Page 85 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

See that right there— babe —that had to mean something. Right? The slap on my still sore ass, the arms around my waist, the stupid never-ending list of pet names that made my heart do somersaults.

We had to be a thing.

God, are we a thing?

Because if we’re not, someone really needed to explain why my uterus threw fucking confetti every time he looked at me.

Graham

I rolled the truck to a stop in front of Coastal Financial Bank.

From the looks of it, this place catered strictly to the rich and polished elite of Port Grey.

Not the kind of place I’d do business with.

I trusted banks just enough to cash a paycheck and move my money around.

That was it. Probably a reason Nettles never sent me on a call here.

A four-story wall of spotless, streak-free glass, greeted us on our arrival.

You could see straight into the offices several floors up.

Probably part of the whole “we have nothing to hide” corporate image.

No room for getting handsy with the secretary when the whole damn town could watch from the sidewalk.

“You got the key?” I asked, killing the engine.

“Yep. Right where Uncle Silas said it’d be.” Maggie pulled a small sliver key from her bag and stepped out.

We entered the lobby and got hit with the smell of money and polished bullshit. We stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Damn, I didn’t know this bank was so fancy. I feel underdressed as hell,” Maggie said, tugging at her Nirvana crop top. “If I’d known, I might’ve put a little more effort into getting ready this morning.

“You look gorgeous,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a navy pencil skirt suit waved us down from behind a thick pane of bulletproof glass.

“Yes, we’d like to access a safety deposit box,” Maggie said, holding up the key.

“I’ll need to see your ID and have you sign here to log the access. Will you be taking the contents today?” She asked, sliding a leather-bound logbook under the glass.

Maggie glanced at me like I was supposed to hold the answer. “Um… yeah. We’ll clear it out,” she said.

After the forms were filled out, death certificates handed over, and the logbook signed, we followed the teller past the lobby and down a long hallway.

“Must be some serious jewels back here,” I muttered, nodding toward the security guards lining the hall.

“Yes, fine gems and jewelry are among the many valuables our clients entrust to their boxes,” the teller said, placing a manicured hand on the door handle to the left.

She opened the door—then froze. A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

“Oh—pardon us,” she said quickly, fingers rising to fidget with the pearls at her neck before she gently but firmly shut the door again.

“It seems the room is still occupied. We take our clients’ privacy seriously, so we’ll have to wait until they’ve finished.”

Five or so minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened.

And out walked Portia Valmont, flanked by her stone-faced driver.

Maggie’s face drained of color.

My gut knotted.

What the fuck was she doing here?

There was no way. No fucking way she beat us to it.

She would’ve needed a key. A death certificate. Proof of access.

Unless…

Unless someone gave it to her.

“Why, good morning, Miss Maxwell, dear. What a lovely surprise,” Portia cooed, voice dipped in honey and arsenic.

“Indeed.” Maggie’s jaw barely moved, her tone brittle enough to crack.

“Officer Locke.” She tipped her absurdly feathered hat at me, eyes gleaming with something between smugness and mockery.

I gave a stiff nod, praying my face didn’t come with subtitles. Maybe I was being harsh. But if Maggie’s premonitions held water—and so far they did—then Portia wasn’t the sweet-faced benefactor she pretended to be. She was just good at playing the game.

If Silas was right about her bailing out her brother with charity funds, odds were she’d done it before. Hell, maybe none of those families ever saw a dime. Just photo ops, empty promises, and a woman who smiled for the cameras while sucking the place dry.

We stepped into the vault, and the teller shut the door behind us with a soft click.

“Alright, Miss Maxwell,” the teller said, unlocking the small metal cubby with practiced ease. “Would you like a discreet bag for the contents, or will your purse suffice?”

She slid the box from its slot and placed it gently on the table.

“Feels light. Shouldn’t weigh you down—physically, at least.”

Maggie slipped the key into the lock. My heart thudded louder than it should’ve. The lid creaked open to reveal one thing: a slim, black memo pad.

“That’s it?” The teller blinked. ”Must be something valuable in there to warrant all this protection.”

“I guess so.” Maggie picked up the pad, and flipped through the pages slowly, frowning. “They’re… poems?”

That bitch did get in. Somehow. Swapped Silas’s account info for this garbage? She must’ve paid someone off. There’s no other way she could’ve gotten access.

“Will that be all?”

