"I don't believe you. If you won't tell me, I'll have to come out there."
Cyndi shook her head, knowing she had to tell her aunt something. She curled up in one of the large wingback chairs that flanked her father's desk. These, she planned to keep and recover. “Nothing's really wrong. Someone slashed all my tires this morning."
"What!"
"It's probably nothing, just some kid's prank."
"Kid's prank, my patootie.” Closing her eyes, Cyndi could picture her aunt's scowl.
"No, really,” she rushed to reassure the older woman. “The authorities are looking into it."
"I don't like the idea of you being there alone."
"I'm not alone,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She could practically hear the wheels in Verna's brain spinning.
"Do tell."
Cyndi laughed at her aunt's dry comment. “I mentioned him before.” She curled her legs over the side of the chair and swung her feet. “Shamus O'Rourke."
"The same O'Rourkes you had trouble with years ago?” Sometimes she wished Aunt Verna didn't know every detail about her past.
"Yeah, but he's different.” She hesitated. “He makes me feel...special."
"Now I really have to come for a visit."
"Don't pack your bags just yet,” Cyndi laughed. “Most of the furniture is gone, and I'm about to start tearing up the rest of the place."
"Good. That old mausoleum needed it."
"That's why I called.” Cyndi swung her legs back to the floor and ambled over to her father's desk where she'd left her renovation notes. “I need fabric samples. There's no store in town that has what I need. Do you think Janine would overnight me some sample books? Tell her I promise to only keep them for a few days and it will be worth her while. I've got a heck of a lot of windows to cover and furniture to reupholster.” Janine Evans was a friend of Aunt Verna's who owned a fabric and sewing shop.
"I don't think that would be any problem. Let me call her and get back to you."
"Thanks."
Her aunt cleared her throat. “If you need me, you know I'd be there in a second."
Cyndi's throat tightened with emotion. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you too."
Her aunt sniffed. “Enough of this maudlin sentiment. I'll call you as soon as I talk to Janine."
Cyndi shook her head as she said goodbye to her aunt and hung up the phone. For all her gruff, no-nonsense exterior, Verna Marks had a heart of gold and was as tough as a marshmallow with those she loved.
Reenergized, Cyndi grabbed an empty box and yanked open the first drawer of her father's desk.
Shamus was feeling better than he'd felt in days as he let himself back into Cyndi's home. His family was thawing slightly toward his relationship with Cyndi and that meant the world to him. The fact that Burke had sent a crew to her house spoke volumes.
Carrying the mail in one hand and a bag with a couple of sample cans of paint in the other, he headed to the office. He was certain Cyndi would still be working. When he'd stopped in earlier to let her know he was running into town, she'd been knee deep in boxes and excited about books of fabric swatches her aunt's friend was sending by courier. Women got excited over the strangest things. But he didn't care. It had put a smile on her face and that was all that mattered to him. It was better than the worry that had been there earlier.
Shamus had dropped into the sheriff's office long enough to talk to Patrick. There were no leads on the tire slashing, but they were still interviewing neighbors. He could tell that his brother was getting more concerned about Cyndi's safety. One incident could be written off as a horrible prank. Two showed a pattern. He just hoped there wouldn't be a third.
Pushing open the office door, he peered into the room. It certainly looked different than it had this morning. Boxes were piled neatly against one wall, two chairs and several small tables had been moved to the far side of the room, and the rest of it was stacked in front of the desk.
Shamus assumed the few items on the far end of the room were staying and the rest were going. He also noted the painting in front of the safe had been replaced by one with flowers on it. Linda had taken the one Cyndi didn't like when she'd left.
Cyndi was currently measuring windows, muttering under her breath and jotting figures down in her notebook, which always seemed to be at hand these days.
"Hey.” She jerked at the sound of his voice, but when she turned around, she was smiling. He could see the strain in her face no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
"Hey yourself. You weren't gone long. Were you?” She pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes as she walked toward him.
"Long enough.” He dropped a kiss on her very kissable mouth and handed her the mail. “I picked up eight sample cans of paint. I figured we might as well look at the choices for the library and the office as well."
