“I’ll look into it,” I said quickly, desperate for some way to erase that distraught-yet-numb expression off her face. “Double check it was actually him. Make sure it’s not connected somehow.”
That seemed to satisfy her, though she remained quiet as I put the finishing touches on our sandwiches, then contemplative once I slid a plate over to her and she dug in.
When she finished eating, she headed into the living room with her Kindle, Boots trotting dutifully after her, and I retreated to my office to think.
For a split second, I considered the possibility that she was right, that this was Ryan fucking Boyd.
But that was impossible.
Ryan Boyd was dead.
I knew because I’d made sure of it.
Sutton, however, didn’t,couldn’t, know that.
And if I had anything to say about it, she never would.
thirteen
. . .
SUTTON
The following morning,I was up for my shift at the firehouse far earlier than I needed to be. Normally, on days like these, I would’ve gone to the gym and burned off some energy before heading into work.
I geared up for a run in my favorite pair of fleece-lined leggings, thick socks, and a few long-sleeved layers on top, I pulled my hair into a pony and braided it so it hung between my shoulder blades, adding a headband to protect my ears from the cold.
Once I’d laced up my shoes, I headed downstairs to fill the water bottle I liked to take with me.
When I flipped on the light in the kitchen, a yelp left me when Lane appeared, leaning against the counter, coffee pot hissing and dripping behind him.
“What the hell!”
Lane grinned, a slow, sexy smile that shot a jolt through my core, waking me up far more than a run ever could.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing in the dark?”
“Too early for lights.”
I frowned. “How can you see?”
“It’s my house, Sutton. I could navigate it blindfolded.”Fair enough. “Why areyouup so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go for a run.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
My brows drew further together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just mean…” His eyes darted around the room, everywhere but in my direction, as if looking for a good excuse. “Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“Sutton…”
“Lane.”
