The sights and sounds within the event center should have been enough to keep Emmitt happy for the hour and a half attraction. Heck, Lucas’s exuberance alone made for not only good entertainment but a good distraction too.
So why was it that Emmitt was counting down the minutes until this thing was over? And it had only just begun.
A flashback of his night with Sloane answered that question in a blink. A dose of heat flared low in his belly at the recollection alone. Prior to meeting Sloane, Emmitt hadn’t understood his brothers’ obsession with spending every minute with Ava and Ty. Trenton was the same with Andie. Getting them to agree to a guys night was like pulling teeth.
But now he knew. Now Emmitt understood that any time spent away from the woman he loved felt like a waste. Especially since his time with her was limited. Unless…
Emmitt shook his head, wondering if he dared to dream about the possibilities. Not that he could dream about anything with all the chaos and noise around him. At that thought, the spectators rose collectively to their feet, hollering at the top of their lungs.
Emmitt played along, standing and lifting an arm over his head like the rest of them. A quick glance at where Lucas sat between Memphis and Trenton caused a smile to come to his face. The little guy was chanting along with the rest of the crowd, eyes pinned on the action in the ring.
Emmitt grinned, liking the way Lucas brought a little extra magic into everything they did. Of course, it’d be even better once Richard and Ava felt safe to join them again. As it was, Richard didn’t want to leave Ava behind, and he wasn’t willing to risk anyone seeing her in public. Not if a prior lead had already led to the call at the inn.
He hoped Sloane was having a nice time with Andie and Ty, but what Emmitt really looked forward to was the day he could introduce her to Ava and Richard too. He wanted to tell her the real story of his past and explain Ava’s as well. Lies created distance, there was no getting around it. And as close as he’d gotten to Sloane, Emmitt wanted very badly to eliminate that last sliver of space between them—the withheld details he’d guarded until now.
Trenton had hinted, on the way to the event, that Andie was making progress with Richard. It was quite likely they’d all celebrate Christmas morning as a family—Richard, Ava, and even Sloane. If the vote was unanimous, Emmitt would get to tell Sloane everything on Christmas Eve.
Emmitt recalled wanting a lot of things over the holidays as a child. He did all the typical kid stuff—make a list, hint to his parents, and—when he was really young—ask the Santa at the mall. But this year what Emmitt wanted was simple—the freedom to reveal his family’s story to the woman he loved.
* * *
Dried pine needles, tucked in the blades of wet grass, crumbled and cracked beneath Sloane’s shoes. With her back against the outer wall of the cottage, her fingers gripping the strap of her backpack, Sloane retrieved a flat, collapsible footstool from her bag. Slowly then, she bent her legs, lowering herself enough to unfold the stool and set it just beneath the only lit window in the home.
To add to her suspicion, Sloane had already detected both a male and female voice. If she had to guess, and she was usually right, Sloane would say this was a kitchen window. The sounds of clinking dishes and glass said they were likely cleaning up after a meal.
Sloane tugged her camera from the bag next and looped the strap around her neck. Small movements, slow and easy.
Once she had the backpack secured on her back once more, Sloane stepped onto the stool, shoulder nudged against the outer wall. In one sense, the familiar routine made it easier for her to disconnect. She’d done this type of work a million times before. This was just one more case to crack.
She lifted the camera to her face, peered through the hole, and aimed the lens at the narrow gap along the outer edge. With her hand cupped around the extended lens, she slowly twisted until the view inside came into focus.
“Mon Dieu,” she breathed. A blade of dread—sharp and frigid—tore through her gut.
There, just before her at a sink full of suds, stood a man and a woman who looked a lot like Anna.
“Heaven help me.” Sloane hovered the tip of her finger over the button, pulled in a breath of encouragement, and snapped a series of pictures in a blink.
The camera, as quiet as it was, made a series of soft clicks. It wasn’t likely anyone inside would hear, but standard practice had taught her to drop for cover just the same. She lowered herself and rested her back against the outer wall.
You did it. You did your job. Time to go.
Sloane flattened and stashed the stool before sinking the camera back into her bag as well. And then she was off. Taking the same route she’d used to get there. She hadn’t taken time to look closely at the faces she’d captured, but she’d do so soon enough.
And as Sloane hurried through the dark, wooded land, she did her best tonotthink about Emmitt. Tonotthink about how much it would hurt if she lost him. Tonotthink about what would happen if the woman in the digital images she’d captured turned out to be Anna Fielding.
Chapter 17
Sloane stared at the first image she’d captured, stunned into wrenching silence at the sight.
She had held the camera’s trigger down long enough to get a dozen flash photos of the couple at the sink, but she need not look any further than that very first shot.
The man in the image held an almost eerie resemblance to Emmitt. Dark hair and eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a strong build.
Sloane exhaled a deep breath. As much as she knew it would pain her, she had to follow through and do what needed to be done.
With a shaky hand, Sloane tapped the voice memo app and lifted the phone to her lips.
She gulped, cleared her throat, and spoke.
