I swallow before speaking. “Someone took pictures of you the night you were drugged at Jake’s.”
Her eyes grow glossy at my words, but she keeps the tears from falling. God, this woman is so damn strong, but at the same time, I wonder what that strength costs her on a daily basis.
“How bad are they?”
“I haven’t seen them, but I was with Kincaid when a guy from the newspaper called. Before you freak out, they’re not running a story, they were just giving Cerberus a heads-up.”
“What is the online post claiming?”
“Faith,” I say, reaching for her, but she steps back, making it clear she doesn’t want to be touched or consoled. I drop my hands immediately, not wanting her to be any more uncomfortable than she already is with this news. “They’re claiming you’re addicted to drugs and an alcoholic.”
She snorts a humorless laugh. “Classy.”
“Cerberus knows better. I know better.”
“But the community is always looking for a reputation to slaughter.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t argue with her because nosy people in the community are rabid about information like this, especially things that bring people who are held to a higher standard down a few notches.
“First the tires and now this?” She shakes her head before covering her face with her palms.
“Tires? What happened to your tires?”
With a rush of breath, she drops her hands before crossing the room and dropping onto the sofa as if the weight of the world on her shoulders is preventing her from standing any longer.
“A couple of days ago, someone slashed my tires at work.”
My head snaps from her exposed legs to her face. “What? Someone slashed your tires?”
She nods. “While I was at work. The invoice for repairs said there were three-inch gashes. I mean, I thought when those bratty kids let the air out of them was bad, but this was much worse.”
“Bratty kids? The same ones that broke the flowerpots and knocked over your mailbox? They also let the air out of your tires?”
She nods, but I’m shaking my head.
“Faith, I don’t think it’s kids that are damaging your property.”
Her face falls as if she’s realizing the same thing I am. Someone is harassing her, and they’re escalating in their destruction.
“Have you gotten any phone calls? Letters? Can you remember who you may have upset not long before these things started happening?”
She shakes her head. “Sylvie asked me the same thing, but I can’t think of anyone who would be capable of these things.”
“Capable?” I do my best not to scoff. “Nearly everyone is capable of these sorts of things. In the big picture, it’s not bad, but someone is trying to intimidate you or punish you and if it started with broken flowerpots—”
“The mailbox was first, then the air out of my tires. The flowerpots after that, and now my tires getting cut,” she interrupts.
“Then they’re definitely getting worse. What started out near the street, and then the driveway, ended up on your front porch.”
Her eyes dart in the direction of her front porch, and it’s clear that she’s growing scared.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” I say, sitting on the coffee table directly in front of her.
“You’re failing,” she says, her eyes searching mine.
“Sorry. Is there anyone who was possibly in jail a while back and would’ve gotten released recently?”
“I don’t keep track of things like that, and I don’t get notifications from the jail about releases. I’ll look through files and see if anything stands out when I get to work tomorrow.”
“Promise me you’ll call with a list of names. Max can do some deep digging, but he needs to know where to start.”
I stand from the table, having given her the information I had, but I’m hesitant to leave. I could ask her if she wants me to stay but I feel like that would be putting her on the spot or feeding into her vulnerability. I don’t want to do either of those things.
“Don’t forget the list, Faith.”
“I won’t,” she promises as I walk toward the front door.
“Lock up when I…”
My words fade away when I feel her fingers on my arm.
Chapter 14
Faith
Ethan doesn’t say a word as he turns back to face me.
I barely kept myself from crying when he told me about the posts online, and as much as I want to grab my phone and read every word that is being said about me, I know it will only make me more upset.
What I do know is that I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be alone tonight, and that’s not a response to his awful news. I was lonely when he knocked.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I confess.
“I can sit in the vehicle and make sure you’re safe,” he offers, and I think the gesture is incredibly sweet.