“You saved my life.” Calder pulls me against him, one arm around my waist, the other cradling my head. “You did what you had to do.”
I press my face against his chest, breathing him in—cedar and leather and sweat. His heart hammers against my ear, proof that he’s alive.
“What’s going to happen now?” I ask.
He strokes my hair gently. “Now we call Kade. He’ll take care of the body.”
“And then?”
“Then we go into town. Create an alibi. Be seen in places.”
I blink, struggling through the fog of shock. “You want to go out? After—after this?”
“We need to be seen. Need witnesses to say we were nowhere near here when Wayne disappeared.” His voice is calm, practical. “Can you do that? Can you hold it together?”
I look down at Wayne’s body, then back at Calder, at the red ring forming on his throat.
“Yes,” I say, finding strength I didn’t know I had. “I can do it.”
He presses his forehead against mine, unexpectedly tender. “That’s my girl.”
The possessive words should bother me, but right now, they’re a lifeline. A reminder that we’re in this together.
“I need to change,” I say, checking for blood spatter. Somehow, there isn’t any.
“Good. I’ll call Kade.”
I pause. “Will he…? Will your brother…?”
“He’ll handle it,” Calder says simply. “No questions asked. That’s what family does.”
I go to the bedroom, close the door, and lean against it, just breathing. I took a life.
Part of me—the girl I used to be, Pastor James’s daughter—is screaming somewhere deep inside.
But a newer, harder part, the part forged in survival, the part that wears Calder’s ring and bears the Bishop brand, feels only a grim satisfaction. Wayne would have killed Calder. Would havedestroyed everything. Worse, if he’d managed to kill Calder, he’d have come for me, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in recent weeks, it’s how to survive.
I change quickly, pulling on a simple gray dress. Tights and boots. By the time I emerge, Calder is off the phone.
“Kade’s on his way,” he says. “We need to be gone before he gets here.”
We step carefully around Wayne’s body. I don’t look at his face as we pass.
Outside, the air feels cleaner. Calder helps me into his truck, his hand lingering on my arm longer than necessary.
As we drive away, I feel something settle inside me. The girl I was is truly gone, lost to blood and survival and impossible choices. I might be the light in the Bishop darkness, but I sure as hell won’t be extinguished by the likes of some jerk like Wayne.
Calder parks in front of the hardware store. His hand settles at the small of my back as we walk in. For once, I don’t fret over the touch. About what it means, and what I want.
“Mr. Peterson’s been asking about you,” he says. “We’ll stop here, then the feed store, the bakery. Places with witnesses.”
I understand the strategy. Create a narrative. Be seen. Establish that we were here, far from a dead man in our living room.
We make our rounds through town, smiling and chatting like nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised at how easily the lies come, how natural my fake laugh sounds.
We’re passing the coffee shop when I see her: Allie, her copper hair wild as always, spotting me before I can look away.
“Saint?” She freezes, eyes widening. “Oh my God, Saint!”
