Page 22 of Finding Forever

The next day, I’m released from the hospital. My arm is immobilized in a sling and my patience is past frayed.

Another aggravation? My government-issued cell phone is being held as evidence. The SUV I’d been driving was recovered, but my personal phone, the one I’d left in the glove box, still hasn’t been returned to me.

I hope someone made it clear to Kit that we’ve been restricted from communicating. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m ghosting her.

The next couple days are a lesson in frustration.

Trying to write my report one-handed nearly has me chucking my laptop through a window, so I’d switched to voice-to-text. Better, but still a pain in the ass.

Then came the interviews: long, exhaustive meetings with Seth and his supervisor, along with enough paperwork to choke a filing cabinet. Briggs’s case gets dissected from every angle.

All of it is manageable.

What isn’t? Not being able to talk with Kit. I need to know we’re good. Right now, I don’t know where we are.

Laying in that hospital bed gave me time to think. Too much time, maybe. But the decision didn’t come in a rush. It felt right, solid and unavoidable.

The choice meant more paperwork, more conversations with my superiors, and more explaining myself than I care to remember. But today, finally, I walk out of the office in Reno without my marshal’s star.

I’m no longer under orders banning me from communicating with Kit.

I get her number from Beckett, but what I want to say can’t be put in a text or a phone call. I’ve got to talk with her, face to face.

Beckett picks me up at my hotel after I check out. My car is at my apartment in Las Vegas, but even if I flew there to retrieve it, I can’t drive with my right arm useless in a sling.

I’ve got a lot to figure out, and driving with Beckett gives me a chance to talk things through with him.

An hour later, we pull up in front of the inn.

Beckett stops and looks over at me. “Want me to wait in case she slams the door in your face?”

“Not saying she won’t, but I’ll take my chances.” I meet his gaze. “Thanks, Beck.”

He nods. “It’s what friends do. And for what it’s worth, I like the idea of you settling down here.”

He circles to return to the driveway and I head up the salted walk to the porch, my heart beating hard, not knowing what kind of welcome waits on the other side of the door, but knowing I’m done holding back.

CHAPTER TEN

Kit

I bend over the utility sink, rinsing paint rollers under running water. With the inn no longer a crime scene, and the power restored, I’ve kept myself busy painting. Two bedrooms and a bathroom feel like solid progress. Podcasts and audiobooks have been playing in my ears. Anything to keep my mind from circling back to Luke.

I know he was released from the hospital two days after surgery. Seth made it clear we weren’t allowed to communicate until statements were given. I gave mine. I assume Luke gave his.

But it’s been four days. No texts. No calls. Not even a perfunctory thank-you note saying how much he appreciated and valued my care.

That still rankles.

It’s hard not to fill the silence with my own conclusions. We’d shared an intense twenty-four hours filled with danger, proximity, and raw emotions. Anyone could mistake that for something more. Once life settles back to normal, it would be easy to rethink feelings born under pressure.

My emotions are a mess. But what’s never wavered? The certainty I felt when I first saw him bleeding in the snow. In that moment Luke took over my heart, and I’ve held tight to that conviction ever since.

I shut off the tap and squeeze water from the roller.

A sharp knock sounds at the front door. Penny erupts in barking, nails clicking as she charges toward the lobby.

I freeze. Since Briggs, I don’t take my safety for granted.