He glanced over at her, and his smile was slow but spread over her like warm honey.
Oh no. No,no—
Voices drifted from the kitchen, followed by a laugh. Sully appeared in the doorway, along with his wife.
Kennedy’s smile was warm, though concern flickered in her eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got shot.” Harley managed a smile. “But the vest did its job.”
“Hudson’s determined to cook dinner,” Sully said, his expression dubious. “We tried to talk him out of it, but—”
A clatter of pans from the kitchen punctuated his words.
“I should go supervise.” Kennedy pressed a kiss to Sully’s cheek. “Make sure he doesn’t burn anything down.”
Sully leaned against the doorframe, his gaze moving between Harley and Jericho. Something knowing flickered in his eyes. “You two good here?”
“We’re fine,” Jericho said, maybe too quickly.
Sully’s mouth quirked. “Right. Well, I’m gonna go help my wife save dinner.” He disappeared into the kitchen as well, leaving them alone with the crackle of the fire.
The silence deepened between them.
“How did you end up working as a PI?” Jericho asked finally, his voice gentle. Too gentle.
Like hewasn’tangry. Wasn’t completely frustrated at her career choice. It completely deflected the defense that stirred inside.
But maybe this was ... a fresh start. Orlando’s warmth against her side, and the fire’s glow, and maybe the concussion all conspired to let the truth ease out from inside.
“After Gabe died,” she said, focusing on Orlando’s fur beneath her fingers, “I couldn’t stay on the force. Not when I knew who’d sold him the drugs but couldn’t prove it. I couldn’t touch Mars or his brothers.” She drew in a breath. “So I quit and got my PI license. Started tracking dealers, building cases. The state prosecutor noticed my work, hired me.”
Through the windows, snow fell in thick flakes, dusting the deck that wrapped around the lodge. From this angle, the lights from Copper Mountain twinkled, the town she’d tried so hard to forget.
“I heard that you made detective,” Jericho said. “Youngest female in Anchorage PD history.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “You kept track?”
An unnamed emotion moved through his eyes, there and gone. “Hudson mentioned it.”
Of course. Not that he’d actually cared enough to—
“I should have been there,” he said quietly. “When Gabe...”
“You were deployed.”
“I could have come home. For the memorial, at least.”
She looked away, her throat tight. “Wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Might have changed everything.” He looked over at her then, his eyes holding hers, regret in them maybe. “I’m sorry.”
Her throat burned and she looked away. Shoot, nope, this was a bad idea, very bad idea. And now his words hung between them, fat, like wet snow.
“I don’t know what happened to him,” he said. “I know he was clean for a couple years—”
“Yeah. He’d been clean a couple years before our parents died. Then he had a relapse when they died and went to treatment. Came out and it seemed all was good. Two more years clean. He worked at a construction company and occasionally drove the Dalton Highway to bring up supplies. He went to meetings. Reconnected with his old girlfriend. Lived at the dome, and everything was ... it was good, you know?”
And for a moment, she let the memory of her brother, the man he had been becoming, walk into her mind. Dark blond hair, tied back in a ponytail, green eyes like their mother’s. He’d been an artist at heart too.
