Royce
"It was just kids, I’m sure,” said Margo. “They just took the POS system. There’s not much else to steal other than hair products.”
Royce nodded his agreement.
“I’ll get a report written so you can file with your insurance. You’re going to want to have the door replaced, maybe with a better lock. And if you can upgrade your security system, give Bishop a call. That’s his specialty and he’ll set you up.”
She frowned and wrung her hands together. “I’m not sure if my little business can afford it.”
Margo was sweet, the same age as his brother Jordan. In fact, Royce thought that she and Jordan were friends—he still had so much to learn about his youngest brother now that he was all grown up. Quinn, Margo’s ten-year-old daughter, was the spitting image of her mother and waited in one of the salon chairs, kicking her feet to try and make it spin around. They both glanced over at her.
“I think it can,” Royce spoke quietly so Quinn wouldn’t hear. “This time they only broke in here, but what if they’d come around back and broken into the apartments?”
The salon—cleverly called Salon Royale—took up the ground floor of an elderly three-story brick building, and upstairs were three apartments. Margo and Quinn lived in one of them.
She bit her lips, her gaze darting to her oblivious daughter.
“Okay, I’ll give Bishop a call.”
“I’ll call him for you, ask him to contact you later today.”
Royce didn’t want to chance that Margo was just saying yes to get him to go away. She needed a security system that wasn’t older than she was, and Bishop would make sure it was in her price range no matter what. Margo shot him a grin that told Royce she knew exactly what he was up to.
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
The 4Runner was still parked in Raine’s driveway as Royce pulled the cruiser in behind it. At first, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, too busy feeling secretly pleased that Briar and Raine seemed to get along. They were both strong-minded women who could take care of themselves and lived life how they thought fit. His fantasy that involved Briar staying in Rexville also included her getting along with his brothers and sister—so far, she seemed to like them and they seemed to like her, too.
He stepped up onto the front porch, frowning as he realized the front door stood partially open.
“Raine? Briar?” he called out.
There was no answer to his call and the house seemed eerily quiet.
“What the fuck?” Unsnapping his holster, Royce shoved the door all the way open, making it hit the wall with a bang.
No one.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up as he stepped over the threshold and into the living room.
“Briar? Raine?” he repeated.
Nothing.
They weren’t there. He called Raine’s cell phone first, only to hear its chime come from her kitchen, where he found it sitting on the kitchen table. Briar’s was next. No answer, no sound in the house.
There was no way his sister would leave the house without her cell phone. And the fact that Briar wasn’t answering hers had Royce careening from low-key worried to five seconds from losing his cool.
“The fuck.”
Something had gone down, something bad.
He moved back into the living room, paying more attention this time through. Nothing seemed out of place. However, the coffee table was slightly askew and the corner of the area rug was flipped up. Not much to go on, but Royce was sure his meticulous sister would never have left her house that way. Or without her cell phone.
As a journalist who often broke controversial stories, Raine was careful about her safety. Not as careful as Royce would’ve liked, but she was careful. What had gone down? He scraped both hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the scene.
A vibration against his thigh distracted him, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“What the fuck is going on and where the fuck are you right now?”