“Do you know where you’re going to put all the stuff we bought?” Paul asks.

I like how he says we bought, rather then he bought or that I picked out.

“Some of it.”

I spot the Philistine Hotel through the car window and reach for my coat. “I’ve known for months that I was going to set up a tree by the fireplace, but since the spruce is about four feet wider than I expected, I’m going to have to move some of the tables and couches to different locations.”

And hopefully, doing so won’t require putting any of the seats into storage until after the holiday season. I want to end the year on a high note, not with a diminished seating capacity.

The car slows as it approaches the Blind Pig. Two people, Emile and a local police officer I’m friends with, Liam Dempsey, stand next to the front door, their arms crossed over their chests, watching a young window washer scrape paint off my beautiful plate glass window.

“Not again,” I mutter.

“Again?” Paul floats a brow. “What again?”

“It’s not really a big deal,” I tell him as we glide to a stop. Emile and Liam turn and stare at the car. “The past few weeks I’ve been having problems with vandals. They keep hitting my place with spray paint.” I do a quick mental count. “This is the third time in seven days I’ve had paint cleaned off that window.”

“Three times?” Paul whistles. “And the police haven’t done anything yet?”

“They’re trying. Reports have been filed and they’ve checked all the local security cameras. I had new cameras installed after the first incident, but they always show the same thing. A big … person in a heavy black jacket and a scarf around his face. Not enough to make an accurate identification.”

Dreading what I’m going to see, I pull my phone out of my purse and look at the screen. Three unread text messages. Knowing what they’re going to say, I drop the phone back into the depths of my purse, leaving the messages unread.

“Hey boss,” Emile calls out cheerfully as I step out of the warm car and into Chicago’s cool breeze. “Nice ride.”

“It’s temporary,” I tell him.

Emile and Paul exchange a complicated series of hand gestures. The pair became friends during last night’s shift. Apparently learning that Paul was willing to lend a hand was enough to ease Emile’s concerns.

“Hi.” Liam walks straight up to Paul, a warm, welcoming smile on his broad face. “Liam Dempsey. Local law enforcement and one of Lara’s oldest friends. Our moms were best friends so we spent a lot of time together while we were growing up. When Lara said she wanted an old timey style bar, I helped her find this place.”

“Paul Sullivan.” Paul shakes Liam’s hand. They size each other up. “Lara’s newest friend and temporary, fill-in bartender.” He nods to the window. “What’s going on here?”

“Someone saw this beautiful window,” Emile says, “and thought they should cover it with disgusting words. If I ever find out who keeps doing this …” He balls up his right hand and punches his left palm.

“You’ll call the police station and they’ll send me or another office down here straight away,” Liam says mildly.

I stand near the edge of the sidewalk until Paul and Emile move closer to the window to inspect the damage. Taking advantage of the distraction, I sidle up to Liam.

“What did it say this time?”

“Slut,” Liam says. He reaches out with one hand. I dig my cell phone out and slap it against his palm.

He taps the message icon and reads the first message out loud. “Return the Blind Pig to its rightful owners or pay the price.” He scrolls down to the next one. “You stole our inheritance. We want it back.” He moves to the third. “Give it back.”

Liam returns my phone. “Have you had any luck figuring out who keeps sending these?”

“No. I spent some time online doing some searches on this place, but because it has such a long history and there have been so many different owners, especially during the past thirty years, I didn’t have much luck. The only thing I know for sure is that the title was clear when I bought it.”

“I get it,” Liam sympathizes. “The three texts came from two different numbers. I’ll try tracking them down, but based on past history, they’re going to be burner phones. He nods at Paul and changes the subject. “New guy?”

“Yes.”

“A special one?”

Confirmation hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say out loud what I’m starting to suspect. Partly because the strange mix of emotions bubbling inside of me is difficult to name, but mostly because I don’t know what to do with them. And until I do, I refuse to say anything out loud.

“I’m not sure yet,” I finally say.

Liam nods as if he understands. “Well, my advice is to keep him close. I know I’ll sleep better if I know you have someone watching your back while we try to catch whoever has decided you’re an easy target. And this Paul of yours looks like the kind of guy who knows how to handle himself in a tough situation.”