Page 5 of Laced With Secrets

“Is there anything else you need from us today?” Dominic asked, his protective instincts clearly urging him to get me away from this place.

“Not at the moment.” Sheriff Hawkins’ expression grew more serious. “I’ll send Martinez to collect your grandfather’s records. Don’t touch anything in the meantime.”

That last bit sent ice through my veins. I was the grandson of the man who’d made Thomas’ shoes—the very shoes he’d been buried in.

Was the sheriff insinuating that my grandparents were suspects?

The drive back to Blake’s penthouse passed in tense silence. Dominic kept glancing at me, his concern spiking through the bond as he picked up on my growing distress.

“You okay?” He finally asked.

“Yeah... I’m just thinking.” I replied.

“I can practically hear it through the bond.” He said.

My head snapped toward him, eyes widening. “You can hear my thoughts?”

He chuckled, the sound warm in the confined space of the car. “Not word for word, so don’t worry about that. It’s more like... impressions.” His voice dropped to a deeper register. “Sensations.”

“So you can feel that I’m thinking about something?”

He fell quiet, his fingers drumming once against the steering wheel before he finally spoke. “More like I feel the resulting emotions that come from what you’re thinking about.”

“Oh,” I said, a small flutter of relief washing through me. “I get that too.”

I turned to the window and stared out at the familiar streets, trying to imagine them as they would have been in 1973. “Someone in our community is a murderer. Someone who’s been living among us for fifty years, maybe even talking to us at town meetings and holiday gatherings—living their life as if nothing happened.”

“We don’t know that they’re still alive?—”

“But they could be, right?” I turned to face him, my anxiety bleeding into real fear. “Thomas was young when he died. Even if his killer was older, they could easily still be alive. Still in Millcrest. Possibly still dangerous.”

Dominic’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “No one is going to hurt you.”

The automatic response—his protective declaration—should have been comforting. Instead, it reminded me of all the reasons I couldn’t trust him with the complete truth. How could I tell him about the baby when his solution to every threat was overwhelming force?

What if his idea of protection involved destroying anything that posed even a theoretical danger?

I couldn’t face those gray walls again, couldn’t survive another separation with visiting hours and bulletproof glass between us.

My phone buzzed as we pulled into Blake’s building. A text from Penny:

Emergency meeting at the Community Center tonight. Mrs. Henderson is in full crisis mode about the centennial celebration. Mayday, mayday! You HAVE to come help me survive this !!!

“Community meeting,” I told Dominic, showing him the message. “Apparently Mrs. Henderson is taking her new responsibilities as chief coordinator very seriously. Penny’s in a panic.”

Through the bond, I felt his immediate reluctance.

I understood his unwillingness to let me go anywhere that could lead to potential danger, no matter how small the likelihood of a dangerous situation occurring. But I needed his recognition that isolating me would only make things worse between us.

“I’ll come with you,” he said finally.

“Dominic—”

“As your mate. As a community member.” His silver eyes met mine. “Not as your bodyguard. I know the difference.”

The distinction mattered, even if I wasn’t sure why or if I believed it. Everything felt fragile right now—our relationship, my secret, the safety I’d always taken for granted in the district.But hiding in Blake’s penthouse wouldn’t solve anything, and Penny needed support dealing with whatever chaos Mrs. Henderson was orchestrating.

“Fine,” I said. “But no hovering… and I decide when it’s time to leave?—”