“Yeah. That’s it,” Maggie said, confusion washing over her. Her face was pale. I slid my hand to the small of her back and guided her toward the exit.

Just inside the vestibule, Maggie pulled the book from her purse. “Look at this,” she said, pointing to faint numbers scrawled in the corners of each page.

“Shit,” I muttered, flipping through. “That sneaky old coot disguised the whole damn thing. She wouldn’t even know what she was holding.”

The numbers weren’t sequential. No pattern that I could see. “These look like account or routing numbers. He hid them in plain sight.

Maggie took the book from my hands and shoved it back in her purse. “Let’s take it home. I don’t feel safe out here with it.”

I held the door for her, not bothering to hide the way my gaze dipped to her ass as she passed. That’s mine . Even if she didn’t know it yet.

“Maggie!”

A young male voice cracked across the street.

Some lanky redheaded jackass—barely old enough to rent a car—sprinted over and lifted her off the damn ground.

“Did you like the skirt? The necklace?” He grinned, all hands and too many teeth. “You looked so good in it the other night.”

The fuck did he just say?

Maggie

“Jamie? What are you doing?—”

I barely got the words out before his lips crashed into mine.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was familiar— and that made it worse. For a split second, my body didn’t react. But my brain did.

I shoved him back, palms on his chest.

“Jamie, no .”

He blinked like I’d slapped him. “What’s wrong, my love? I thought you’d be thrilled I came all this way to find you.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Now we can be together again. Forever.”

My heart dropped. He looked terrible. Gaunt and wild-eyed like he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.

“Jamie… what we had—it was fun. That’s all it was. You need to go back to Ohio.”

He shook his head like a child refusing medicine.

“I can’t go back. I lost my job because of us. I couldn’t keep up on rent. I sold my car to get here.”

He paced, fingers yanking through his fiery curls.

“I spent everything to find you, Maggie. You don’t get it… You have to be with me now.”

He lunged forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him.

Graham snapped.

“She said no, creep!” In one move, he shoved Jamie back, planting himself between us, solid and seething.

Graham towered over him, his presence alone enough to make the kid flinch. They might’ve been the same height, but Graham had at least eighty pounds of solid muscle on him— the kind that didn’t just look dangerous, but was.

Jamie should’ve backed down.

But instead, he pointed straight at Graham, his eyes glowing in fury.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t come back to me. I saw you two fucking the other night.”

My stomach dropped.

“What do you mean… saw ?”

My voice was sharp, already laced with dread.

Jamie shrugged like he hadn’t just admitted to a felony.

“Through your window. I watched. You looked so?—”

Before I knew it, I’d slapped him.

My skin turned to ice, my breath frozen deep in my lungs.

I felt filthy— like I’d been touched without consent, without even knowing.

Graham’s entire body went taut.

He turned slowly, that vein in his neck pulsing, his jaw clenched so hard I swore I heard it crack.

“The only way you could’ve seen through her window…” His voice was quiet. Deadly. “…is if you were on her goddamn roof.”

Jamie swallowed hard, suddenly aware he may have poked the wrong bear.

Graham’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Jamie.

“Is that where you were?” he growled, fists curling, body radiating heat and fury.

And me?

I should’ve been terrified. But I was too busy trying to keep my knees from buckling.

I had never seen Graham like this.

Possessive. Protective. Unhinged .

And yeah—fuck me—it was more than kind of hot.

…

“You were spying on me?!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the glass entryway.

My chest heaved. My skin crawled. “If you really cared, Jamie, you’d know what a fucking invasion that is.”

Graham stepped fully in front of me, his fists clenched, stance wide—a wall I knew Jamie wouldn’t dare cross.

“You need to leave. Now.” Graham’s voice boomed through me. “Maggie’s made it clear, you being here makes her uncomfortable.”

Jamie didn’t move.

I don’t think he would’ve hurt me—not physically. But the spell? It was eating at him. Twisting his love into obsession, distorting it, until it didn’t look like love at all.

If anything, he’d probably kill to protect me.

Graham’s voice thundered.

“I said GO.”

The vein in his neck pulsed like it might burst.

God, what had I done?

Jamie hadn’t just shown up out of the blue.

He had my address. My town. My name.

I’d cast spells on men who came into the bakery like clockwork.

Half of them probably thought it was fate.

And Annie? She was always careful never to give out my location—especially once my spell started backfiring.

But Jamie slipped through.

He found me.