything happen to Ophelia—or to her little sister, no matter how big of a mistake she’s making with Aleksander.

I’ll be keeping my eyes glued to that slimy prick, every second I’m not watching out for Ophelia.

One bad apple off the gnarled Arrendell tree already raised too much hell in this town.

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