Chapter 32
Hoot woke before the alarm, as he usually did. For several seconds, he lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the familiar remnants of the nightmare to catch up with him.
But there was nothing. No gunshot. No Bullet falling into his arms. No whispered last words.
He let out a slow breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he’d slept through the night.
He turned his head. Lark was still asleep beside him, curled slightly toward his side of the bed, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. A strand of brown hair had fallen across her face. Hoot reached over and carefully moved it aside.
He didn’t want to leave her. That realization should probably have concerned him more than it did. Unfortunately, his stomach had other plans.
He eased out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and headed downstairs to make breakfast.
He’d just flipped the first batch of bacon when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Something smells good.”
He turned. And stopped. Lark stood at the bottom of the stairs wearing an oversized T-shirt that definitely wasn’t hers. She’d pilfered his which he liked entirely too much. It was big on her, and he wondered if she had anything on underneath.
Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she was rubbing one eye with the back of her hand. He was disappointed to see a pair of soft sleep shorts peek out from under the shirt when she reached for the mug of coffee he’d slid across the counter to her.
Still, she looked... adorable. The word popped into his head without permission. Hoot nearly snorted. Adorable? Apparently, Lark had introduced him to vocabulary he’d never needed in his life.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
Her gaze dropped to the skillet. “Bacon?”
“And eggs.”
She smiled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“You like me because I can cook?”
“I like you for many reasons.” She wandered toward the counter. “Cooking is currently near the top of the list.”
He shook his head and turned back to the stove. “And here I thought my superior bedroom skills would be at the top.”
She blushed. “Well, that goes without saying. But can it really compete with bacon?”
“Point taken.”
While he finished breakfast, Lark wandered through the open-concept living area, taking in the room she’d only seen briefly before. His home was comfortable but uncomplicated. Dark wood, neutral furniture, a few framed photographs, little in the way of decoration.
She stopped near the bookshelf. Hoot watched her pick up one of the framed pictures. Her expression softened.
“Is this you?”
He glanced over. The photograph showed him between his parents, all three of them smiling at the camera. He was younger, leaner, and wearing his Navy dress uniform with his newly earned SEAL Trident pinned proudly to his chest.
“Yeah.”
“You look so young.”
“I was.”
She studied the picture. “They look happy. Proud.”
“They were.”
Something in her expression shifted. “Tell me about them.”
Hoot turned off the burner. “My dad was Army.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And you joined the Navy?”
“Yeah. Caused some family arguments.”
She laughed. “Not serious ones, I hope.”
“No. Mostly good-natured rivalry.” He carried the plates to the table. “Dad insisted the Army was better. I reminded him the Navy had ships.”
“And that settled it?”
“Absolutely not. He then informed me that ships were just boats with delusions of grandeur.”
Lark burst out laughing. Hoot smiled. He hadn’t thought about some of those old arguments in years.
He told her about his father teasing him relentlessly when he’d chosen the Navy. About his mother pretending to referee their arguments while secretly taking his side. About family dinners where Army versus Navy debates somehow became competitive sporting events.
Lark listened, laughing at the right moments. But Hoot noticed something else. The longer he talked about his parents, the quieter she became.
“You miss them,” she said.
“Every day.” She looked down at her plate. Hoot reached across the table and covered her hand. “They’d love you.”
Her eyes lifted. “You think?”
“I know.” Her lips tipped up into a small smile. “Mom would probably buy every piece of art you’d ever made. And Dad would enable her.”
She laughed. “My parents don’t own any of my art,” she said morosely and that fact pissed him off. How could parents not support their kids’ endeavors? Even if they’d disagreed on their respective branches of military, his dad had been proud as fuck when he’d told them he was training to be a SEAL.
Even his mom had beamed with pride despite her fear for her baby in his dangerous profession. She always made sure to send him care packages when she could. Not an easy feat since SEALs were often deployed at the drop of a hat and family members never knew where they were being sent.
But she’d never experienced anything like that with her parents.
Nothing but condemnation. The thought of wanting to make it up to her niggled at the forefront of his mind.
He wasn’t just speaking out of his ass when he said his parents would love her.
He hesitated before adding, “You remind me of my mother.”
