Chapter Twenty-Four
REID
“HOLY SHIT, EMERY.”
I’m out of my truck before the engine cuts, gravel crunching under my boots. Stunned, she stands in the middle of the yard, still torn up with tire tracks, arms wrapped around herself.
Blood. Down her arm.
“What happened? Who did this to you? Where are you hurt?” I reach her in two long strides, my hands cupping her cheeks before she can answer. Her skin is cold and clammy.
“M-my hand,” she stammers. “I cut it on the wire of a trap, but my shoulder is bleeding too. I don’t know how. Maybe I was hit. I tried to look but then I got dizzy.” Emery’s words are choppy, coming out between erratic pants.
“Hey, hey.” I pull her to me, gently so as not to jostle her wounds and cradle her head. “You’re okay, baby, I got you.” The word falls from my lips so naturally. Baby. “Let’s get you inside.”
My hand finds the small of her back, warm and trembling beneath my palm, and I guide her up the steps. The cottage looks like a bomb went off.
“Holy shit,” I mutter for the second time, scanning the wreckage. “What the fuck happened?”
“Someone raided my house. They tore up my notes, tossed everything everywhere. They took Trixie.” Emery’s voice cracks.
“Your laptop?” I ask, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“I had it with me, thank goodness.” Emery’s face grows pale. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Sit,” I say, helping her into a chair. “Don’t move.”
I trek down the hall to her bathroom and rummage around in a tall cabinet, relieved when I find a rusted first aid kit. I pop it open and find it mercifully stocked. When I return, she’s white as chalk.
“Here.” I lift her hand, resting it on a towel. The cut runs jagged and raw across her palm. I flush it with saline.
Emery hisses, her shoulders jerking. “Ouch.”
“Easy. I know it burns.” My voice drops low, softer than I mean it to. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“I’m not sure.” She winces.
I press my lips together. “From the marsh water alone and the rusty traps…you probably need a booster.”
“I’m fine. Just bandage it already,” Emery growls.
“This may sting.” I open the antiseptic and wipe what’s left of the active bleeding. My hands work, steady and practiced, but the sight of her shaking wrecks me.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh my God.”
“Sorry,” I say with a grimace. I grab a couple of pieces of gauze and cover the wound with some medical wrap. “We have to get a look at that shoulder.”
“Okay,” Emery says, moving to pull back her sleeve. It’s stuck to the now drying blood. “Ouch.” Her voice trembles. “Help me take my shirt off, please.” Her eyes find mine, trusting and vulnerable. Something in my chest twists.
“Okay,” I say, reaching in the first aid kit for a pair of scissors. “I hope you don’t care about this shirt.”
“I don’t.” She shakes her head. “Please.”
My breath catches as my fingers grip the hem of her T-shirt.
Her fingers link through mine for a split second before she pulls her uninjured arm out.
I slowly help her lift it over her head, trying not to touch more skin than I have to.
When my knuckles graze her ribs, a shiver runs through her.
Surely, just a chill, but I feel it too.
The sight of her in her pale pink bra, blood caking her ivory skin causes a swirl of heat and rage pulsing through me. My fingers hover, then trace a path from her collarbone to her neck, my thumb brushing her pulse. “You’re safe now,” I say quietly, though my voice sounds rough.
When I lean in to check the wound, my lips instinctively graze her shoulder. She exhales a tiny sound that cuts through me. Her hand lifts, trembling, resting at the back of my head.
It’s not lust, not really. It’s need. Connection. And I can’t help but feel that we both desperately want it.
“I should’ve been there,” I rasp. “Should’ve protected you.”
“I was stubborn,” she says, her voice cracking. “You tried.”
I sit up, my eyes searching hers. “I will not let them get near you again.” It’s a vow and Emery knows it because she nods.
