Not Brent lowered his leg and huffed at me before circling three times and lying down next to my feet, his head propped against the side of Samantha. There wasn't enough light in the office for me to have a real plant, so Lily at the town's plant shop hooked me up with a fake even though she said it went against the oath she took as a florist.

I hadn't had time to research if florist really had an oath. It definitely sounded made up to me.

A drum solo started down the hall and I grabbed my cheap earbuds, hoping to block out some of the noise. I really needed to pay rent, get Not Brent supplies, and then find a fancy pair of noise blocking headphones.

Not wanting to forget my genius shopping list, I flipped over a napkin from an earlier lunch and jotted down the three items so I wouldn't forget them later. Not that the loud drumming was conducive to forgetting the need of fancy headphones.

The box jiggled under my feet as Not Brent's foot slapped against it while he chased something in an adventurous dream.

"Lazy," I whispered but tucked my feet on top of Samantha so I didn't disturb his slumber.

Now that he'd claimed his spot and trapped me in my chair, I couldn't get up and take my first coffee break.

What a life. Trapped by a huge ass box and a sleeping dog. Fourteen-year-old Vonnie never saw this coming.

With nowhere to go and no iced coffee to sustain me, I grabbed another handful of cards from Jimmy's box and continued my search through the boring Christmas greetings. Next year I was going to mix up my holiday greetings. Throw something crazy in there.

Like a Happy Festivus.

How disappointing that the Joneses didn't receive one Festivus card.

I drew a tiny star on the bottom of my napkin list with a reminder to send Festivus cards next Christmas.

The stack of cards from Jimmy dwindled. A thick envelope on top promised something extra than the traditional card with one line of pleasantries. I slid the card from the fattened envelope and a two-page letter fell out.

Interesting.

Inside the card, someone with flowy handwriting included the typical holiday greeting and then signed the card "Love, Mom." I flipped the envelope over, finding Jimmy's mom's name on the return address part.

The letter, folded over two times, had an array of pictures featuring Jimmy's mom, Ruth. They created a border around the typed words inside. Pictures of Ruth standing next to a palm tree and then others with her feet in the ocean lined the pages. Seemed Jimmy's mom had been traveling.

I skimmed the letter detailing her summer trip to Florida to visit friends and a post-holiday trip planned out west to visit Nevada and California. She wanted to ring in the new year with sunshine.

Nothing exciting jumped out at me. Ruth liked dolphins, and she wanted to bring the Florida heat to Maine. Yada, yada, blah, blah. Boring.

I flipped the second page, expecting more boring life updates and wasn't surprised. Ruth used an entire second page to show pictures of her dog Muffins-what was with Pelican Bay and their obsession with their pets? Muffins was a large golden retriever who had a problem staying out of mud and eating opossum poop from Ruth's back yard.

Ruth was also an over-sharer.

At the bottom of the letter, she included an update on Jimmy and Jalinda, along with a complaint they still hadn't given her any grandchildren. Maybe they needed to buy a dog and name him Jimmy Junior?

My office door creaked open. I probably would have missed it except the music-a drum beat now accompanied by a guitar-grew louder as Broadrick let himself in.

Not Brent sensed the intrusion and jumped to attention. His little paws hit Broadrick in his shins as he jumped on him and sniffed.

"Not Brent, down," I called, but he didn't listen.

Broadrick picked him up and let Not Brent lick his neck. "Why didn't you give him to Mrs. Coogs?"

I considered yelling at Broadrick for letting himself in but figured he'd just comment that boyfriends didn't have to knock, and then we'd have to get back into the "you're not my boyfriend" fight I couldn't seem to win against him.

"Long story. He's here until I can find his actual mother."

Broadrick nuzzled Not Brent's nose, and I refused to find it attractive even if my uterus disagreed. "If you're keeping him, you need to give him a real name."

"I'm not keeping him." I barely had enough money to afford to feed myself. No way could I keep him in fancy kibble. "How did your meeting go?"

Broadrick set Not Brent on the floor and pulled out the chair across from my desk even as I scowled and shook my head no at him. "Fine. Things are moving along."

I waited, but he didn't include any other details.

Definitely suspicious.

