"My father believed it," she said. "He loved this town. Loved the people in it. That's why he couldn't look away when he saw something wrong." She took a breath. "I want to believe what he believed. That the truth matters. That doing the right thing matters, even when it costs you."
Ronan lifted her hand from his chest and pressed his lips to her palm.
"He'd want to hear that speech," he said. "If he could."
Not, he'd be proud of you. Not a sentiment wrapped in a bow. Just a simple truth that hit her harder than any platitude could have.
Her eyes burned. She blinked it back.
"Yeah," she said. "I think he would."
She slept in fits.
Dreams she couldn't hold on to—her father's face, Warren's voice, the sound of handcuffs clicking shut. She'd surface into consciousness, feel Ronan's warmth beside her, and sink back down into restless darkness.
At four a.m., she gave up.
She lay in the gray stillness, listening to Ronan breathe, cataloging the aches in her body. The pleasant soreness between her legs. The tender spots on her neck where his stubble had scraped. The rawness in her chest that had nothing to do with physical touch.
In two hours, Warren Caldwell would be arrested.
In two hours, the man who killed her father would be in handcuffs.
She should feel triumphant. Vindicated. Instead, she felt hollow. Like something had been scooped out of her, leaving only the shell behind.
Ronan stirred beside her.
"You're awake."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Nervous?"
"I don't know what I am." She rolled onto her side to face him. In the darkness, she could barely make out his features—the line of his jaw, the shadow of his eyes. "I thought I'd feel different. When this moment finally came."
"How did you think you'd feel?"
"Relieved. Satisfied. Something." She reached out and touched his face. "Instead, I just feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
They both went still.
Ronan reached for it, checked the screen. His expression changed—tightened—and Lila's stomach dropped.
"What is it?"
"Mitch." He read the message, then read it again. "Fielding's house is dark. His cruiser's gone. Mitch drove by twenty minutes ago on his way to the parade staging area."
"What does that mean?"
"It means either he's at the station early, or—" Ronan was already typing a response.
"Or he knows."
"Or he knows."
Lila sat up, her heart pounding. The hollow feeling was gone, replaced by something sharper. Fear. Adrenaline.
