“I can’t get over how bad Rita sounds when she sings,” Emile says with a chuckle. “She has such a beautiful speaking voice, I assumed she’d be our star caroler. But no, she can’t carry a single note and she sounds as if she has a flock of bullfrogs living in her voice.”

“True,” I agree. “But you have to give her an A for being loud. I’m sure people three blocks-”

“Lara, look. The Blind Pig.”

I look in the direction Paul is pointing, and the bottom falls out of my stomach.

Three squad cars, lights flashing, are pulled up in front of the Blind Pig. Two officers, including one I recognize as Liam, are working together to put an enormous piece of plywood over the space where one of my fancy windows used to be.

A third pushes a pile of glass, the remains of one of the windows, with a wide broom.

I break into a run, barely looking both ways before darting across the road, scarcely hearing Paul and Emile calling my name, begging me to be careful.

Liam sees me coming and jumps down from his perch on my windowsill.

“Lara, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Really?” I gasp. “Because it looks like my windows are gone. My very expensive windows. The windows that keep the inside of my bar protected. That seems pretty bad.”

Paul skids to a stop beside me. Atticus jumps on Liam’s legs, tail wagging. Liam bends down and scratches my dog behind his ear.

Paul wraps an arm around my waist. His eyes meet Liam’s. “What happened?”

“About an hour ago, your security alarm went off. Officers responded as soon as we got the call, but by the time we got there, whoever did this was already gone. Your system is noisy. I’m betting it spooked them.”

“Maybe this time the cameras caught something that’ll help us identify this bastard.” There’s no doubt in my mind that the jerk who keeps writing lewd comments on my windows is the same one who broke them.

“Yeah, about that,” Liam says. “We’re going to see if there’s any salvageable footage, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Puzzled, I look up and understand. My windows aren’t the only thing that got shattered. The cameras suffered the exact same fate.

“Is that it?” I ask, not really sure I want to hear the answer.

“Unfortunately, no.”

Liam holds the door open and Paul, Emile, and I walk in.

“How long did it take the cops to get here when the alarm sounded?” Emile demands. His eyes widen as he takes in the destruction.

“Less than five minutes. Whoever it was, they weren’t looking for something. They just wanted to destroy.”

Emile whistles. “They did a good job of that.”

Bile burns my throat and my hands tremble as I take in the interior of the place I worked so hard to create. Derogatory words are spray painted on the tables and across the top of the bar. The soft bar stools have been slashed. All my decanters are ruined. The beautiful blue spruce is tipped onto its side. The beautiful Christmas decorations Paul and I got at the tree farm are broken.

I want to sit down and cry.

How could anyone hate me so much?

Paul wraps his arms around me, pulling me in tight against his chest. “It’s okay, baby.”

“It doesn’t look okay.”

“The insurance company will pay for the damages. Then you can start over again. Make it even better,” he promises.

“I don’t want it better.” My voice catches. “I want it back the way it was.”

“I know.” His lips move against my hair.

“Lara.” Liam clears his throat. “I hate to ask you this, but what kind of texts did you get today?”

“Texts?” Paul asks.

“I know some came in earlier today, but I didn’t read them. I never read them anymore, you know that.” I dig my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Liam. “I’ve had it off for the past hour and a half while we were caroling, so I don’t know if any others came in.”

“I want to know what texts,” Paul demands.

“For weeks now, Lara has been getting text messages and notes from whoever has been putting the graffiti on her windows.” Liam turns my phone on and hits the text message icon.

“They started off pretty benign; we thought it was a disgruntled customer or employee. Now, well, I just don’t know. The past week or so they’ve gotten really bad. You didn’t know about them?”

“The only thing I knew about was the graffiti.” Paul looks over Liam’s shoulder, reading one message after another. His face pales, anger flashing in his eyes.

Ten minutes later, the windows are boarded up. I thank the officers for all their help and watch as they leave.

Liam lingers a moment longer.

“Lara, I’m sorry. I thought you’d told him.” His gaze darts to Paul, who is sitting on one of the damaged barstools, Atticus perched on his lap. He hasn’t said a word since he learned about the messages.

“It’s okay, Liam. He would have found out eventually.”

“Which is why you should have told him right away.” He squeezes my arm. “Look, Lara, I don’t know Paul well, but from what I’ve seen so far, he seems like one of the good ones. You don’t want to let him get away.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Liam grins. “That’s all any of us can do. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

I watch until his squad car turns toward the police station.

The silence between Paul and me as we make our way up the stairs is deafening. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He won’t talk to me and his face is a stone mask. Anxiety churns in my gut. I’d feel better if he’d yell at me.

Paul shoulders his way in front of me, unlocks the apartment door, and does a quick visual scan before moving out of my way.

The cops were already up here, did a thorough search and made sure no one was hiding in my apartment or the empty ones before they left. They didn’t find anyone. The fact that the security system I use for the upstairs wasn’t tripped is a good sign.

I sit on the couch, relieved that at least this part of my carefully constructed world wasn’t disturbed. Atticus jumps up beside me and I unhook his leash from the ring attached to the back of his parka.

The leash falls to the floor.

That’s when Paul finally lets lose his temper.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?” he roars.