“Ready?” I ask, casting my eyes toward the part of the wound that’s still covered.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Bracing her bicep with one hand, I gently peel off the T-shirt sleeve, glued to her skin with blood. Emery winces and I catch her gaze just in time to see a tear roll down her cheek.
“Scissors,” I grit out.
She passes them to me, and I cut the bulk of the shirt away, leaving just a four-inch patch of fabric.
“It’ll be easier this way,” I say quietly.
She nods, sniffling. “Okay.”
I gently pull the fabric around each side until only a small piece is stuck on. When I free it, the bleeding stars again. I reach for the hand towel and apply pressure. Another tear slips down her cheek, and I thumb it away without thinking, my hand lingering at her jaw.
When it’s finally clean and dressed, she breaks, quiet sobs shaking her body. I pull her in, feeling the tremor of every breath. Her bare skin is warm against my shirt, as her tears dampen my collar.
“Are you scared or in pain?” I murmur in her ear.
“Both.” She hiccups.
My lips brush her temple, barely there. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She nods into my chest, and I keep tracing small circles at the nape of her neck until her breathing slows.
“Baby, I think we better get Dr. Michaels to come look at this. You need the shot.”
She sits up, eyes searching mine, but she nods.
“And—” I pause, licking my lips. “I want you to come stay with me for a while.”
To my surprise, she doesn’t argue. Instead, she directs me to her closet to find a few weeks’ worth of clothes and a fresh tank top that I help her into.
“Dr. Michaels makes house calls?” Emery asks faintly, watching from her chair as I move around her space.
“Not usually,” I say, offering my hand. “But he owes me a favor. And it’s best if we’re discreet. Be right back.” I’m already dialing him as I step onto her porch.
Doc Michaels is surprisingly quick to agree, and when I step back inside, Emery looks even more exhausted than when I left her two minutes ago. I sling her duffel over my shoulder and pick up the research backpack that she takes everywhere. “Doc’s on his way. Let’s go home.”
I help her into the truck, throwing her bags in the backseat before sliding in myself. It’s only now I realize I never shut my truck off.
I back out of the dirt drive and set off for the main road that links our two places. “I have to make a quick call,” I say quietly, glancing at Emery.
Her head rests against the window, her eyelids slit with exhaustion. They flick to me. “To the police?”
“Not exactly,” I say, tapping Colt’s name on my truck’s center screen.
He answers on the second ring, his voice thick with fatigue.
“Morgan. You good? You never call me.”
“Yeah. We need to talk. Off the books, okay? You alone?”
“Yeah. What’s going on?” Colt sounds awake now.
“Someone broke into Blackbird Cottage. Ransacked the joint. They ran Emery down in the marsh too. She’s hurt.” I let out a defeated sigh, guilt nagging at me as I say the words. She’s hurt.
“Well, did you call it in?” Colt asks.
“No. You know why.” I glance toward Emery, watching me, arms wrapped around herself again. “Just swing by my place when you can. I don’t need any of the old boys catching wind of this.”
“You’re saying you don’t trust your own department?” Colt’s voice is edged with irritation.
“No. I trust you. I don’t trust the guys who pay you.”
Colt is silent for a moment, then, “I’ll come by. But if this is a crime scene, I can’t promise I will ignore it, Reid.”
“I appreciate it.” I hang up before he can argue.
By the time we pull up to my cabin, the last light is gone from the sky. The air smells briny, the way it does when a storm is hitting just offshore, headed for us.
“This is it.” I murmur.
“This is where you live?” Emery blinks, disoriented. “So close to me.”
“Yeah,” I say, killing the engine. “But you’ll be safe here.”
I help her inside. I keep the place tidy, old military habits die hard. Emery sits gingerly on the edge of the couch while I lock up and bring her some water. By the time I get back to her, she’s trembling again, shock setting in. I crouch in front of her, steadying her shaking knees with my palms.
“You’re okay. You’re with me now,” I say softly.
Headlights sweep across my front window, two quick flashes before going dark again.