"Where are they sending you this time?" I asked, hoping to catch him off guard and have him admit he hadn't left the military and would be out on a mission soon.

He smirked as if he knew exactly my plan. "Somewhere close. You want to grab some food?"

I did but not with him. He definitely lied about leaving the military if they were sending him somewhere. Plus, it still pissed me off he'd said no to me earlier.

"No, I have to hunt for Brent. Can you babysit Not Brent for me?"

"Sure, babe," he said, picking up Not Brent with one hand and letting him resume licking his face.

He hadn't shaved that morning, and stubble branded his chin. I loved that look on Broadrick. He laughed at Not Brent and kissed his doggy nose. Great, now I was jealous of a damn dog.

I scooted out of my chair and grabbed Samantha from under my feet. "Can you keep this too?"

Broadrick eyed the box. "I thought you were giving this back to Katy?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Just another failure for me. I pushed the box into his arms and ground my teeth together when he had no problem carrying the box and holding Not Brent's leash.

We parted ways in the parking lot and I drove to the only church in Pelican Bay proper-an old white building with chipped paint that may have been the first structure in town-and Broadrick turned back toward my apartment.

Did he plan to let himself in and just hang out in my space again? What would Mrs. Mets say? Where was he staying when not at my place? He couldn't be at the bed-and-breakfast because then they'd have a hot guy notice on the Facebook phone tree.

I didn't have time to deal with it now. I'd have to add Broadrick to my list of problems for later. Right beside making sure I locked up the walls around my heart so I didn't let him in again.

Thick woods at the back of the church separated the town from the rest of the world. I'd chased Not Brent in this direction the other night, but then he turned and headed toward the lighthouse on the coast. The woods had miles of trails for hikers and they were possibly the last place in town I hadn't looked for Brent.

I wasn't big on hiking.

"Brent!" I called out as I entered the first trail.

Nothing but a squirrel answered my call as it ran across the forest floor and chattered at me.

I shook my head and let out a deep sigh, quietly agreeing to do the six-mile circular trail before I gave up. Snow fell from the trees as the squirrel tracked my movements, probably hoping I'd drop food.

Three miles later I walked slower, my breaths coming shorter as I reached the far end of the trail and readied myself to take a break before trekking to the top of the loop and heading back to the trailhead where I parked Rachel.

A rumble came from the last section of the marked path. I had to be near the end of the forest and close to the other side, but I'd never searched to figure out what lay on the outside of Pelican Bay's trails. It was still too far from Clearwater to be anything too populous.

The rumble came again, sounding like a giant truck. Not quite a semi, but a more like a moving truck for a large home. The smell of diesel permeated the air, out of place in the thick trees surrounding my spot.

What the hell?

I stepped off the trail and walked to the tree line to peek through to the opening. In a clearing somewhere halfway between Clearwater and Pelican Bay, a truck surrounded by men idled in a patch of grass beside a larger semi.

Double what the hell?

A group of men stood around the side of the smaller truck talking to one another and watching as the rest of the crew carried large green metal boxes from the semi to the smaller moving truck.

I slunk down behind a tree to watch everything unfold and grabbed my phone from my pocket, hoping to get a video. A man grunted while carrying one box, indicating its weight, and I zoomed in on the words stenciled on the side.

900 cartridges.

Tracer.

10-round clips.

None of those were overly encouraging.

Pelican Bay had a history of crime and shady shit going on in the woods outside its perimeter, but an ammo sale had to take the cake as worst yet.

Well, besides those couple of murders.

I repositioned my camera, trying to get a better view of the semi-truck's back end, when a dog bark froze my movements and had me falling to my ass in shock. A small brown and white dog ran at me, barking excitedly.

I stuck my hand out to shush second Brent, with wide eyes, excited to see the dog but horrified at his rude timing. The dog, who had to be Brent, ran right up to me and took a playful stance. I stuck my finger against my lips and then tried to grab him, but he darted away before barking and running back.

Fuck me.

Brent ran circles around me, trying to play, but I'd given up on him. Instead, my gaze swept over to the clearing where fifteen big bulky criminal types stared at my location. Busted.

One of the men leaning against the moving truck whistled and pointed at me, giving a chin jerk to his colleagues.

Why me?