Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
RIOS
I woke up with the taste of smoke in the back of my throat.
My eyes opened on a ceiling I didn’t recognize.
Pale, smooth, with a faint hairline crack running toward the corner.
Guest room. Caroline and Hoyt’s. I lay still long enough to take inventory—burns pulling on my arm under the fresh gauze, grit in my hair I hadn’t managed to rinse out completely, a dull ache behind my ribs from too much adrenaline and too little sleep.
And Madden.
She curled into my side with the kind of trust that hit me harder than the fire had.
One arm tucked between us, her hand rested on my stomach, fingers slightly curled, as if only in sleep could she let herself even think of holding on.
Her hair was loose, spilled across my chest and the pillow, and without the armor she wore when she was awake, she looked…
younger. Softer around the mouth. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks, her brow smooth for the first time since she’d stepped back onto this island and started digging.
I watched her breathe.
Slow. Even. No rasp. No panic.
My chest loosened a fraction, like some part of me had been holding a fist tight all night and was only now learning how to unclench.
Her pajamas had slipped off one shoulder, showing the curve of skin there, pale in the early light. I didn’t touch it. Didn’t move. I didn’t trust myself to move without wanting more than I had any right to want.
I’d kissed her.
That fact sat in my head like a live round. I’d said what I meant, and I meant what I’d said, and still my body kept replaying the moment like it was trying to learn it by repetition. The shape of her mouth under mine. The way she’d grabbed my shirt and pulled me in like she’d been starving.
I’d spent years getting good at control. Good at putting a lid on whatever wanted to spill out. That kiss had cracked something. Now it was like the damn thing was looking for the seam again.
Madden shifted, making a tiny sound in the back of her throat. Her hand tightened once on my stomach, then relaxed.
My instinct was to pull her closer. Keep her there. Keep her safe. The other instinct was to get up and make sure every door in this house was locked.
I chose the second one because I could do it quietly.
I slid out from under her arm with careful patience, moving an inch at a time like I was disarming a bomb. The bed gave a soft creak. Madden didn’t wake. She rolled onto her side, tucking her hand under her cheek, and for a second she looked like she’d never had to be strong a day in her life.
Something sharp twisted low in my gut as I stood there, shirtless in borrowed pajama bottoms.
Someone had tried to burn her alive.
Fury burned through me so hot, it was almost calm. Maybe I couldn’t fight all of Madden’s demons, but I was going to find the son of a bitch who’d done this and make sure he never got the chance to terrify her again.
I pulled on one of Hoyt’s borrowed T-shirts and stepped out into the hall. The house was quiet in that way a house only got when kids were asleep or gone. Given the angle of the light, I was banking on the latter because Logan usually hit the ground running by six AM and let everyone know it.
Caroline sat at the kitchen table, hair pulled into a messy knot, a steaming mug beside her as she scribbled something on a notepad. A grocery list or schedule or some other sign of normal domesticity.
She looked up the second my foot hit the tile, eyes sweeping over me in a single pass in that assessing gaze she’d learned years ago, when I’d started taking on our father to keep him from going after her or Gabi. Those eyes asked, How bad is it?
What she actually said was, “There’s coffee.”
With a grunt, I crossed to the pot and filled one of the waiting earthenware mugs Ford’s Mimi had made. Then, I joined my sister at the table.
“Where are the little monsters?”
“Ibby took them so I’d be free to help with whatever.”
“Nice of her.”
“She’ll want a family dinner soon, if you’re going to be around long enough.”
Caroline’s mother-in-law had essentially adopted all three of us when Caroline married Hoyt.
Not that Gabi and I had been around much for her to mother.
But I heard the implied question beneath my sister’s statement.
The statute of limitations on keeping my own counsel about my departure from the Navy had run out.
“I’ll be around. I’m not sure what’s next, but I’m no longer in the Navy.”
I waited for the third degree. For the gasp and outrage.
But Caroline only nodded. “Good. Maybe choose something safer as a next profession.” Then she winced. “Although given you just hurled yourself onto a burning boat last night, perhaps I should save my breath.”
