Silken Threats. Addison Fox

report as a follow-up.”

      “And then you happen upon the owner of your establishment after she was assaulted in her own home. Please don’t tell me you think it’s a coincidence.”

      “Hardly.” Cassidy bristled at the implication she was slow on the uptake but kept her smile firmly in place. “What I’m questioning is why we keep going over the same events.”

      “Witnesses often remember things they forgot.”

      Or detectives can ask different questions to trip those witnesses up, Cassidy thought ruefully.

      “That’s fair, Detective. But I’ve spent all day racking my brain to understand why someone would target a bridal boutique and my landlord. Other than Mrs. Beauregard’s ownership of the location, she has nothing to do with my business.”

      “So why did you go to Mrs. Beauregard’s?”

      “As we discussed, I owed her our rent check as well as a bridal veil I was repairing for her. My partners and I also felt it was proper to tell her about the break-in this morning.”

      “And Mr. Buchanan? What’s his relationship with the victim?”

      The detective’s gaze grew sharper as he turned his attention toward Tucker. Speculation ran rampant in the man’s enigmatic gray gaze and Cassidy called on every shred of Southern charm and decorum she possessed not to call him out and request the name of a supervisor. “Tucker is one of the owners of another firm in our neighborhood. He found me this morning outside my shop.”

      “Found you?”

      “I was shaken up. He was out running with his dog and happened upon me.”

      Detective Graystone didn’t smile as his gaze landed fully on Tucker. “So the two of you never met before today?”

      Before she could reply, Tucker cut in, smooth as spun cotton candy at the state fair. “Our partners have met at neighborhood events but Cassidy and I had never met before today.”

      “Yet you were more than willing to take her to her landlady’s?”

      “My mama would expect no less. Cassidy had a scare this morning and I offered moral support.”

      Cassidy held back the snort—she suspected that was the first time a New Yorker had ever called his mother his “mama”—but she had to give him points for style. The aw-shucks routine had the detective standing down a notch or two, even if he appeared no closer to believing the coincidence.

      “What were you doing outside her store at—” Graystone consulted his notepad “—a little after 6:00 a.m.?”

      “I was on my morning run. My dog and I stumbled across Cassidy as she stood outside the store.”

      “And you accompanied her inside?”

      “After Cassidy called the police, yes, we did.”

      The detective’s gaze skipped between Tucker and Cassidy before coming to rest on Tucker. “And you weren’t scared?”

      “I served in the army. I assessed the situation and felt it was okay to go in.” His smile brightened and edged toward celebrity wattage before he added a cocky grin. “And I have a big dog.”

      Detective Graystone bared his teeth in a gesture that bordered on a snarl—as if he were irritated at being thwarted—but his words were deceptive as he spoke. “I think that’s all my questions for now. I plan on following up in the morning. I’d like to talk to your partners, too. Will you be at your shop?”

      “Yes.” Cassidy nodded. “We won’t be open for business in order to finish dealing with the damages, but come by anytime. I’ll be there.”

      “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

      Tucker waited until the door had closed behind the detective before he spoke. “He believes you.”

      “Why do you think that?”

      “He didn’t want to, but every question he asked, you had an answer for.”

      “He sure didn’t act like he believed me. In fact, he sort of resembled the big bad wolf, just before he ate Grandma.”

      “Don’t mistake standard interrogation tactics for lack of belief. Every volley the good detective tossed your way you sent right back. Nice job.”

      “Thanks. But I think you get the award for bringing Bailey into it. I still owe him that bone.”

      Tucker’s easy smile—the one that kept snagging her pulse—fell away so suddenly she blinked at the rapid change. “You didn’t tell him about the alarm.”

      The words weren’t quite an accusation, but she heard the note of disapproval all the same. “He didn’t ask.”

      “You didn’t mention the hole in the floor, either.”

      “It’s Mrs. B.’s building. As far as we know, it’s empty.”

      “They were both omissions.”

      “It wasn’t relevant to the questions.”

      Panic bloomed, chasing away the light, airy butterflies he’d created with his smile.

      She’d been questioned before. Remembered how it felt to have someone stare at you as if you were nothing. Or worse.

      As if you’d done something to be ashamed of.

      She’d lived through that once and she’d be damned if she was going to go under the microscope again.

      Tucker leaned forward, his dark eyes urgent. “Can you honestly sit there and tell me you think a hidden, sealed hole in the concrete floor of your office is empty? That you’re not in danger and that whoever was in there once won’t try again?”

      With swift efficiency, she bricked up her emotions. This wasn’t the same as before. No matter what they ended up discovering about the break-in and the concrete floor and even Mrs. B.’s attack, this would never be the same.

      “It’s not my building. It’s not my business to say anything until we’ve spoken to Mrs. B. Besides, we’ve been there for nearly three years and nothing’s happened.”

      “Yet someone came and ruined your things—your business—to make a point.”

      “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

      “By keeping the cops in the dark?” His big shoulders hunched, and he stood to pace. She watched the long, trim lines of his body and couldn’t help wondering what had suddenly spooked him.

      “You’ve been my partner all day and suddenly you’re playing judge and jury. What gives?”

      “This isn’t a joke. Someone with access to your building wants something inside of it. I’d think you’d take it a bit more seriously.”

      “I am taking it seriously.” The shift from easygoing flirt to fierce protector caught her more off guard than she wanted to admit, and Cassidy heard the quaver in her voice. Swallowing hard, she firmed up her tone. “I just spent two hours with a cop taking it seriously.”

      “Then prove it.”

      “I don’t need to prove anything and I don’t appreciate round two of an afternoon interrogation. While I appreciate the partnership, this isn’t your problem. Violet, Lilah and I are more than capable of handling it.”

      “Handling it?”

      She knew sparks arced between them—could practically see them float in the air—but Cassidy held her ground. It was embarrassing enough to be treated like a criminal by the detective. She’d be damned if she was going to take it from the one person who’d been with her all day.

      Before she could say another word, those same sparks thickened, then exploded in a rush.

      Tucker