Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The afternoon sun poured through the front windows of Raven Layne Boutique, casting prisms of light across the designer silks and cashmeres. Raven’s fingers paused on the hem of a turquoise maxi dress she was adjusting on a mannequin. Her shoulders ached from the tension she’d been carrying for days. For weeks. For months.
“Go take a break,” Tess said, approaching with a knowing look. Her twenty-two-year-old assistant manager had an uncanny ability to read Raven’s moods. “You’ve been here since seven this morning setting up the summer collection.”
Jennifer looked up from the register where she was ringing up a customer’s purchases, her dark hair pulled back in a neat French braid. “Tess is right. Between the two of us, we can handle the shop for an hour.”
“It’s peak tourist season,” Raven protested, though the thought of escaping the boutique’s walls, even briefly, tugged at her. “The afternoon rush?—”
“Will be managed beautifully.” Tess made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ve been working here three summers now, and Jennifer can sell ice to Eskimos.”
“It’s a gift,” Jennifer agreed with a smile, handing a signature silver-wrapped package to the beaming tourist. “Besides, you trained us well. We can survive without you for a little while.”
Raven’s lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “I don’t hover.”
“You absolutely hover,” they said in unison, exchanging amused glances.
“Now go,” Tess insisted. “Get some fresh air and something that isn’t just coffee for dinner. You close tonight, and if you don’t do it now it’ll be after nine before you get to eat anything.”
The sun outside beckoned, promising warmth and light in a life that had felt increasingly cold and dim.
“Fine,” Raven conceded, untying the silk scarf from her waist that served as her workday belt. “I’ll be at The Lampstand if you need me.”
The bell above the door chimed as she stepped outside, the mountain air carrying the scent of pine and summer blossoms. Main Street bustled with tourists in designer athleisure, cameras perpetually raised to capture the postcard-perfect vistas of Twin Peaks rising majestically behind the quaint Bavarian-style buildings.
The Lampstand stood across the cobblestone street, its flower boxes overflowing with fuchsia and yellow blooms. Raven had lost count of how many family dinners had been held there, how many celebrations, how many quiet evenings when she and Wyatt had stolen a corner table just to breathe in each other’s presence after hectic days.
Before everything had changed.
Mac’s familiar figure stood at the host stand, her dark curls piled atop her head, her inherent energy barely contained by the simple black dress that was The Lampstand’s uniform. Her face brightened when she spotted Raven.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Mac exclaimed, abandoning her post to wrap Raven in a tight hug.
“I’ve been busy,” Raven said, the excuse sounding thin even to her own ears.
“Mmm-hmm.” Mac’s knowing look was too reminiscent of Simone’s to be comfortable. The family resemblance went deeper than mere appearances. “Table for one? We’re pretty packed, but I can squeeze you in at the bar.”
Raven glanced around the crowded restaurant, suddenly reluctant to be surrounded by chattering tourists and watchful locals. “Actually, I was thinking I might just order something to go and find a quiet spot outside.”
A curious expression flickered across Mac’s face—there and gone so quickly Raven almost missed it. “You know what? The upstairs balcony is closed for a private event tonight, but it’s empty now. Why don’t you slip up there? You can have the whole place to yourself.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble?—”
“No trouble at all!” Mac’s enthusiasm was dialed up to eleven, setting off warning bells in Raven’s mind. “You can soak up the sun, enjoy the view. I’ll bring up your usual.”
Raven narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why are you being weird?”
“Weird? Me?” Mac’s innocence was too practiced to be genuine. “I just think you could use a little peace and quiet. That’s all.”
“Mac…”
“Shoo!” she insisted, giving Raven a little push toward the stairs. “Go on up. I’ll be right behind you with your iced tea and a club sandwich.”
Suspicion crawled along Raven’s spine as she climbed the familiar wooden staircase toward the second floor. The balcony had always been a favorite spot—high enough to oversee the town square yet intimate enough for quiet conversations. The O’Haras used it for everything from watching Fourth of July fireworks to Christmas tree lightings.
