Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 128

Her Obsession.

Matchbox Car.

73

Sage

The bookstore sits on the side of the house, small, old–fashioned, the kind that smells like paper and dust and too many years of quiet. A little brass bell jingles when we walk in. Shelves line every wall, uneven and overloaded, and sunlight cuts through the windows in soft, golden stripes that make the place look warmer than it feels. Lucia Romanero looks up from behind the counter when we enter. She’s thin, too thin, with dark circles under her eyes and a cardigan slipping off one shoulder. Her smile comes automatically, polite but tired. “Good morning,” she says softly. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Naomi leans on the counter with her usual smirk. “Got any dark erotica? The dirtier, the better.”

Lucia blinks like she’s not sure if Naomi’s joking. “Oh…um… yes, we have a section toward the back. Romance, top shelf on the left.”

Naomi grins. “Perfect.” She saunters off, clearly enjoying making the poor woman blush.

I stay behind, running a hand along the nearest shelf. “I’ll just browse,” I say casually, and Lucia nods, returning to her book ledger.

The shop is quiet enough that I can hear the faint hum of the fridge in the next room, and the whisper of little movements, something small shifting between the shelves. That’s when I see him.

Diego. He’s crouched on the floor halfway down the aisle, half–hidden behind a stack of books. He shouldn’t be here; it’s the middle of the day, a weekday. He should be at preschool, playing, laughing, and learning. Instead, he’s sitting on the cold wooden floor, hair messy, face streaked with dirt, wearing a shirt two sizes too small. In his hand, he’s holding a little Matchbox car, red once, now chipped and faded. He rolls it along the edge of a book spine, eyes focused, mouth pressed tight in concentration. When he realises I’m watching, he freezes. For a second, I see the fear flash across his face, that instinct to hide. Then he snatches the car up into his fist, tucking it against his chest.

“Hey,” I say softly, crouching down so I’m eye level with him. “That’s a pretty cool car you’ve got there.”

He shakes his head, clutching it tighter.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m not gonna take it.”

Behind me, Lucia calls out, “Diego! What did I say about playing in the aisles?”

He flinches, eyes darting toward her voice, but he doesn’t answer. Something in my chest twists. This kid shouldn’t look this scared of his own mother’s voice. He shouldn’t look like he’s been living in the shadows of grown–up problems he doesn’t understand. Naomi comes back with a book in her hand, eyebrows raised when she spots me kneeling beside the boy. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, then at him, and the expression in her eyes says everything I’m thinking. This isn’t right.

Before I can say another word, Lucia’s voice cuts through the quiet again, sharper this time. “Diego!”

The sound of hurried footsteps follows, and she rounds the corner so fast the books on the end shelf tremble. Her eyes go straight to him, not to me or Naomi, and the look on her face is a mix of frustration and disgust.

“I told you not to play in the aisles!” she snaps, reaching down and grabbing his arm, harder than she needs to.

Diego winces, a small, strangled sound leaving his throat as she yanks him to his feet. My own hand twitches, instinctively, but I force myself still. I can’t blow our cover, not yet.

1/3

12:32 Wed, Oct 22

Matchbox Car.

73

“Sorry about that,” Lucia says, voice flipping like a switch. The tone goes honey–sweet, a sugary smile pasted across her face. “He’s been such a handful lately. Boys, you know how they are, full of energy.”

Naomi raises a brow, unimpressed. “Yeah. Kids’ll do that.”

Lucia laughs, high, nervous, too loud for the tiny shop. “He just doesn’t know when to sit still. You’d think after all the books around here, he’d learn something about being quiet.”

She’s still holding Diego by the arm, fingers white–knuckled against his skin. The boy stares at the floor, silent, shoulders slumped. The little red car dangles from his other hand.

I tilt my head, studying her, keeping my voice even. “He’s a kid. Sitting still isn’t really their thing.”

Lucia blinks, the sweetness faltering for just a fraction of a second before she masks it again. “Of course. You’re right.” She forces a laugh, then looks down at Diego, her voice tight. “Go on, sweetheart, upstairs. Mommy’s working.”

He hesitates, eyes darting toward me for just a heartbeat before he scurries off, disappearing through the curtain at the back of the shop.

Lucia exhales and smooths her hair, pretending nothing happened. “Now-” she says, clasping her hands together. “Did you ladies find everything you were looking for?”

Naomi, ever the actress, smiles widely and holds up her book. “Oh, yeah. This’ll do nicely.”

Lucia beams at her, relieved, completely missing the hard stare I’m giving her. I force a polite smile of my own, but inside, my stomach burns. I’ve seen women like her before, ones trapped and terrified, swinging between victim and accomplice. But that boy… that boy didn’t look scared of her anger. He looked more scared of her love. And that kind of fear doesn’t come from nowhere.

Naomi glances sideways at me as we walk toward the van. “You okay?” she asks quietly.

I don’t answer. I just keep walking. The words won’t fit in my mouth, not with the way Diego’s eyes looked when his mother grabbed him. I slide into the driver’s seat, slam the door a little too hard, and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Naomi doesn’t push. She knows me well enough to wait. The second the van’s on the road, I hit the speed, gravel spitting behind us. Naomi braces herself, muttering, “Jesus, woman,” but I barely hear her. My head’s buzzing with plans, half–formed and dangerous. I tap the screen on the dash and call Conner. It rings once.

“Darling,” I say, voice flat but tight. “There’s money on that card you gave me, yeah?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” His tone softens, cautious. “Everything okay?”

“Nope.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for me to picture his brow furrowing, his hand dragging through his hair.

“We’ll be back at the hotel later.”

“Sage-”

But I hang up before he can ask.

Naomi sighs, folding her arms. “We’re not going back, are we?”

2/3

1

12:32 Wed, Oct 22

Matchbox Car.

I don’t look at her. “We’re making a stop first.”

Her grin creeps in, slow and knowing. “Toy store?”

“Toy store.”

A 73.

The van surges forward, sun flashing off the hood as the sign for the town centre comes into view. I don’t have a full plan yet, just an instinct and a purpose sharper than any blade I’ve ever carried. If that kid has to live another day in that house, he’s at least going to have something good waiting for him. Something his. And if his mother or father ever lays a hand on him again, well… I’ll give him something else to hold onto.