Page 27 of Their Stormy Reunion

“Then I’ll be seeing you soon.” I smiled as I backed out of the driveway and eased onto the narrow road that would eventually lead to Oak Street.

“I’m calling to ask you a favor,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to catch my attention.

“Anything, Dad. You know that.”

“I got another letter.” His sigh crackled through the phone. “I made a copy and gave it to Nash, but he says there isn’t much the sheriff’s department can do until something happens.”

“That’s a load of horseshit,” I snapped, taking a sharp left onto Oak Street, familiar frustration bubbling up.

“This one mentioned your mother.” His words hit like a punch to the gut. “And I’m worried.”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I merged onto La Mars Highway, my tires growling against the pavement. “The note mentioned Mom? And Nash still said he couldn’t do anything?” My voice rose, my pulse following suit. “I’ll call Simon.”

Dad exhaled heavily. “That’s what I was going to ask. You know those boys over at Onyx Security better than I do. Figured you could ask them to take a look.”

“I’ll handle it,” I promised, my jaw tightening. “I’ll see you soon, Dad.”

I ended the call and immediately dialed Simon Clark, the former Navy SEAL commander who ran Onyx Security. He’d built the company with Roan Thatcher, a good friend of mine. Normally, I’d have called Roan, but he was knee-deep in renovations at Jace Drako’s new house, leaving Simon as my go-to.

“Hey, Michael,” Simon answered, his calm, steady voice doing little to tamp down my growing agitation. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing good,” I admitted, the tension bleeding into my tone. “My dad’s been getting threatening notes. I was hoping Onyx could take a look.”

“Let me guess, Nash can’t do anything unless it escalates.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to hire us for that. Does he still have the notes?”

“Yeah, he kept them.”

“Where’s he at?” Simon asked.

I rattled off my parents’ address, my foot pressing harder on the gas as if I could outrun the hot knife cutting into my chest.

“I can be there in half an hour. That work?”

“Perfect,” I said. “But can we keep it low-key? Mom doesn’t know about any of this.”

Simon chuckled, the sound easy despite the situation. “How much trouble did you get into as a kid?”

“Not much.” I sighed, knowing where this was headed. “Yeah, okay, point taken. Dad’s not exactly great at keeping things from her either.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Simon said, the amusement fading from his voice, replaced by resolve. “But let me tell you—nothing gets by Trenda.”

I couldn’t help but smirk, even in the middle of all this. Trenda, the oldest Avery sister, could sniff out a secret before you even thought about keeping it.

“Thanks, Simon. I owe you one.”

“Anytime,” he said before hanging up.

I tightened my grip on the wheel and pressed harder on the accelerator, the trees along the highway blurring as I sped toward my parents’ house. Whoever was behind these notes thought they were clever, hiding behind words and threats. But they’d made a mistake this time. They’d brought my mom into it.

And now, they were going to find out just how bad an idea that was.

After leaving my parents’ house, I’d spent the night tossing and turning, my mind trying to work its way out of a house of mirrors. When I stumbled into the kitchen the next morning and cracked open the fridge, the almost empty shelves stared back at me. Not even a sad slice of bread to save me.

Perfect.