Chapter Twelve
REID
I HEAR EMERY moving around before I see her, but I pretend to be asleep.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch.
I meant to clean up and lock the door behind me.
But just as I was about to leave, I heard her cry out in her sleep.
I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob the way a parent might before going into their crying child’s room.
Her cries were muffled for a few more moments before they stopped, but it was too late.
I was already kicking off my boots again, making myself comfortable.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her waking up in the night, terrified and alone. Shit. I’m so fucked.
“Reid,” Emery whispers, leaning over me.
Her blond hair tickles my face, and her warm palm finds my bare chest. My eyelids flutter open at the contact, and suddenly I’m desperate to see what she looks like fresh out of bed.
“I thought you left last night,” she says, a smile curving the corners of her mouth.
“I tried to,” I say, sitting up. The truth is, I sat on the couch and watched an episode of Dateline after I heard her cries, telling myself I’d go home when it was over, but I was never really going home.
Emery sits next to me, her hand mere centimeters from mine.
I want to hold it, but without the alcohol haze from last night, I’m not sure if my touch would be welcome.
“You were crying in your sleep. I didn’t want to leave you. ”
Emery’s face shifts into something I can’t read.
She bites her lower lip. “Thank you.” She nods.
“Really.” Then she puts her warm palm on mine, and the sizzle between us makes me immediately react.
I turn to her, startling her, and I can see that she feels it too.
That there’s something between us here—something I haven’t felt in years.
Desperate to keep people, women especially, at arm’s length, I haven’t allowed myself to feel anything for anyone.
Everything is compartmentalized with clear boundaries.
If it doesn’t serve a purpose, it doesn’t belong.
I keep my walls high and my trust scarce because I can’t afford to be vulnerable.
It never bothered me before now. Now, I suddenly, desperately, feel like something is missing from my life. A void I didn’t know I had.
I fight the urge to pull her to me. Instead, I clear my throat and stand. “What time is it? I was supposed to open the marina.”
“It’s seven,” Emery says. “Or a little after.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “I’m late.”
“Sorry.” Emery winces.
I slip into my boots and move back toward her, cradling her face. “No. Do not for a second be sorry. We’re in this together, okay?” I lick my lips at the same time Emery’s breath hitches, and I drop my hands.
“Okay.” Her voice comes out as a whisper.
I straighten, taking a step back. “What are you going to do today?”
“I don’t know…” Emery’s voice wavers. “I’m a little nervous to go back to the research center.”
“It’s worse if you don’t go.” I meet her eyes. “Don’t go back into the marsh until I can go with you.”
“I really don’t want to,” she admits. “But I have to check my traps. I can’t leave the turtles in there.”
I push my lips together. “Let me make a call.”
I open Emery’s front door and go out onto the porch, dialing Tate as I pull it closed behind me.
“Reid, everything okay?” Tate answers on the first ring. Probably because I’m supposed to be at the marina and he thinks something is wrong.
“Yeah. I’m late. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
“You? Late?” Tate barks out a laugh. “Are you seriously getting laid, dude?”
“No. Shut up. I overslept. Can you get over there?” My voice comes out as a growl.
“I guess,” Tate drags out the word, trying to elicit guilt from me. “What’s really going on with you?”
I let out a long, disgruntled sigh, debating how much to share with my oldest friend. “I have to help Emery with something. With the turtles.”
“Turtles…” Tate repeats. “She’s studying turtles? In the marsh?”
A knot forms in my throat. “She wants to pick up where Penny left off.”
“She needs to be careful.” Tate’s voice is firm, edged with warning.
That’s the understatement of the fucking year.
“She’s fine.” I brush him off. “I’ll be in when we’re done.”
“Later.” Tate hangs up.
When I get back inside, Emery hands me a cup of coffee and sits across from me at the table.
She wraps both hands around her mug, gaze fixed on the surface, waiting.
“Listen. I’m going to go in late so we can check your traps together.
” Really, I’m worried about her moving through the marsh and coming face to face with the man whose life was so easily discarded yesterday. I don’t want that for her.
“Oh, Reid,” Emery begins, like she wants to resist, but then thinks better of it. “Thank you.”
We finish our coffee and slip into waders before making for the dock.
Emery doesn’t stop me when I climb into the driver’s seat, taking the lead.
We slowly maneuver the curve of the marsh, neither of us saying much.
I don’t know about Emery, but I can’t stop thinking about last night and the way her body fit against mine.
I wanted nothing more than to carry her to bed, kiss her, taste her, make us both forget what we saw.
But the moment wasn’t right, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
There’s no denying that something is brewing between us, but the more I get to know Emery, the more I care for her, which makes this all the more dangerous.
“We’re approaching the dock,” I warn, wanting Emery to prepare herself for whatever we might find.
But as we slowly creep by, there is nothing.
No body. No blood. No sign there was a struggle just over twenty-four hours ago.
Either the tide came in high today, or someone came and moved it. I’m betting the latter.
“There’s nothing here,” Emery says slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Did we dream it?”
I huff a low laugh, shaking my head. “No, we definitely didn’t dream it.”
“Then where did he go?” Emery’s voice wavers. “Maybe he wasn’t dead?”
I press my lips together, shaking my head. “No. More than likely someone moved him. They knew they were seen, and they’re covering their tracks.”
Emery pales, and I kill the engine, reaching for her hands.
“Listen to me. This is good. It’s not in your backyard anymore.
You don’t have to worry about seeing it.
I will figure this out for us. Okay? Take a breath with me.
” I demonstrate a slow cleansing breath, and she mimics me. “Okay? Let’s find these traps.”
“Okay,” Emery says, nodding. “You’re right. This is good.” She meets my gaze. “Now I don’t need my bodyguard coming out here with me every day.” She bites back a smile.
“Yeah. You do.” I fix my eyes on her, first her mouth, then her blue eyes.
I give the choke a hard pull and start us up again, but we move slowly through the turtle’s nesting zone. While I steer, Emery pulls on a pair of latex gloves. As we reach the area, she leans out, gripping the edge of a floating trap.
“Need help?” I ask, eyeing her.
She ignores me, hauling it up with both hands and sloshing water over the hull.
“There you are,” she says to the turtles inside. One lifts its head, blinking slowly, its shell no bigger than her palm. Their shells are smooth and dark, etched with pale rings and streaked with marsh mud.
“Can you hand me my bag?” she asks.
I toss it to her, and she pulls a notebook out. Pushing her sleeves to her elbows, she picks up each turtle one-by-one, speaking aloud everything she jots down. “Three juveniles, 1-2 years old. A male and two females. Just little babies.”
I watch her note shell texture, weight, the faint abrasions along the edges—details I’d never think to look for.
“Shells in good condition, smooth and glossy. Some scuff marks. No lesions or scarring present. A bit light for their size,” she says, writing it all down before looking up at me. “Still think I needed help?” she teases.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. I was being nice,” I say defensively.
She grins, quick and sharp. She’s not shy or sweet when it comes to her work, just confident.
Emery turns back to the turtles, humming softly as she scans the individual shells for markings and jots down more notes.
She reaches in her bag and removes three tags, fastening one to each shell before setting the turtles free.
I watch her longer than I probably should, her every move pulling me in deeper as she checks the numbers twice before writing them down.
“The tags will tell me where they go,” she says quietly. “And where they stop.”
I marvel at her, hoping I’m not too obvious.
This gorgeous woman doesn’t need a damn thing from me. She’s smart, strong, resilient. And for reasons I can’t yet name, that makes me want to give her everything.