CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
I’m not sure how long we stay in the tub. Time slips between us like the water lapping at my skin, quiet and unmeasured. His hands never wander too far, but they never leave me entirely either. And I hadn’t realized how heavy my body feels until his warmth starts to soothe the weight of it away.
Then the sharp buzz of his phone shatters the moment, vibrating so violently it nearly flings itself off the counter.
“Don’t you need to answer that, sir?” I ask, reluctant to acknowledge the intrusion. I don’t want this to end. Not yet.
He sighs, voice low but edged with irritation, “Actually, I probably do.”
He shifts behind me, rising from the water in one smooth motion.
Though I can’t see him, I feel the subtle change in the air—the soft splash as he steps onto the bathmat, water dripping quietly from the ridges of his back.
I imagine the muscles beneath the steam, taut and coiled like a predator waiting.
Then, the faint but unmistakable snap of the mask fastening back into place, the sound echoing softly in the steamy silence—like a ghost slipping back into shadow.
“Go ahead and get dried off and head back to your room,” he adds, already walking toward the counter.
I obey, though slowly—almost defiantly so. I rise from the water, the cold air biting instantly against my damp skin. Goosebumps lift along my arms and thighs.
I pull the blindfold off and reach for the plush towel draped beside the tub and begin to pat myself dry, but my gaze drifts toward him.
He’s staring at the phone, jaw tight before answering in a sharp tone.
“What do you want?” he snaps into the receiver as he picks it up, glancing over his shoulder at me.
His tone is stern. No warmth at all.
Whoever is on the other end doesn’t seem to soothe him.
“You found him? Good. Is that situation taken care of?”
A pause.
A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“I don’t have that information. I am still working on it.”
He meets my stare and something in the air changes—something darker. Not rage. Not fear.
Control slipping for half a breath.
I quickly wrap the towel tighter around myself and step out of the bathroom as he closes the door behind me.
I don’t know who is on the other end of that call. I don’t know what they need or what he gives them. But something about the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t supposed to hear even a second of it, tells me I’d just witnessed a crack in his armor.
And for the first time in days...I’m not sure if I am climbing into his bed...or deeper into his secrets
Walking fast toward my bedroom, I hear The Warden’s door close pretty hard and see him rush towards his office, wrapped only in his silk bath robe.
Who was on that call?
Why did his voice shift like that?
What did I just hear?
I continue to pad barefoot down the corridor, toward my room. Just as I reach my doorway, I hear it.
Not loud. Not clear.
But enough to stop me.
“…Dinah Police Department will handle it…”
The Warden’s voice comes again, sharper this time—quiet, controlled, and clearly trying to keep whatever he is saying from reaching me. Especially from me.
My feet stop cold.
My breath catches .
Dinah.
The word strikes something deep inside me, like a gentle mallet tapping against a fragile glass bell—sending clear, sharp ripples through the silence.
Dinah.
Captain Shoomaker.
The name settles in my chest like a stone dropping into still water, spreading memories outward—soft, painful, impossible to ignore.
His voice. Calm. Steady. Unwavering.The way he cradled the back of my head after pulling me out of that raid.The firm but gentle hand wrapping a jacket around my trembling shoulders when I was barely more than a frightened girl.
“Shhh,” he’d whispered. “You’re safe now. Just breathe.”
I close my eyes and, for a fleeting moment, I catch the scent of his uniform again—cedar and ash, sweat, and the sharp tang of worn leather, the smell of protection itself.
That was five years ago.
But the memory of him hasn’t faded.It lingers, buried beneath layers of pain.
He came looking for me—specifically.
I lied to him. Told him she was dead.
Who had told him about me?
How did he even know I existed?
Is The Warden in his office talking to or about someone connected to Dinah PD? Handling what?
I press my back to the wall just outside my bedroom, which is above the office, straining to hear more. But the conversation dips again into whispers. A chair scrapes. A deep breath is taken. A drawer opens, closes.
Then footsteps.
Fast.
My heart slams against my ribs. I turn and hurry inside my room before I can be caught eavesdropping, nearly slipping as I round the door.
When I make it inside and shut the door behind me, I press my back to the wood and exhale hard.
Dinah.
Shoomaker.
Why now?
Why him?
And what the hell does The Warden have to do with any of it?
I slide down the door until I am sitting on the floor, still wrapped in the towel, my hair dripping cold down my back.
Somewhere in the shadows of this house…secrets are unraveling.
And I am becoming caught in the middle of it all.