12. Chapter 12 #2
“The caller used one of the courtesy phones near the food vendors. No camera faces the phone directly, but we may catch whoever approached it from the main path.”
“Pull the footage. Assign someone to watch the phones and check whether any other calls came from them today.”
Wade nods and leaves.
The auction volunteers wheel the emptied case deeper into the lodge. They position it against an interior wall, well away from any entrance or exit. The necklace and other valuable items will be secured in the lodge office overnight rather than returned to the display.
The physical arrangement from my vision no longer exists. Relief should follow. Instead, the warning remains alive beneath my skin.
Rocco senses the change in me. “What?”
“Moving the case was right.”
“But?”
“I still feel it.”
His gaze moves across the lodge. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
He breathes through his nose, accepting the answer because demanding another will not produce one.
The radio reports nothing unusual at the vendor lanes. A deputy completes another pass through the parking area. The festival continues beneath warm lights and autumn decorations, unaware that its security plan has shifted around a future only I can see.
“I want you away from the event,” Rocco says.
“I thought you might.”
“I’ll take you to your rental.”
“And then come back.”
“Yes.”
A part of me wants to argue. Another part understands that remaining here will divide his attention, whether he admits it or not. If he knows I am somewhere secure, he can watch the festival rather than watching me.
“I’ll go,” I say.
Suspicion enters his eyes. “That was too easy.”
“I am capable of making sensible decisions.”
“I have limited evidence.”
I almost remind him that he has spent an unusual amount of time collecting evidence about me. The joke would be easy, but the worry beneath his control makes me resist it.
“I’m tired,” I tell him. “Not depleted like before. Just tired.”
“That is reason enough.”
He reports our departure to his team and walks me through the lodge. We use a side exit rather than passing the auction display again. Outside, the night has settled fully over the mountains.
The festival glows behind us as we cross the vendor lane. The music has changed to something slower, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. Couples stand near the firepits. Parents carry sleeping children toward the parking area.
It would be easy to believe nothing terrible could happen here. That is often when terrible things do.
Rocco remains close without touching me until we reach the SUV. He opens the passenger door, waits until I am seated, then circles to the driver’s side.
The drive to my rental cabin is quieter than the one we made earlier. He checks the mirrors more often than necessary and takes an indirect route. I recognize what he is doing by the second additional turn.
“Are you making sure no one followed us?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think someone would?”
“No.”
“But you’re checking.”
“Yes.”
I watch the dark road pass beyond the window. “Does it ever stop?”
“What?”
“Looking for what might go wrong.”
His hands remain steady on the wheel. “No.”
The answer holds no pride. Only fact.
“Do you want it to?”
He takes several seconds to respond. “Sometimes.”
The honesty is more intimate than anything we said inside his cabin.
When we reach my rental, Rocco drives past it once before circling back. He checks the parked vehicles, the neighboring cabins, and the darkness between the trees. Only after satisfying himself does he pull into the short drive.
He walks me to the door and waits while I unlock it. The cabin smells faintly of the sandalwood candle I burned the night before. My belongings wait exactly where I left them.
“I’ll check the rooms,” he says.
I step aside.
He moves through the cabin efficiently, opening closets, checking windows, and looking behind the shower curtain. Ordinarily, the intrusion would irritate me. Tonight, the sound of his boots moving from room to room steadies something inside me.
“All clear,” he says when he returns.
“I assumed it would be.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
He stands near the door, prepared to leave. His radio has remained silent for almost five minutes, but I can feel his attention stretching back toward the festival.
“You should go,” I say.
“Yes.”
Neither of us moves.
The cabin is mine. My crystals rest on the table. My scarves hang over two chairs despite my intention to put them away. Everything around me carries my energy instead of his. Yet I do not feel the relief I expected.
“When you left me alone in your cabin,” I say, “I needed you to go.”
Rocco remains unreadable. “You told me.”
“And it helped.”
“That was the purpose.”
“But when you left the second time, the solitude felt different.”
“How?”
“Empty.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
“I spend a great deal of time protecting my energy,” I continue. “I know how people affect me. Some take without realizing it. Some demand attention until there is nothing left for anyone else.”
“And me?”
