Page 219 of Things We Left Behind

I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t tell him about me. Please.”

“Sloane, you’re in fucking danger. You were threatened tonight.”

“I am aware,Chief. But it’s none of his damn business. Besides, I have you. Lucian needs to focus his evil powers on protecting Mary Louise and Allen.”

37

It’s Getting Hot in Here

Sloane

The only thing I liked more than a closed library was an open one. Surrounded by all those books, all those worlds waiting to be explored on the page. The ASMR-­like buzz of whispers, keyboards, and turning pages. But I usually enjoyed the after-­hours silence almost as much.

Except now it gave me too much time to think.

I’d worked open to close today. Not because it was necessary but because I didn’t know what else to do.

It had been two weeks since the threats against me and Mary Louise. Lucian had worked his dark magic and got Mary Louise transferred to a new prison—­the one Naomi’s sister, Tina, was serving time in—­the morning after. But even though Allen was now protected by full-­time security, she was still refusing to move forward with her own case.

Naomi and Lina had slowly relinquished their obsessive need to check in with me. After five successive nights of sleepovers, we’d all agreed that I was probably safe enough in my house with its locks, new basic security cameras that Waylay helped me install, and hourly police drive-­bys.

And being the excellent friends they were, they’d agreed not to mention the inciting incident to Lucian.

My personal life was nonexistent thanks to the near-­constant presence of the Knockemout PD, who were “keeping an eye on me” and looking into who would want to keep Mary Louise behind bars. Even if I’d wanted to date, it would have been too awkward with a uniformed, armed babysitter tagging along.

To make matters worse, I was under strict orders from Nash to leave the investigations to the professionals. I could have used the distraction of some interesting research to dig into. But Nash had used his scary cop voice and threatened to tell Lucian I’d been targeted if I didn’t agree. So I’d mostly acquiesced.

Sure. Maybe I took a peek at Mary Louise’s case files from her trial every night until I was too bleary-­eyed to see straight. I wasn’t hurting anyone. And if I found something, it would be better for everyone in the long run, considering the police investigation consisted of a series of dead ends. Not only were there no fingerprints or other identifiable evidence left from my attacker, but by all accounts, the attack on Mary Louise appeared to be random and unprovoked.

A soft thump from the children’s section had me bobbling two John Sandford novels.

I blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing my hair away from my face and fogging my glasses. Ever since the man with the cinnamon breath had scared the shit out of me, I’d been an anxiety-­ridden hot mess.

“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself.

I was disappointed in myself. I’d always thought I’d react to a dangerous situation with the quick wit and backbone of a feisty heroine. Or at least like an adorably bumbling Stephanie Plum. Instead, I was waiting for a hero to save me. And not even my own hero. Nope. I was waiting for my friend’s fiancé, the chief of police, to save my ass.

It was a sobering, humbling thought.

I finished scanning in the evening’s book returns, then turned out the lights on the first floor before heading upstairs to my office. There were a few more admin tasks I wanted to see to. Not that they needed to be done tonight. But what else did I have to do?

Besides, the library was the only place the cops felt comfortable leaving me the hell alone since it was attached to the station and all. Someone would have to be quite the idiot to try to do harm next to an entire police department.

Upstairs, I settled in behind my desk with a fresh root beer and cranked my Get Shit Done playlist. By the time Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself for Loving You” came on, I’d scheduled out three weeks of social media posts for the library’s Facebook and Instagram pages, drafted the next two weeks’ worth of newsletters, and ordered several new indie novels for circulation.

I’d never been so far ahead on my to-­do list in my entire life.

There was only one person to blame.

I took out my phone and scrolled through my messages. Despite the fact that I hadn’t answered him, Lucian had continued to text me daily.

Assface:I had dinner with your mother.

Assface:I think she needs a pet to keep her company.

Assface:Cat or dog?

Assface:Small, condo-­sized pony?