“I don’t plan to make a habit of it.”
She sipped her coffee. “What about Madden? Do you plan to make a habit of her?”
“We’re still figuring that out.”
I braced for the judgment. For the reminder of how Madden had once behaved toward me.
But again, Caroline surprised me by only nodding. “She’s got scars. I think a lot more of the kind that don’t show.”
It was a more astute observation than I’d expected her to have made this quickly.
When I said nothing, she sipped more coffee. “Gabi said y’all had your tongues down each other’s throats at the clinic last night.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Gabi has a big mouth.”
My sister’s lips twitched into a grin. “Of course she does. When was the last time we met a woman you were involved with? Never. Not since high school.”
I didn’t point out that was because, after high school, everyone on this island had believed I was some kind of predator.
“I’m allowed a private life.”
“Of course you are. But as that private life is sleeping in my guest room—with you—you’ll allow me a little curiosity.”
“Someone tried to kill her, Caro.”
The faint amusement faded. “Yeah. I know what that’s like.”
Fuck. Of course she did. Our father had tried to kill her. Twice. Before Hoyt put an end to it.
“Answer me one thing: is this thing between you because of the circumstances or because of her?”
How could I even answer that? “I wouldn’t have gotten to know the real her without the circumstances, so both, I guess.”
The stairs creaked, and my head snapped up.
Caroline’s mouth twitched. “Relax. That’s her, not a hitman.”
I swallowed a mouthful of coffee that burned on the way down. “Funny.”
Madden appeared in the doorway a minute later, face pale, eyes heavy.
She still wore the borrowed pajamas, and her posture curled in a little, as if she hadn’t yet decided whether to be embarrassed or grateful.
Parading around the home of a semi-stranger in sleep clothes probably left her feeling a little exposed.
When her gaze landed on me, her shoulders dropped a fraction, and her face softened with relief, like I was an anchor point when her world had tipped entirely off its axis.
That trust had something in my chest squeezing.
She strode on into the kitchen with a stiffness to her posture that hadn’t been there in the bed, like she’d put her armor back on out of habit and didn’t know how to take it off again in front of an audience.
I rose from my chair and snagged her hand, pulling her into me.
Her body stilled for a second. Then she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the fire and let herself sink into my arms. Her forehead pressed against my shoulder.
She swallowed once, and I felt the little tremor she tried to hide.
I flattened both hands against her spine and brushed a kiss to her temple. “There’s coffee.”
“Thank God.” The rasp in her voice was as much sleep as smoke, and the heartfelt words had me smiling, just a little.
“Sit. I’ll get you a cup.”
Carefully releasing her, I nudged her toward an empty seat.
Madden’s gaze darted toward Caroline, color in her cheeks. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Caroline’s tone was bright and brisk, as if she hadn’t just watched her brother hold a woman like his life depended on it.
“Rios has the caffeine handled. Are you up to food? I’ve also got a neighbor who dropped off a bag of clothes before sunrise like we’re running a disaster relief station. ”
Madden blinked. “A neighbor did what?”
Caroline waved a hand. “People heard. People talk. They bring things when they don’t know what else to do.”
Madden’s expression tightened. Pride, maybe. The reflex to refuse help. I recognized it because it lived in me, too.
Caroline stepped closer, her voice gentling. “It’s not charity. It’s community. Believe me. I’ve been where you are. Take the help.”
Madden’s throat bobbed before she tipped her chin in a small nod.
I set a mug in front of her and lightly rested a hand on her shoulder in a touch that said I’m here without making her look at it.
She lifted her own hand and laid her fingers over mine with a little squeeze of gratitude. With the other, she picked up the mug and brought it to her lips. Her eyes widened. “You actually know how I take my coffee?”
“I pay attention. Besides, it’s hard to forget when you use half as much sugar as coffee.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You like coffee syrup,” I accused, liking that the teasing put a little spark back in her eyes.
“And you apparently drink motor oil.”
Caroline lifted a finger. “I do not make motor oil. However, you have him on battery acid status. Who wants breakfast?”
“I think I could eat something soft. Maybe eggs or oatmeal or something?”