She pushed open the French doors leading outside and instantly understood Mac’s strange behavior.
Wyatt sat at one of the wrought-iron tables, long legs stretched out, boots propped on the railing, head tilted back with his face toward the sun. His eyes were closed, the lines of his face relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in months.
For a suspended moment, Raven simply looked at him, drinking in the sight of the man she’d loved since childhood. The man who had become a stranger in their own home.
She took a step back, ready to retreat before he noticed her, but the old floorboard beneath her foot creaked traitorously.
“I must be dreaming,” Wyatt murmured without opening his eyes, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d know that jasmine and vanilla anywhere.”
Raven froze, caught between flight and the magnetic pull that had always existed between them.
“You might as well sit down,” he continued, still motionless except for the curve of his lips. “Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of it from Mac.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Raven said, stepping hesitantly onto the balcony. The planked floor was warm beneath her sandals, heated by hours of direct sunlight.
“I didn’t know you’d be here either.” He finally opened his eyes, the green as vivid as she remembered, like sunlight through pine needles. “But I’m not surprised. The O’Hara matchmaking network is alive and well.”
Raven took the chair across from him, acutely aware of how strange it felt to sit across from her own husband as if they were acquaintances meeting for a casual dinner. “I should have known something was up when Mac practically pushed me up the stairs.”
“She’s about as subtle as a freight train,” Wyatt agreed, his smile turning rueful. “Gets that from Simone.”
An awkward silence fell between them, filled with all the words neither had been able to say. Raven’s fingers fidgeted with the silver hoops at her ears, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken.
“How’s the boutique?” Wyatt asked finally.
“Busy. Tourist season.” She gestured vaguely toward downtown. “You know how it gets.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence, heavier than the first.
“How’s work?” she ventured.
“Busy. Always.” He shrugged, the motion drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath his tactical shirt.
Raven glanced out at the view, searching for something—anything—to ease the tension crackling between them. From this height, Laurel Valley spread out like a fairy-tale village, the cobblestone streets winding between chalet-style shops, flower boxes bursting with color, the mountains rising majestically in the background.
“Remember the first time we came up here?” Wyatt asked suddenly, his voice soft with memory.
Raven’s breath caught. “Summer Festival. Fifteen years ago.”
“Sixteen,” he corrected gently. “You were wearing that blue sundress with the little white flowers. Your hair was longer then, down to your waist.”
“And you couldn’t stop staring at me.” The memory tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Can you blame me?” His eyes met hers, the intensity in them making her pulse quicken despite herself. “I was thirteen and I’d discovered I was much more interested in you than I was in fishing or wrestling with my brothers. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
“We snuck away from your family,” Raven continued, the years falling away as she spoke. “They were all watching the folk dancers in the square. But you took my hand and led me around that corner over there.”
“The sunset was unbelievable that night,” Wyatt said, leaning forward in his chair, closer to her. “All those colors reflecting off the lake.”
“But you weren’t looking at the sunset.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I wasn’t.”
“You were so nervous,” Raven whispered, caught in the memory. “Your hands were shaking.”
“I really wanted to kiss you,” Wyatt admitted, smiling wryly. “It was my first attempt and I was terrified you’d push me away.”
She chuckled. “It’s a good thing I wanted you to kiss me.”
Their eyes locked across the small table, the air between them charged with shared history and the ache of recent distance. Without conscious thought, Raven found herself leaning toward him, drawn by the gravity that had always existed between them.
“I kept thinking you were going to come to your senses,” Wyatt murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that had always sent shivers down her spine. “But you never did. And we eventually got pretty good at the kissing.”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers with exquisite gentleness. Her breath caught as he leaned in, and she found herself moving closer, so their breaths mingled.