“That’d be the doc.” I move to answer the door before he has a chance to knock.
“Evening, Reid.” Dr. Michaels says, stepping inside.
“Hey, Doc. Appreciate you coming out.” I clap him on the shoulder.
“Where’s the patient?” He looks over my shoulder, and I step aside. “Let’s have a look Dr. Caldwell,” he says with a smile.
I hover long enough to make sure she’s okay, but when the headlights flash across the window again, I know it’s Colt. I step out onto the porch before he’s out of his truck.
He’s in jeans—no uniform—a deliberate choice, I’m sure. Even his cruiser’s dark. He doesn’t need to say it, but the fact that he came like this tells me he knows we’re in some kind of trouble.
He takes one look at me and nods toward the house. “She all right?”
“Banged up. Doc Michaels is patching her up now.”
Colt nods once. “So, tell me what happened.”
“Someone spray painted the word leave on the side of the cottage yesterday,” I start. “Tire tracks all over her yard. Today, they ransacked her place, trashed her notes and her research materials. Stole a turtle from the tank.”
Colt’s jaw tics. “How did she get hurt?”
“I haven’t gotten that out of her yet. She was in the marsh, someone tried to run her down. That much I know.” I lean against the railing, looking out over the black marsh.
Colt lets out a low whistle. “And you think this is related to her…suspicions?”
I debate telling him about the body in the marsh, but I don’t think he would keep it off the record if I do, so I swallow it down.
“Hard to say,” I say cautiously. “I think it ties to every shady run between here and the Sound.”
“And you really don’t want to call it in?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. I don’t want to give them another reason to look at her. If the chief gets wind of this, Roy Beck and Judge Ware will squash it before he can even look into it.”
“He’s about to retire too. He won’t want to touch this,” Colt agrees.
“If he does, Judge Ware will pull all your funding.”
“Circle of Hell, Tidehaven Edition,” Colt mutters.
Lightning strikes across the marsh, lighting Colt’s hard face in blue.
For a second, he looks older than I remember.
“So, you play this close to the chest,” he says quietly.
“But you know who you’re up against, don’t you?
Those boys won’t blink if it means protecting their operation. ”
“Neither will I,” I say, my voice stoney.
Inside, the low murmur of Dr. Michaels’ voice carries through an open window, calm and professional. It’s followed by a soft, tired laugh from Emery. The sound does something to my chest I can’t quite name.
“All right, I’ll drive by a couple of times tonight. Keep it quiet. Is she staying with you?” Colt says finally.
“She has no choice.”
“Figured as much.” The ghost of a grin crosses his face before he gives my shoulder a clap. “Watch your six, brother.”
“Always do.”
He turns to go. “And Reid? Don’t wait so long to call me next time.”
He disappears into the dark, and I watch the road until his taillights disappear.
I step back inside, and Emery is sitting up, her shoulder neatly bandaged, a band aid on the other arm where I assume she got a tetanus shot.
Dr. Michaels picks up his bag. “Keep the wound covered, make sure she rests. I’ll stop back by tomorrow evening to change the dressing.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
When the door clicks shut, silence falls over us again, the only sound is the wind picking up over the marsh and thunder in the distance.
Emery looks up at me, weary and yet still so beautiful.
I move to sit next to her and drape my arm over the back of the couch, prompting her to curl into it.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I lean down, planting a kiss on the crown of her blond head. “Of course.”
“You didn’t tell him everything, did you?”
I pause, looking down at her. “No, not yet.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath. “And you really think I’ll be safer here with you?”
“No,” I admit. “But at least I’ll know where you are.”
Emery sighs, nuzzling into me, and I encircle her waist with my free hand, tugging her closer.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” I murmur.
I force myself to let her go, even though every muscle in my body screams against it. For a split second, I feel her heartbeat against mine—proof that she’s here, alive, and for the first time in a long time, the only thing I can’t afford to lose.