“Coming right up.” Caroline rose from the table and picked up a bag from the end of the counter. “Here, take these and see if anything will work for you. I know you don’t want to sit around in PJs just now.”
Madden frowned at the bag but took it and the coffee back upstairs. I watched her go, a heat in my chest that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the fact that she’d been so close to dying and was walking away from me now on her own two feet.
Caroline had just hauled a carton of eggs out of the fridge when the doorbell rang.
I froze, my body going cold and ready in the same breath. “Stay here.”
“Rios, I’m sure it’s just—”
“Here,” I insisted.
I moved to the front door without making noise. Checked the side window first. A man stood on the porch.
Grant Willoughby. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He wore civilian clothes and a faint shadow under his eyes. He held some kind of expanding folder, and his stance was tense. That couldn’t bode well.
I opened the door a crack. “Willoughby.”
“Carrera. Is Madden still here?”
“Is there something new about the fire?” I demanded.
“No. Not yet.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To help.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me. “Grant?”
Grant’s eyes shifted past me, and his professionalism slipped. His face softened with something that looked a lot like concern. “Madden.” The way he said her name carried history.
I didn’t like it, but I opened the door fully.
Grant stepped inside like he knew he shouldn’t be here and had decided to do it anyway. His eyes roamed over her. Thank God she’d gotten dressed in some of the donated clothes—capri pants and a T-shirt. I watched him fight the mask back in place as she came to stand beside me.
“What are you doing here?”
Grant’s hand tightened on the folder. “I shouldn’t be.”
She only angled her head in question.
“Carson’s been blocking you,” Grant continued, voice tight now. “And if it was just you being you, I wouldn’t—” He cut himself off, jaw working. “I watched what happened last night. When Carrera gave his statement, I watched the way you looked when you understood that someone had locked you in.”
Madden’s throat bobbed. Her eyes flicked to me and back.
Grant swallowed. “So I pulled what you requested. The stuff he’s been sitting on.”
Madden stilled.
My pulse ticked up.
Grant held the folder out like it weighed fifty pounds. “Non-redacted. Copies.”
Madden stared at it like it was a bomb. “You’re serious.”
His voice softened. “Yeah.”
Madden’s hand lifted halfway, then stopped. “Are you sure about this? You’re breaking all kinds of rules giving this to me.”
“Yeah. If anyone finds out I did this, I’m done. But I don’t like what he’s doing. And I don’t like what happened to you. If this will help you get what you need without putting you in more crosshairs, it’s worth the risk.”
Madden’s hand finally moved. She took the file with careful fingers, as if too much force would tear it.
Grant’s eyes flicked down to her hands. To the soot that still lived under her nails despite the shower. To the faint tremor she controlled.
Then his gaze slid to me. The look wasn’t jealousy or suspicion. It was a simple, brutal question between men.
You’ll protect her?
“Yeah.” With my life.
Grant nodded once, like he’d expected that answer and needed it anyway. He shifted his weight, glancing toward the door. “I should go.”
Madden’s voice caught. “Thank you.”
He hesitated. His expression softened again. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
He gave one last glance toward me, then turned and left. The door closed behind him with a quiet click that felt too loud.
The house went still again.
Madden stared down at the envelope in her hands like she was holding a key and a knife at the same time. Her breathing had changed—shallower, faster. Her mind was already racing down corridors of paper and dates and names.
I stepped in close and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
She didn’t stiffen this time. She leaned into me like it was instinct now.
Her voice was quiet. “He risked his job.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Madden’s fingers tightened on the envelope. “He’s scared.”
“He should be.”
She swallowed. Her eyes lifted to mine. “So are we.”
The words were plain. Honest. No bravado.
The weight of them settled over my shoulders, and I didn’t shrug it off. “Yeah,” I said again. “We are.”
Madden looked down at the envelope once more. Her thumb traced the edge like she couldn’t stop touching the proof that the system could bend.
Her shoulders squared. The familiar steel slid back into her spine.
I tightened my arm around her. Not to restrain her. To anchor her.
“We’re gonna need some room to work,” I said. “But first, breakfast.”