Four hours later Paige scooted a box across the office floor with the toe of her tennis shoe as she collected papers. Vic was restoring order to the patient files out in the lobby, while Bo hammered plywood over the shattered glass on the medicine supply cabinet, unspeaking, steady. It would be easy to get used to his help, a fact she'd remembered in time to pull herself out of his arms and greet the police on her own.
Was anything in her life not a total mess? Much like her feelings about the kiss she and Bo had shared. At least they couldn't talk with Vic to overhear in the next room, which would give her more time to gather her thoughts—and willpower.
She tore her eyes off Bo's broad shoulders stretching his white concert T-shirt, back to the current clutter littering her life. Thank God Kirstie had finally fallen asleep upstairs, and Seth was on hand to watch over her. Paige shivered. She couldn't imagine letting her child go anywhere now without one of them glued to her side.
The police had already come and gone, declaring it drug-related vandalism. She just wished Seth had taken longer at McDonald's so Kirstie didn't have to arrive home to find five cop cars in her yard.
Yep, five.
Back in Charleston, a break-in would have warranted one car, but crime was so low in North Dakota, they received plenty of department attention, for which she was eternally grateful. All the more reason to plant her roots deep in this stark but fertile region.
Hopefully, the police would have answers soon to this break-in anomaly. Molds had been made of the footprints and tire tracks—a truck. Great. There were only about a kajillion of those around here.
Ah, hell. When had she become so defeatist? Right about the time she'd cried uncle and turned into a noodle-spine against Bo's chest. Enough of the self-pity garbage. She wasn't the confused, duped fool of a year ago.
She kicked the box to the side and knelt, sliding her hand under the office desk, searching by touch to fish out two more letters. She glanced over them. A credit card offer. Another letter from Kurt's lawyer. Two hefty reminders of her sucky financial state.
Jamming them into a drawer, she refused to think about the problems Kurt left behind.
She had enough of her own to sort through without more of his grief.
Bo lined up another nail. "Anything missing from the meds?"
The hammer landed home with a smack hard enough to make her wince.
Sheesh, she was strung tight from too much roller coaster in the past few hours.
Discussing practical details would be so much safer than addressing what really hung in the air between them right now—a killer kiss.
She fell back onto her butt and tossed papers into the cardboard box to be sorted later.
How dare someone invade her life like this, threaten her family? "I can't be sure what's here until I take inventory."
"Are veterinary drugs usable for humans?" He stuck three more nails between his teeth.
"Sure, some of them are major targets for the black market, two drugs in particular.
Ketamine and diazepam—or Valium as it's more commonly known."
He pulled the last nail from between his teeth. "What's Ketamine?"
"Ketamine is used for human burn victims. We use it for temporary, quick procedures."
She settled into the comfort zone of her career. Here, at least, she was in control. "It's effective on cats when we declaw them, also works as an injectible preanesthetic on dogs and cats when mixed with diazepam. Ketamine is a strong hallucinogenic, and wow can you ever tell it when those poor kitties wake up."
"I imagine that has a high street value." He tapped the last nail head flat and dropped the hammer back into the toolbox, along with the fist full of nails clink, clink, clinking into the tray.
"You're right." Rising, she hefted the box up onto the corner of the desk.
He leaned back against the patched cabinet, hands tucked away in his jeans pockets. "Can you think of another explanation for why someone would break in?"
"Besides looking for drugs?" Plenty of reasons, all so scary they made her want to grab the Aztec blanket off the back of the office sofa and ward off the oncoming chill of premonition. "You mean because of Kurt."
"He died before he fingered all of his connections."
"He and his attorney were working to cut deals with the D.A. for a better sentence." And signed his own death warrant by giving those connections time to shut him up permanently.
"If those connections think you have information, they might come after you."