Page 41 of Bennett

His heart rocked. Damn, the words hit him harder than he cared to admit. Blowing out a breath, he tightened his grip on the arm of his chair. “Not gonna happen.”

Matthew’s brow lifted. “You sound pretty damn sure about that.”

“Because I am,” he stated in a clipped tone, his patience frayed. “Now, let’s take another look at that footage. Maybe we missed something.”

“Already queued it up for you,” Matthew said, nodding toward the wall of monitors. “But you’re not gonna like it. It’s just as empty and useless as the last dozen times I’ve gone through it.”

Bennett leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he watched the grainy, colorless footage play out on the screens. The angles Carter had adjusted gave them a wider view of the exterior, but the shadows were deep and thick, swallowing anything that dared to move.

No figures. No sounds. Nothing but the occasional flicker of leaves caught by the wind.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his frustration building. “There has to be something.”

“Unless the place really is haunted.” Matthew shrugged. “Because if that’s the case, we’re screwed, buddy.”

The haunted reference to his earlier conversation with Laurel wasn’t lost on Bennett, but once again, he didn’t rise to the bait.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “But ghosts or no ghosts, someone’s messing with that property. And if they think they’re going to get away with it, they’ve got another thing coming.”

Matthew regarded him closely. “I take it you plan to camp out there every night until this is over.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Matthew leaned back in his chair, giving him a pointed look. “It’s a great idea for our case, but this wholewatchdogrole could backfire on you. You sure this is just about the case?”

An unexpected flicker of something unrecognizable flashed through his chest. Bennett blew out another breath andmuttered, “Let’s just figure out who the hell is doing this before she gets caught up in something she can’t handle.”

Chapter Nine

The spring air in Harland was thick with dew and that salty tang Laurel hadn’t realized she missed until this morning. The sun hadn’t fully crested the rooftops yet, but the early light shimmered off the sidewalk as she made her way toward the back entrance of Annie’s Diner.

Her bag bumped against her hip, and the scent of blooming jasmine mixed with the distant ocean breeze stirred something warm and nostalgic in her chest.

It should’ve been a peaceful morning. But her thoughts drifted—again—to the man who’d walked her to the sidewalk barely five minutes ago.

The tall, sexy, overly capable man was about as subtle as a brick wall when it came to protectiveness.

She hadn’t invited him to hover. Hadn’t asked him to camp out next door. And yet, somehow, it didn’t annoy her as much as it probably should have. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

As she reached the back corner of the diner, she paused, turned slightly, and lifted two fingers in a lazy salute toward the building across the lot—toward him, even if she wasn’t sure he could see her.

“Watchdog status: still alive,” she muttered under her breath. “Try not to worry too hard, Vaughn.”

When she turned back and took two more steps toward the back door, she caught the scent.

Smoke.

Laurel sniffed the air again. Yeah, definitely smoke. It was faint but distinct. It wasn’t fresh, but it was strong enough to make her stomach twist. Her eyes shifted to the dumpster.

Heart thudding a little harder, she edged over and cautiously lifted the lid.

Inside, the usual trash bags were shoved to one side, revealing a blackened pile of scorched fabric and melted plastic. It looked like someone had lit something small—maybe a towel, some papers, maybe both—and let it burn just long enough to leave a mess before it fizzled out.

Could’ve been some bored teenager playing pyro. Or it could’ve been a message.

Her throat was suddenly dry.

Was it a message? And was it meant for Aunt Annie or her?