Lark’s eyes widened. “Is that good or bad?”
“Very good.”
She smiled, but there was something wistful about it. He squeezed her hand. “You deserved what I had growing up, Lark.”
She looked away for a moment. He didn’t press. Instead, he kept talking about his parents until her smile returned.
By the time they finished breakfast, Hoot realized he’d told her more about his childhood in one morning than he’d told most people in years.
They were halfway through cleaning up when his phone pinged. Seeing Flint’s name, his mood shifted instantly.
“I need to take this.” Lark nodded. He headed upstairs to his home office and opened the computer.
The video call was already waiting. Flint appeared first, followed by Voodoo, Eggs, Jeeves, Spark, and Haley. Everyone looked tired.
Hoot’s instincts immediately tightened. “What happened?”
Flint leaned back. “We found four of them.”
Hoot’s stomach dropped at their dark expressions. “Dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Cause?”
“We’re still working on that.”
Voodoo’s expression was grim. “They weren’t shot.”
Hoot frowned. “Then what?”
“That’s the problem,” Flint said. “We’re not sure.”
Haley pulled up photographs on the screen. The four men had been found separated from one another in the woods. No obvious signs of a firefight. No weapons nearby. No useful identification.
“Could they have turned on each other?” Spark asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Eggs replied.
Hoot studied the images. Four dead men. One missing. Did he escape the carnage? Or was he the perpetrator? He expressed those thoughts to his team.
“If he escaped, that could point to someone else being there,” Jeeves said.
“If the fifth killed them,” Voodoo started. “Where did he go?”
Flint’s expression hardened as he studied the photographs. “Four men dead, one missing. That’s not random.”
“Someone’s cleaning,” Voodoo said. “They got sloppy, somebody noticed, and now someone is tying off the loose ends.”
Hoot’s stomach tightened. His first thought wasn’t about the missing man. It was Lark. What if she was a loose end, too?
The thought hit harder than that bullet had. She’d seen the men. She’d heard them talking. She’d found the crate fragment. She’d connected the symbol to Calloway. Too many coincidences had put her in the middle of something she didn’t understand.
“We keep her safe,” Hoot said. His voice came out sharper than he’d intended.
Flint nodded. “Already thinking the same thing. We put a rotating team on her, upgrade the security around your place, scrub her known locations, and keep her movements unpredictable.”
“And she doesn’t go anywhere alone,” Hoot added.
Voodoo gave him a look. “You planning on telling her that?”
Hoot frowned. “You look like you’ve just been sentenced to the gallows,” Eggs taunted.
“You need us to have that argument for you?” Flint said dryly. A few of the guys chuckled, but Hoot didn't.
Because underneath the teasing was a truth he couldn’t ignore. If someone was eliminating loose ends, Lark had just become one of the most important loose ends they had.
Nobody had any further answers. They discussed tracking the missing man, searching the river, checking nearby roads, and pulling every scrap of information they could from the recovered data.
Nothing gave them a clear direction. When the call finally ended, Hoot sat staring at the blank screen. They’d learned something. Just not enough. And every answer seemed to create another question.
He headed back downstairs. Lark was curled into the corner of his couch with a book resting in her lap. She looked up immediately.
Her eyes narrowed. “Something happened.”
Hoot stopped. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her expression hardened. “Cormac.”
He sighed. He’d forgotten how quickly she could see through him. “Lark—”
“No.” She closed the book. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide what I can handle.” He stood there silently. She set the book aside and rose. “I know you want to protect me.”
“I do.”
“But keeping me ignorant isn’t going to make me safer.”
Hoot rubbed a hand over his jaw. She was right. He hated that she was right. “There were four dead men in the woods,” he finally said.
Her face paled. “The men from the island?”
“Yeah.”
She swallowed. “And the fifth?”
“Missing.”
Her eyes met his. “Then he’s still out there.”
“Possibly.” Hoot crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly, knowing there was no way to promise her that everything would be okay. So he didn’t.
He needed to have the conversation about her protection with her, but needed more time to think of a way to break it to her. Instead, he simply held her and said the only thing he could. “We’re going to find him before he finds you.”