“Raven, I?—”
The balcony door burst open with a bang, and Mac appeared, juggling a tray laden with food and drinks. Her eyes widened comically as she took in their closeness.
“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—I was just—” She looked from Raven to Wyatt and back again, mortification coloring her cheeks. “Food! I brought food!”
The moment shattered like fine crystal dropped on stone.
Wyatt sat back, the invisible wall between them reconstructing itself brick by brick. “Thanks, Mac.”
She placed the tray down with uncharacteristic clumsiness, nearly spilling Raven’s iced tea. “Yours is wrapped to go, Wyatt. I know you’re on the clock.” She set a paper bag in front of him. “And here’s your club sandwich and sweet potato fries, Raven, just how you like them.”
Mac continued arranging items on the table with frantic energy, clearly stalling. “Can I get you anything else? More napkins? Ketchup? A different table? A different country to escape to?”
Despite everything, Raven found herself smiling. “We’re fine, Mac.”
“Great! Good! I’ll just—go. Downstairs. Far away. Where I can’t interrupt anything else.” She backed toward the door, nearly tripping over a chair. “Enjoy your dinner!”
The door closed behind her with another bang, and an uncomfortable silence settled over them once more.
Wyatt sighed and reached for his takeout bag. “I should get back to the station. Blaze is expecting me.”
“Of course.” The disappointment that washed through Raven was as surprising as it was intense.
He stood, towering over her for a moment before kneeling beside her chair. With gentle fingers, he brushed against the shadows beneath her eyes. “You’re not sleeping,” he observed softly.
“Neither are you,” she countered, resisting the urge to lean into his touch.
“Sit. Eat. Enjoy the sunshine.” His thumb traced a featherlight path along her cheekbone. “And maybe think about that first kiss now and then.”
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, the grace of him still taking her breath away after all these years. At the balcony door, he paused, looking back at her with an expression that made her heart stumble in her chest.
“I miss you, Raven,” he said simply, and then he was gone.
Raven sat motionless, the untouched food before her forgotten as she gazed out at the town they both loved, the life they’d built together, now hanging by the thinnest of threads.
And yet, for the first time in months, a fragile hope flickered to life inside her.
The evening sun painted long shadows across Main Street as Raven turned the “Closed” sign in the boutique window. Her fingers lingered on the glass, her mind still caught in the memory of Wyatt’s touch on her cheek, the way his voice had softened when he spoke of their first kiss.
She counted the register with practiced hands. The familiar arithmetic offered a rhythm her nights now lacked. Sleep had betrayed her since Wyatt left—dreams where he stood just beyond her grasp, present but unreachable, like the space he’d left in their bed.
Her fingers trailed across a display of hand-beaded clutches, the intricate patterns catching the last golden rays of sun that slanted through the windows. The craftsmanship grounded her, a reminder of why she’d built this business, this life. Even as that life seemed to be crumbling around her.
A knock at the door startled her. Peering through the glass, she spotted a deliveryman holding a package. Unusual for this time of evening, but perhaps it was the back-ordered leather wristlets she’d been waiting for from that small artisan workshop in Barcelona.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” she called through the door, her voice carrying a weariness she couldn’t quite mask.
“Delivery for Raven O’Hara,” the man replied, holding up the package. “Requires signature.”
Against her better judgment—against the prickling at the back of her neck that whispered caution—Raven unlocked the door. “You’re out late,” she said, reaching for his electronic signature pad.
“Special delivery service,” he responded with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Eyes that assessed her with a calculation that belonged to predators, not couriers.
As she glanced down to sign, the door was suddenly pushed wider. The “deliveryman” stepped inside, and a second man appeared behind him. Before Raven could react, the second man was inside too, closing and locking the door behind him with a soft click that sounded like a prison gate in the quiet shop.
“What’s going on?” Raven demanded, backing away from them. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her voice steady. “The cash register’s empty. We deposit everything at the bank.”