"Sounds good to me.” Cyndi dropped her notebook on an antique side table and began to rifle through the mail. “Bills, bills, junk, junk.” She tossed the envelopes into two separate piles.
"I saw Patrick while I was in town."
Cyndi stopped, envelope poised in the air. “Any news?"
The tension gripping her was palpable. She'd done a very good job of hiding it, but he knew she was worried. And why wouldn't she be? She'd been threatened, not once, but twice, in two separate acts of violence.
Shamus was just grateful she hadn't run at the first sign of trouble. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had, but then they never would have had the opportunity to be together.
He shook his head. “No. But they're still talking to the neighbors."
She nodded and went back to examining the mail. He could see the resignation in her face and knew she didn't expect answers. Frustration tore at him that there was nothing he could do or say to change things. He deposited the bag of paint samples on a nearby chair. He needed to hold Cyndi in his arms, if only for a moment.
She was staring at a plain manila envelope, frowning as he reached for her. “What is it?"
"I'm not sure."
He leaned over her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her waist. It was addressed to her, but there was no return address. He got a bad feeling in his gut as she ripped it open. “Maybe you should leave this until later?"
"Why?” She glanced up at him and reached inside.
He couldn't come up with a reason fast enough and she withdrew a sheet of paper. Block letters that someone had obviously cut from a newspaper or magazine covered the page. The message was simple. LEAVE TOWN BEFORE YOU GET HURT. NEXT TIME IT WON'T BE YOUR TIRES THAT GET SLASHED.
Cyndi swayed and he tightened his grip on her, easing her down into a chair. “Son of a bitch,” he swore. He yanked out his phone and placed a quick call to his brother. Cyndi was sitting there, staring at the letter, her face devoid of any color or expression.
When he ended the call, he crouched down in front of her and gently eased the sheet of paper out of her tightly clenched fingers. Such a small item, but it had done incredible damage. Anger at the unknown coward threatening his woman coursed through his veins. No one would hurt her. He wouldn't allow it.
"Everything will be okay,” he promised. “Patrick is on the way."
"The sheriff is going to be sick of coming to this house. I've caused him nothing but trouble since I got here."
Shamus wanted to swear again and kick something. The soft smile that had graced her face when he'd walked into the room a few minutes ago was gone. Now, she looked tired and worn. He observed faint, dark circles under her eyes and damned himself for not noticing them earlier. Cyndi was worn out with worry and late nights.
"None of this is your fault."
"Isn't it?” She straightened her shoulders and, once again, he was reminded of her backbone of steel. “All of this is because of who I am and who my family is."
"No,” he disagreed. “All of this is because of some nutcase with a need for revenge, who was too afraid to face your father, but isn't afraid to taunt and torment a woman."
Cyndi shook her head and turned away from him. He caught her chin in his hand and drew her face back to him. “None of this is your fault.” His gut clenched. He could almost hear her contemplating her options, one of which was leaving town. He couldn't bear the thought of her leaving Jamesville. Leaving him.
He could tell she didn't believe him and there was no time for him to say more. Cars were pulling up outside. It was obvious Patrick was back with some of his deputies. Sighing in frustration, he eased himself back up and stared down at the woman who owned his heart. She didn't even look at him.
There was a loud thump on the front door, followed quickly by a ring of the doorbell. “I'm coming!” he yelled as he turned and stalked toward the front door.
He practically ripped the door open to find his brother with two deputies standing behind him. “Come on in."
Chapter Twenty-One
Cyndi sat through yet another interview with the sheriff's deputies. There were no more clues this time than there had been with the shooting or the tire-slashing incident. The sheriff promised to talk to the staff at the post office, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. The postmark was local, but it could have been dropped into any mailbox around town. There was no way of knowing where it originated.
There was still the possibility of fingerprints, but that too wasn't likely. Several people at the post office, as well as she and Shamus had handled the envelope. If there were any prints, they'd probably be smudged. Still, it was a slim lead.
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