I hope so. Because he already meant so much more to her. There. The thought was out there. Scary but true.
After showering, she studied her hair in the mirror. She loved her curls, but they could be rebellious. They definitely needed to be kept in their place when she was working. Giving her hair a quick all-over spritz with her favorite macadamia oil product, she pulled her wild locks back into a ruthlessly tight braid.
When Bree purchased this property, she’d had a walk-in closet built. Her father had laughed and asked how long it would be before she needed another one. As she rifled through the overflowing rails, she realized Calvin Colton had been right. She either needed more space, or she would have to part with some of her precious vintage treasures. But how would she choose which of her 1950s cocktail dresses or rock-chick biker jackets to give away?
She pulled on black leggings, a short floral dress and knee-high brown boots. Over the top, she layered a long Scandinavian knit jacket in bright geometric blocks and twisted a contrasting scarf loosely around her neck. Moisturizing sunscreen, a touch of lip gloss, a spray of perfume, and she was a splash of color dashing past the mirror next to her front door.
Two minutes later, she regarded the man seated behind her desk with a wary expression. “I’m always pleased to see you, Trey. I also know how busy you are, so I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
Her brother grinned. “Most people start with good morning. How are things with you, sis? Still struggling to decide which you hate most...morning or anchovies?”
“The answer depends on whether I’m listening to my alarm clock or ordering pizza.” Bree flopped into the chair opposite him. “Seriously, why are you here?”
His expression became serious. “We got a report of a person behaving suspiciously close to these premises just before seven a.m. A security guard...” He checked his notes. “A guy named Swanson was attacked.”
Bree jerked upright. “David? Is he okay?”
“Fine. He had a fright, but he wasn’t seriously injured. He’s already back at work.” Her brother leaned forward with his hands clasped on the desk. “What bothers me is that Swanson thought the intruder was intending to climb the steps to your apartment.”
A cold trickle of fear tracked its way down Bree’s spine. She pushed it aside, frowning over the vagueness of Trey’s statement. “David thought that was his intention? A minor injury and the suspicion that a man may have been planning to climb the stairs to my apartment? Was that really the most pressing item on your schedule this morning, Trey?”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “I wanted to check and make sure you were okay. The guy who called this in—”
She held up a hand. “I thought David Swanson called you?”
“No.” He consulted his notes. “The 911 dispatcher spoke to a Rylan Bennet.”
Bree rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was early. She was caffeine deprived and Trey’s presence had taken her by surprise. That must be why nothing was making sense. Because why would Rylan be here before the gallery opened?
“You know him?” Trey was watching her closely. Nothing escaped her brother.
“He manages a group of artists who are taking part in my next show. Mom introduced him to me.”
The Audrey Colton seal of approval acted like a charm, and Trey relaxed back into his chair. “Since I’m here, help me out. It’s only been a week since someone threw a brick through the gallery window. You’ve been getting threatening emails. So far, I don’t have any leads on who is responsible. Has anything happened since to make you feel uncomfortable?”
Thoughts of her recorder and coffee being moved flashed through her mind, but she suppressed them. If Trey found out she was being harassed, she would be transported back to her childhood. He would be the big, strong brother and she would be in his shadow once again. She loved him, but she didn’t want to hand control of her life over to him. Not unless she was forced to.
A tiny voice at the back of her mind asked the question, Shouldn’t Trey be the one to decide? If the strange incidents were linked to the broken window, and now this attack on David, wasn’t it time to confide in the sheriff? A second voice spoke up, drowning out the first. What if they aren’t linked?