“We’re not here for money, Mrs. O’Hara,” the first man said, his polite demeanor dissolving into something colder, more calculated. His voice carried the clipped precision of a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. “We’re here for you.”
Fear shot through her like electricity, but Raven refused to let it show. Years of handling difficult customers and aggressive men had taught her to wear composure like armor. “What do you want with me?”
“Your husband has something that belongs to our employer,” the second man explained, his voice quiet but menacing. He moved with the fluid grace of a trained fighter, positioning himself to block her path to the back exit. “He’s not being cooperative. We think he’ll be more reasonable if we have a conversation with you present.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raven said, her mind racing as she calculated the distance to the back door, to the phone, to anything she could use as a weapon. The crystal paperweight on the counter. The heavy bronze sculpture on the display shelf. “Wyatt and I are separated. I haven’t seen him in over a week.”
The men exchanged a look, a silent communication that spoke volumes. “That’s unfortunate,” the first one said, his tone suggesting it changed nothing. “But it doesn’t change our plans. You’re coming with us, Mrs. O’Hara. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.”
Raven’s heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her voice steady, chin lifted in defiance. “And if I refuse?”
The second man smiled, a cold gesture that never reached his eyes, and pulled back his jacket to reveal a holstered gun. “Like I said. The hard way is also an option.”
In that moment, Raven knew these weren’t ordinary criminals. The practiced way they moved, the clinical efficiency of their threats—these were professionals. And they were here because of whatever secret Wyatt had been keeping. The mystery that had driven a wedge between them was now threatening her life.
The first man pulled zip ties from his pocket, the plastic gleaming dully in the boutique’s soft lighting. “Hands in front, please.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Raven said, stalling for time, inching backward toward the counter where the panic button was hidden beneath the edge. “My sister-in-law is meeting me here any minute. If I’m not here?—”
“We know you close alone on Wednesdays,” the second man interrupted, his eyes flicking to the movement of her hand. “We’ve been watching you for weeks.”
The realization that they’d been monitoring her routine, learning her patterns, sent a fresh wave of fear through her. These men were prepared. They’d planned this. Nothing about this encounter was random.
As the first man approached with the zip ties, Raven knew she had seconds to decide. Comply and hope for rescue, or fight and risk immediate harm.
She chose to fight.
Grabbing the heavy crystal vase from the counter behind her, she hurled it at the first man’s head. He ducked, but the momentary distraction was enough. She bolted for the back door, knocking over a display rack of silk scarves to slow her pursuers. Fabric billowed like colorful ghosts in her wake, tangling around the men’s feet.
A crash of glass, the thud of boots on hardwood—they were right behind her. She fumbled with the lock on the back door, panic making her fingers clumsy. The familiar mechanism suddenly felt foreign, refusing to yield to her trembling hands.
“Don’t make this worse,” one of the men called, his voice eerily calm. “We just need to have a conversation with your husband.”
The lock finally gave. Raven yanked the door open—only to freeze as the barrel of a gun pressed against her temple.
“Going somewhere?” A third man stood in the doorway, his expression dispassionate. “Let’s not make this difficult.”
Her escape route blocked, her options exhausted, Raven felt a cold resignation settle over her. Whatever Wyatt had gotten himself into was now ensnaring her as well. The irony wasn’t lost on her—after a week of avoiding him, she was now desperate for him to appear.
“Fine,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “I’ll go with you. But you should know that if anything happens to me, you’ll have the entire O’Hara family hunting you down. And they don’t give up easily.”
The men exchanged glances, a flicker of something—uncertainty?—passing between them. Her captors clearly knew the O’Hara reputation in Laurel Valley. The name carried weight, power. A history of people who protected their own with fierce determination.
“Nobody needs to get hurt,” the first man said, his tone almost reasonable. “Your husband has something our boss wants. Once he gives it up, you go free.”
“And you believe that?” Raven asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
The second man shrugged. “Not our concern what happens after. Now, hands.”
