“Then don’t stand there and tell me not to handle it.”
Her face tightens, but she doesn’t back down. “If you go after Jeremy angry, he wins.”
I laugh, sharp and ugly. “He ain’t winning much with his jaw wired shut.”
“This is what he wants.”
“No. He wants you scared.”
“He wants you out of control,” she snaps. “He wants me surrounded by proof that the men helping me are dangerous. He wants a bloody face and a police report and a judge looking at me like I chose this.”
The room goes quiet.
Her words hit everybody because they are true.
I still don’t want to hear them.
“He put a package on my porch,” I say.
“And if you go to jail, he wins.”
There it is.
The line that should stop me.
It almost does.
Almost.
The problem is, almost ain’t enough when I can still see August’s scared face.
How did he know I was here?
I look away because if I keep looking at her, I might do the right thing, and right now the right thing feels like swallowing broken glass.
Legend’s voice is calmer now. “We find out who delivered it. The camera caught him. We put pressure where it works.”
“I’m pressure.”
“You’re gasoline.”
Royal smiles faintly. “Occasionally useful. Rarely indoor-safe.”
I turn my head slowly. “You want to make jokes right now?”
Royal’s smile disappears.
Good.
Becki ain’t here. Cider ain’t here. Sophie ain’t here. This corner belongs to a terrified kid and a man with clean shoes who thinks toys make good threats.
Whiskey sets the bagged note on the table. “There’s a store sticker on the bottom of the dinosaur box. Local. Hollar Dollar.”
Amelia’s eyes close. “I was there today.”
“In Paradise,” Oaks says.
Whiskey nods. “Bought this morning if the inventory sticker matches the batch.”