I step closer.
“You should exhaust me.”
His eyebrows draw together.
“You notice everything. You occupy more space than most people even when you’re silent. My awareness finds you in every room.”
“I can leave.”
“I don’t want you to.”
Rocco looks toward my mouth, then back into my eyes. “You said you weren’t ready.”
“I wasn’t.”
“And now?”
I place my hand against his chest. His heartbeat changes beneath my palm.
“Now I know something I didn’t know then.”
“What?”
“Being near you doesn’t take from me.”
His hand rises slowly and settles at my waist. “What does it do?”
“I’m still deciding.”
The answer almost makes him smile. I lift onto my toes and kiss him.
For one breath, Rocco does not move. He gives me time to change my mind, even with my mouth against his and my fingers curling into his shirt.
I kiss him again.
Whatever restraint held him still releases. One hand slides into my hair, supporting the back of my head as he takes control of the kiss. His mouth moves over mine with the same focus he brings to everything else, but there is nothing cool or measured about the hunger beneath it.
Heat rushes through me. It is nothing like the vision tearing through my energy or the emptiness it left behind. Rocco does not scatter me.
He gathers every part of me into this moment.
His arm tightens around my waist, drawing me against the solid length of his body. My breasts press against his chest, and the evidence of how thoroughly the kiss affects him rests hard against my stomach. The knowledge sends a pulse of need through me, low and deep.
Rocco slows, giving me another opportunity to step away.
I slide both hands over his shoulders and into the loose length of his hair. His control breaks a second time.
My back meets the door. He keeps one hand behind my head, protecting it from the wood even while his body holds mine there. The care in the gesture should temper the desire building between us. Instead, it makes me want more.
His tongue strokes mine. Coffee lingers beneath the taste of him, warm and dark, while the faint scent of cedar surrounds me. I rise higher against him, and a rough sound leaves his throat.
“Loralee.”
My name against my mouth feels like a question.
I answer by pulling him closer.
His lips move along my jaw and find the sensitive place beneath my ear. My head falls back against his palm as he traces the side of my throat, unhurried now, discovering which touches make my breath catch. When his teeth graze my skin, my fingers tighten in his hair.
His hand moves from my waist to the curve of my hip. The contact is firm enough to reveal what he wants and careful enough to leave every choice with me. I turn into it, eliminating the last thin space between our bodies.
Rocco lifts his head. His eyes are almost black.
The way he looks at me makes this feel like more than a kiss. He is not merely seeing the woman pressed against him. He is seeing the decision that brought me here, the trust beneath it, and every boundary he will wait for me to move.
I touch his lower lip with my thumb. “Again.”
This kiss is slower but no less consuming.
He takes his time with my mouth while his thumb moves beneath the edge of my sweater and strokes the bare skin above my waistband.
The small contact sends more sensation through me than it should, as though my body has been waiting for him to touch me without anything tragic or mystical standing between us.
For these few moments, I do not see blood on my hands. I do not hear glass breaking or a child screaming.
I feel Rocco’s heartbeat beneath my palm.
Alive. Strong. Here.
The radio at his shoulder crackles.
Neither of us moves.
A voice reports normal activity near the lodge. No sighting. No disturbance.
Rocco lets out a breath against my mouth, then closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine. His body remains pressed to mine, and his hand is still beneath my sweater.
For several seconds, neither of us pretends he is ready to leave.
“You need to go,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to.”
“No.”
The admission warms me almost as much as the kiss. His hand remains at my waist for another moment before he forces it away.
“Lock the door.”
“I will.”
“Keep your phone beside you.”
“I will.”
“If anything feels wrong …”
“I’ll call you.”
His gaze searches mine, looking for a promise strong enough to satisfy him.
“I won’t return to the festival alone,” I add.
“Good.”
Rocco opens the door, but I catch his hand before he can step through it.
“Your attention isn’t only professional,” I say.
“No.”
His answer does not come too quickly. It comes with complete certainty. Rocco leaves before I can ask what that means.
I lock the door and stand with my fingers resting against my lips. The vision remains somewhere beyond the walls, waiting for its moment. But for the first time since I saw Rocco’s blood, it is not the only future I can feel.