Reluctantly, Raven extended her wrists, wincing as the plastic zip tie bit into her skin. The third man, still holding the gun, reached for a dark cloth in his pocket.
“No blindfold,” Raven said quickly, the first real panicked note entering her voice. “Please. I get claustrophobic.”
It was a lie, but her panic at the thought of being blindfolded was real enough. If she could see where they were taking her, she might have a chance to escape—or at least to leave a trail someone could follow.
The men seemed to consider this. “Fine,” the leader decided. “But one word, one attempt to signal anyone, and the blindfold goes on. Understood?”
Raven nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.
“Let’s go. Out the back, nice and casual.”
They led her through the service alley behind the boutique, one man on each side, their grips firm on her upper arms. A dark SUV with tinted windows waited at the end where the alley connected to the side street, engine running. Despite her determination to stay aware of her surroundings, fear threatened to overwhelm her as they approached the vehicle.
This was really happening. She was being kidnapped because of whatever Wyatt had been involved in.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, an idea forming. “I need my medication. It’s in my purse, behind the counter.”
“What medication?” the leader asked suspiciously.
“For my heart,” she improvised. “Congenital condition. Skip a dose, and I could have problems. You want me alive to talk to my husband, right?”
Again, that exchange of glances. “I’ll get it,” the third man said. “Where exactly?”
“Under the counter, black leather bag,” Raven directed, praying her stalling would buy enough time for someone—anyone—to notice something was wrong.
As the man disappeared back into the boutique, she scanned the empty alley desperately. The boutiques had closed for the night; the summer festival crowds had dispersed hours ago. No one to witness her abduction, no one to raise the alarm.
Except—there. A movement at the far end of the alley caught her eye. A figure stepped into view, silhouetted against the streetlight—too far to make out clearly, but something in the way they moved, the breadth of their shoulders, was achingly familiar.
Wyatt.
Relief flooded through her, so intense it nearly buckled her knees. But she kept her expression neutral, afraid to alert her captors. If Wyatt was here, it wasn’t a coincidence. He must have been watching her too.
The third man returned with her purse, rifling through it. “Nothing in here looks like heart medication.”
“It’s a small white bottle,” Raven insisted. “It might have fallen out.”
“Enough games,” the leader snapped, yanking her toward the SUV. “We’re wasting time.”
As they reached the vehicle, Raven risked one more glance toward the end of the alley. The figure was gone. Had she imagined it? Was her desperate hope for rescue creating phantoms in the shadows?
The rear door of the SUV swung open. “Get in,” the leader ordered, his patience clearly wearing thin.
Raven hesitated, knowing that once she was in that vehicle, her chances of escape would plummet. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere your husband can find you,” he replied, shoving her forward.
A whisper of movement was all the warning they had. Then the alley erupted in chaos.
The man holding Raven’s right arm jerked suddenly, a choked sound escaping him as he collapsed to his knees. The leader spun around, reaching for his weapon, but a dark shape materialized from the shadows, moving with lethal precision.
Wyatt drove his fist into the leader’s solar plexus, following with an elbow strike that dropped the man instantly. The third man managed to draw his gun, but Wyatt was already on him, twisting the weapon away with practiced efficiency before delivering a blow that sent him sprawling.
In seconds, all three men were incapacitated, and Wyatt stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving, his eyes wild as they found hers.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, crossing to her in two strides, his hands gentle as they cupped her face, checking for injuries.
“No,” she managed, her voice trembling with delayed shock. “No, I’m okay.”
With swift, practiced movements, he cut the zip tie binding her wrists, then pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat hammering against her cheek.
“I almost lost you,” he murmured into her hair, his voice raw. “God, Raven, if I hadn’t been watching?—”
“You were watching me?” she pulled back enough to see his face.
“Every night since you left,” he admitted, the confession stark in its simplicity. “I couldn’t protect you by staying away, so I did the next best thing.”
