We’d barely sat down when a truck pulled up behind Mr. V’s antiques store. I was hoping to see more of the van Cookie and I had seen that morning behind the dry-cleaning business. It hit me some time later that most supply vans rarely carried boxes out of a business. Wasn’t it their jobs to carry boxes of supplies inside? So what would they have been carrying out?

I’d racked my brain trying to remember which supply company the van had been with, but it just wasn’t coming to me.

Cleaner Supply Warehouse.

I blinked in surprise. It popped into my head out of nowhere the moment I’d stopped trying to remember it. I saw the green lettering on the white van clear as sunshine, a commodity we’d had far too little of lately.

I jumped up, grabbed a pen off the checkout counter, and wrote the name down. I’d look the company up later. See how legit they were. For now, I focused on the truck, a red four-door Chevy I didn’t recognize. Two men got out and put the tailgate down. There was some kind of equipment in the back. I leaned in, but it was just too dark to see. Also, a set of fingers began snapping in my face.

My ire rocketed to an all-time high as I scowled at Ian.

He scowled back, his patience seeming to run thin as well. His audacity was reaching new levels of stupidity by the second. Why did I ever put up with him? Because when I first showed up, I had no one and he was nice.

“Are you even on earth?” he asked.

I bit back a retort. I had him in a public place. I could end things for good here, but first I needed to get a look at the contents of the truck before they hauled their load inside.

Still, I was finished worrying about his feelings. “Order me a quesadilla.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back,” I said in my best Arnold voice, the niggling at the back of my mind concerned at how I could remember a line from a movie and, again, not my own name.

I hurried to the alley exit and snuck out the door, trying to stick to the shadows and ever so grateful for Reyes’s jacket. Thankfully, there was a slight discrepancy in the length of the two buildings. They were connected, but the antiques store was a couple of feet longer, which gave me the perfect barrier to hide behind.

I leaned against the brick. The two men were unloading a piece of equipment, some black duffel bags, and a couple of plain boxes that looked pretty heavy. They put all of that on the ground and went inside.

Mr. V wasn’t with them, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.

A male voice spoke from behind me. “What are you doing?”

It was just loud enough to get one of the men’s attention. He stopped and scanned the area while I pressed a finger over Garrett Swopes’s mouth. It was warm under my freezing hand, his shadow scratchy and more than a little sexy.

Removing my finger from his mouth, I repositioned it over mine, then leaned back to see if the men had taken note of us. They were busy bringing boxes out of the shop.

“What is that?” I whispered to Garrett.

He leaned over me, gave the area a once-over, then whispered back, “Plasma cutter.”

I frowned. “Why would they need to cut plasma?”

He grinned down at me. “Want to tell me what you’re doing?”

“No.”

“Does this have anything to do with the shopkeep’s current state of captivity?”

I bolted upright. “You know?” I asked, amazed and relieved I wasn’t the only one.

He stepped back. “I saw the men in his shop today when I walked past. Add to that the fact that he looked really uncomfortable…”

“Right? I saw them, too,” I said, only partially lying.

“What do you think we should do about it?”

“I…” I just didn’t know. What if something happened to Mr. Vandenberg because of something I did? Something I said? He’d been scared shitless that morning, impatient for me to leave. I lowered my head. “Nothing.”

I started for the back door to the café.

“Nothing?” he asked. He leaned back against the brick and fidgeted with a rock he’d picked up, his breath fogging in the icy air. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t seem in your nature to do nothing. To sit back and let people suffer.”

I winced at the implication, but Mr. Vandenberg wasn’t there. I would’ve felt him. If I tipped off the men holding him captive, what would they do to him?

“What if someone gets hurt because I got involved? What if I make it worse for Mr. V by reporting suspicious behavior? I think they have his family.”

“You’re right. That’s solid reasoning if I ever heard it. But if that’s truly the case, why are you out here?”

I nudged at the ice beneath my feet with the toe of my boots. “Just, I don’t know, curious, I guess. Gathering intel to give the authorities. If I can find where they’re keeping Mr. V and his family, the cops can rescue them before the captors even know what’s happening.” When he only nodded, I asked, “Do you have a better idea? One that doesn’t get Mr. V or his family killed? I’m very fond of his kids.”

He eyed me a long moment, then said, “I think your boyfriend’s getting worried about you.” He nodded toward the back door, where Ian stood, his figure a silhouette against the soft light streaming out.

“What are you doing out here?”

The shadows of Garrett’s face formed a soft grin. “Taking a piss.”

“I was telling Garrett we have a restroom inside,” I said, trying to cover.

Ian walked out to join us, flabbergasted. “You strolled outside while a man was taking a piss to offer him the use of your facilities?”

“It wasn’t like tha—”

“And pubic urination is illegal.”

Fuck. Ian was a cop. I tended to forget that little nugget of fun.

He leveled a hard gaze on Garrett, a man I was finding more intriguing by the moment, then took a step closer, waiting for a response.

“Yeah, well, I was on my way home when the urge hit.” He was not helping. Especially when he matched Ian’s stance and took a step closer himself. The challenge crackled in the air around us, the tension combustible.

“He wasn’t actually peeing,” I said, growing exasperated again. I put a hand on Ian’s arm to defuse the situation. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Instead of appeasing him, however, I enraged him. “Don’t patronize me,” he said through gritted teeth, turning on me this time. His anger stirred the wisps of hair on my face.

Garrett took a casual step back and leaned against the brick again, where he stood assessing the situation, thank God. I didn’t know what Ian was capable of, not entirely, but I could only imagine what would happen to Garrett if he assaulted a cop.

I had no choice but to bring Ian into the fold. To explain our actions. “Look, Ian, I think – I mean, there might be something going on next door.”

I led him away from Garrett to give us the illusion of privacy.

“How do you know him?” he asked, completely ignoring me.

“What? Ian, I’m trying to report a crime.”

“You seem to know him really well.”