I jogged back, crossed my arms, and looked at Del. “Awfully convenient you showed up a few seconds later.”
Her face flushed. “I’m sick of you blaming Maisey’s problems on me.”
“I’m sick of my fiancée being terrorized,” I snapped back. Then, I turned to Carter. “What were you doing here tonight?”
Carter looked over at Cleaver. “Seriously? I don’t need to deal with this shithead. If you don’t get him out of my face, Cuz, I’m filing a complaint.”
“For what?” I bit out. “For demanding to know where you were when Maisey’s windshield was smashed all to hell?”
Delilah inhaled sharply, and Carter’s brows lifted in surprise. Either they were both better actors than I thought they were, or they hadn’t known.
“Romero. If you don’t calm down, I’m going to lock you in the back of my vehicle with your dog.” Cleaver’s tone was a calm attempt to defuse the situation.
Maisey twined her fingers with mine, and that simple, gentle touch brought me back to her. When I looked down, unshed tears glimmered as her eyes darted around at the crowd we’d gathered.
Damn. I’d made a scene, and Maisey hated being the center of attention. The only time she didn’t mind was when she was on her horse, bending and twirling as if the two were one.
When I looked back up at Cleaver, his lips were drawn in a straight line, but his voice was still cool and unruffled in a way that made me respect him more than I ever had before. “We can clear some of this up right now, Delilah, if you could just tell us where you were a few minutes ago.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “At home. Getting ready to come down to Frank’s for a drink.”
“Alone?” Cleaver asked.
“Yes, I was by myself. Mom and Dad were home, and their lights were on when I drove by the main house, but I can’t be sure if they saw me pull out of the drive or not.”
She didn’t really have an alibi if she’d been alone in the pool-house-turned-apartment where she lived behind her parents’ house. But unless she’d changed shoes, there was no way the person I’d chased to Main Street had been wearing those fancy-ass cowboy boots. They would have made more noise than the shoes the person in the hoodie had.
I glanced over at Carter’s shoes. He was wearing men’s dress shoes that I doubted would have been silent either. And what would he get out of smashing Maisey’s windshield and leaving threatening notes? The only thing Carter wanted was our land.
“Where were you?” I challenged anyway.
Carter’s eyebrow raised, and he dragged his knuckle across his nose again. If he were all doped up, I could certainly see him thinking, stupidly, that attacking Maisey might make her dad and me assume the area was no longer safe, but we’d never sell because of it. And why wouldn’t he just come at us instead of her?
“I don’t have to tell you shit,” Carter said then shot a glare at his cousin. “But I’ll tell you anyway so we canclear this up. I was at the office, waiting for a client. I’m sure there’s footage of me leaving if you feel you need to pull it, Cuz.”
“Are we free to go now?” Delilah asked, shifting closer to Carter and slipping her arm through his.
Cleaver nodded, and Delilah shot me and Maisey another dirty look as they headed for Frank’s.
As they walked away, I heard Del say quietly to Carter, “Thought you weren’t coming.” And his equally quiet response, “Client was a no-show.”
As they disappeared inside the bar, I tried to recall the crowd that had emerged from Frank’s as I’d burst onto Main Street at a full run. Had the person I’d chased joined them as they’d walked out the door? The entire group had moved farther down the street, disappearing around the corner of the building toward the small public parking lot at the back after Maisey had caught up. It was the same direction Delilah had come from.
But she’d seemed legitimately surprised by what had happened to Maisey’s truck and hurt we were accusing her. She’d been defensive, as she always was, when it came to the Campbells, and yet she was the only person I knew who would be this unhappy with our engagement.
Nothing made sense. The rage I’d felt at seeing Maisey’s windshield shattered had eased some, but in its place, a frustrated impotence grew. My inability to do something about what was happening felt a lot like being stuck in a bedroom with flames outside my door.
I turned to Cleaver. “Speaking of cameras, does Frank’s have any outside?”
Cleaver scratched his chin. “I’m not sure, but I’ll ask. I know they have cameras inside and out the back door. We’ve used them before when a fight broke out.”
Sandy pulled up and got out of her van, looking like she’d been yanked from bed. Her eyes were puffy, and her salt-and-pepper hair was a mess, but her crime-scene jumper was buttoned to her chin, and she snapped on a pair of gloves as she neared us. Cleaver got her caught up, and she took her kit over to the bench, taking pictures.
“Join me at Beckett’s place when you’re done here,” Cleaver told her, and she just waved a hand in his direction. He turned to Maisey and me. “Get in. I’ll take you back.”
I opened the front passenger door of the sheriff’s rig for Maisey, sliding a hand down her arm in reassurance as she got in. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the seat belt, and that tightened my chest right back up. She was afraid, and I was man enough to admit I was too. But my fear wasn’t for me.
I climbed into the back with Vader, feeling like the criminal Cleaver usually placed there. In attempting to get what I wanted, I’d brought danger to Maisey’s door.