Before she could process this, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Wyatt’s gaze sharpened, his expression shifting from relieved husband to focused agent in an instant.
“Blaze is on his way with backup,” he explained, reluctantly releasing her to secure the unconscious men with their own zip ties. “These men work for Adrian Moss—the head of a drug operation I’ve been investigating undercover for the DEA. That’s what I couldn’t tell you, Raven. That’s the secret that’s been destroying us.”
“A drug operation?” Raven repeated, struggling to align this revelation with her fears of infidelity. “That woman at the café?—”
“Agent Kwan. My DEA handler.” Wyatt’s eyes met hers, unflinching and honest. “I have never betrayed you, Raven. Not with another woman. But I betrayed your trust by keeping you in the dark, and for that, I am so sorry.”
Police vehicles screeched to a halt at the end of the alley, their flashing lights illuminating Wyatt’s face—the face of the man she’d loved since childhood, the face she’d feared she might never truly know again.
“We need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, his arm circling her waist as Blaze and several deputies approached. “I’ll explain everything, I swear. But not here.”
The enormity of what had just happened—what had almost happened—suddenly crashed over Raven. Her knees buckled, and Wyatt caught her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go again.”
The safe house turned out to be a cabin on the far side of the lake where Forgiveness River emptied into the crystal-clear waters—rustic but comfortable, with a stone fireplace and sturdy locks on every door and window. Through the large picture window, Raven could see the river’s gentle current, its waters shimmering silver in the moonlight.
The locals called it Forgiveness River for a reason that varied depending on who told the story—some said it was where old feuds were settled, others claimed its waters had healing properties for broken hearts. Tonight, its whispered flow seemed almost prophetic. Wyatt’s precautions hadn’t stopped at location; he’d swept the entire place for bugs, checked sight lines from each approach, and posted a deputy on the road half a mile back.
Raven sat wrapped in a thick blanket on the sofa, a mug of tea warming her hands as she watched Wyatt pace the length of the main room. He’d been on the phone since they arrived, his conversations terse and laden with jargon she only partially understood.
When he finally ended the last call, he turned to her, exhaustion and relief warring in his features.
“Moss’s men are in custody,” he reported, crossing to sit beside her. “They’re not talking yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Moss himself hasn’t been apprehended, but we’ve identified his most likely hideout.”
“So it’s not over,” Raven said quietly, studying the play of emotions across his face. She could read them now, the nuances she’d missed when distrust had clouded her vision.
“No. But it will be soon.” Wyatt took her hands in his, his thumb brushing over the red marks where the zip ties had cut into her skin. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the controlled violence she’d witnessed in the alley. “What happened tonight changes everything. Moss has escalated by targeting you directly. The DEA is accelerating the timeline. Within forty-eight hours, this ends—one way or another.”
The gravity of his words hung between them. For the first time, Raven truly understood the danger Wyatt had been facing these past months—the double life he’d been living, the constant vigilance, the impossible choices.
“Tell me everything,” she said softly. “I need to know what we’re up against.”
And so he did. For the next hour, he laid out the entire operation—how he’d been approached by the DEA through Blaze, how he’d infiltrated Moss’s network by posing as a corrupt officer willing to look the other way, how he’d been gathering evidence against one of the largest drug operations in the Northwest.
“The Murphy cabin is one of their distribution points,” he explained, confirming what Duncan had witnessed. “I was meeting with Moss’s lieutenants there, supposedly to coordinate safe passage for their shipments. In reality, I was mapping their network, identifying key players.”
“And the woman at the café?” Raven asked, needing to hear it again, to replace suspicion with certainty.
“Agent Melissa Kwan, my DEA handler.” Wyatt’s eyes held hers, steady and unwavering. “She was delivering intel on the upcoming shipment—the largest we’ve seen, scheduled to arrive tomorrow night. That’s what this whole operation has been building toward.”
