Page 16 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you want me to forget every rule I’ve ever had about keeping people safe.” He crossed to her in three strides. “You have a concussion. Someone’s trying to kill you. This is the worst possible time for us to⁠—”

“To what?” She stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “To acknowledge that there’s something here? That whatever this is between us, it started the second you walked into my bakery?”

“Liza.” Her name came out harsher than he’d wanted. “I can’t protect you if I’m distracted.”

“Then don’t get distracted.” She reached up, traced the scar on his jaw with one finger. “But don’t pretend you don’t feel this too.”

His hand caught hers, held it against his face. For a moment they stood frozen, both breathing hard, the space between them charged with everything they weren’t saying.

“When this is over,” Grant said finally, his voice low and intense. “When you’re safe and Caine is locked up and we have time to think straight—I’m going to kiss you properly. Not an almost-kiss interrupted by a phone. Not a stolen moment in the middle of chaos. A real kiss. The kind that means something.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He released her hand, stepped back. “But until then, I need you to stop looking at me like that. Because my self-control has limits, and you’re testing every single one of them.”

Liza smiled despite everything. “Good to know.”

The radio on the table crackled. “Grant, it’s Wyatt. I’m five minutes out. You two ready?”

Grant picked up the radio. “Ready.”

But he was looking at Liza when he said it, and the promise in his eyes made her pulse quicken.

Five minutes. Then they’d be running for their lives into the mountains with a killer on their trail.

But when this was over—when they were safe and had time to breathe—she was going to hold him to that promise.

All of it.

Chapter Four

Darkness came slowly to Laurel Valley, the sun slipping behind Twin Peaks and painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Grant stood at the window and watched Main Street come alive with evening activity. Tourists moved between shops that glowed warmly in the dusk, their laughter carrying on the cold air. The Alpine Room’s rooftop bar would be filling up soon, live music drifting down from the mountains where the ski runs were lit for night skiing.

It was the perfect cover for their escape.

Behind him, Liza moved around the apartment, gathering the few supplies Colt had left—water bottles, energy bars, a first aid kit. She’d slept for the past two hours, and the rest had done her good. The color was back in her face, and though she still moved carefully, she seemed steadier.

“How’s the head?” he asked without turning around.

“Hurts. But I’ll live.” She came to stand beside him at the window. “Is it time?”

“Almost.” He checked his watch. “Wyatt’s meeting us at the vehicle access point in ten minutes—Blaze’s cousin, DEA agent. He’s bringing Blaze’s old Bronco—four-wheel drive, reinforced frame. Not fancy, but it’ll handle the mountain roads.”

“And Caine?”

“Lane’s been monitoring. No sign of her since this morning. She’s either lying low or she’s already ahead of us.” He looked at her. “Last chance to change your mind. Stay here where it’s safe.”

Liza’s eyes flashed. “We’ve been over this. Where you go, I go.”

The certainty in her voice did something to his chest. He nodded and grabbed the duffle bag he’d packed—weapons, ammunition, gear. Everything he’d need to keep them alive.

“Then let’s move.”

They left the apartment the way they’d entered, down the reinforced stairs and out through the sheriff’s office. The building was empty—Lane was coordinating the perimeter, and the rest of the small force was scattered throughout town.

A man waited at the edge of Main Street, leaning against a dark green Bronco that looked like it had seen better days. He was tall with sandy-blond hair and sharp green eyes—the O’Hara family resemblance was clear, though he was lighter-colored than Blaze.

“Wyatt O’Hara,” the man said, extending his hand to Grant. “Blaze’s cousin. I work out of the DEA office in Boise.” His handshake was firm, his assessment of them both quick and professional. “Heard you two had a rough day.”