Raven absorbed this, the pieces finally aligning into a coherent picture. “Why couldn’t you tell me any of this? I would have understood, Wyatt. I would have supported you.”
Pain crossed his features. “DEA protocols for undercover operations are strict for a reason. The more people who know, the greater the risk of compromise. But more than that—” He drew a deep breath. “I was terrified that if Moss ever suspected I wasn’t who I claimed to be, he’d use you as leverage. Tonight proved those fears were justified.”
“So instead of trusting me with the truth, you pushed me away,” Raven concluded, understanding dawning with bittersweet clarity. “You thought you were protecting me.”
“I was wrong,” Wyatt admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought distance would keep you safe, but all it did was leave you vulnerable and alone. If I’d been honest with you from the beginning, found a way to keep you informed while maintaining operational security, maybe tonight would never have happened.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But we’re here now. Together. And that’s what matters.”
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch achingly gentle. “Can you ever forgive me, Raven? For the lies, the secrets, the distance I put between us?”
Instead of answering, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, reconciliation, and a love too profound to be easily broken. His response was immediate, his arms encircling her, drawing her against his chest as the kiss deepened into something hungry and healing all at once.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Raven rested her forehead against his. “No more secrets,” she whispered. “No more shields that become walls. Promise me, Wyatt.”
“I promise,” he vowed, his hands framing her face. “Everything I am, everything I have, is yours. No more barriers between us. Ever.”
The next kiss was different—urgent, desperate, laden with the weight of all they’d nearly lost. Months of separation, of loneliness and doubt, dissolved beneath the heat of reconnection. Wyatt’s hands trembled as they moved over her body, relearning curves and planes they’d once known by heart.
“I need you,” he murmured against her throat, his voice raw with longing. “God, Raven, I’ve needed you every day, every night.”
“I’m here,” she assured him, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him closer. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Their lips met again, a kiss that held all the longing of their weeks apart, all the promises for their future. As the moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting silver shadows across the room, they reconnected in the most intimate way, healing wounds that words alone couldn’t mend.
Later, as they lay tangled in each other’s arms, the first hints of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky outside. Wyatt’s fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “When you moved out, when you left that note—I’ve never been so scared, not even in combat.”
Raven pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “You almost did lose me. Not because I stopped loving you, but because I couldn’t live with the walls between us.”
“Never again,” he promised, his arms tightening around her. “Whatever comes next, we face it together. As partners. As equals.”
“Speaking of what comes next,” Raven said, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him, “What happens when Moss realizes his men failed to take me?”
Wyatt’s expression sobered. “He’ll either go to ground immediately, or he’ll accelerate his timeline for the shipment. Either way, things are going to move quickly now.”
“And I’m not leaving your side,” she stated, making it clear this wasn’t open for negotiation.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he agreed, surprising her. “But we do this smart. You stay here, at the safe house, where I know you’re protected. I coordinate with the DEA team to bring Moss in.”
Raven considered this, weighing her need to be with Wyatt against the reality of the danger they faced. “I can accept that,” she said finally.
Wyatt sat up, taking her hands in his. In the pale light of dawn, his eyes shone with an emotion so powerful it took her breath away. “I would walk away from the DEA today if that’s what it took to keep you,” he said solemnly. “You are everything to me, Raven. Everything.”
She leaned forward, sealing the promise with a kiss that held all the hope and love she’d carried since they were children—a love tested by fire, but emerging stronger for the tempering.
Outside, the sun continued its slow ascent, casting golden light across the land they both called home. Within forty-eight hours, the threat would be eliminated one way or another. And whatever the outcome, they would face it as they should have from the beginning—together, without secrets or shadows between them.
Because some bonds, once forged in the heat of love and tempered by hardship, become unbreakable. And what Wyatt and Raven shared had always been stronger than any force that tried to tear them apart—even when that force had been their own fears and misunderstandings.
They had found their way back to each other. And this time, neither one was letting go.