4. Henry
Henry
Emily Carter is a problem.
A real, serious problem.
There’s no question of it as my eyes fix on the rearview mirror to catch sight of her standing outside Rocker’s Café, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun.
The loose waves of her honey-blonde hair shimmer as they dance in the breeze, the strands catching the light in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
She’s wearing a fitted white dress, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that makes my grip on the steering wheel tighten.
She tilts her head slightly, frowning at something on her phone, and the movement sends a ray of sunlight across her delicate features—soft freckles dusted across her nose, green eyes sharp with thought.
She should look innocent.
Sweet.
Instead, she looks like trouble. Damn it, she tasted like trouble. The kind of trouble that makes smart men dumb. The kind of trouble I don’t need.
My foot presses harder against the gas.
I need to get the hell out of here. Fast. Before I do something incredibly stupid. Like turn back. Or worse—drag her in here to continue from where we stopped.
The coffee shop behind her is buzzing with life, Rocker’s Cafe is Harmony Springs’ official headquarters for morning gossip.
The second she walked into town, people were already spinning stories, and I knew exactly what needed to be done.
The kiss? That was for them. A quick, believable act to cement our cover story in this town full of nosy people who thrive on scandal like its oxygen.
It was supposed to be quick, convincing, purely strategic action that would make no one in town have a doubt when they hear we’re engaged.
But the second her lips touched mine, I forgot why I started it.
Losing control is not something I do. Ever. Not in combat. Not in life. And I’m not starting now. Not letting a stubborn, impossible doctor worm her way into my head.
I grip the wheel tighter and step on the accelerator even more.
Getting too close? Not an option. I need to get out now, before I get sucked in. When the image of her disappears from the mirror, I heave a sigh of relief.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the police station’s parking lot, still pissed at myself. I step out, walking into the small, brick-fronted building that somehow smells like both coffee and wet dog.
Nodding at a few officers lingering near the entrance, I waltz my way in. My relationship with the police chief gives me a lot of respect from his office—respect I ensure that I reciprocate in multiple folds.
“Walker,” one of them—Derek—calls. “Chief’s out back.”
I grunt in acknowledgment and make my way around the side of the building.
Chief Tom Harrison is exactly where I expect him to be—leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips, looking every bit the man who’s been in law enforcement since I was ten years old.
I don’t bother being subtle. “You promised me you’d stop smoking.”
The older man, all six-foot-two of him, doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a slow drag, exhales the smoke into the crisp morning air, and side-eyes me. “I said I’d stop after I retire.”
“That’s two years away.”
He smirks. “Guess you’ll have to be patient.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the wall beside him. “You know, for a guy who spent half his career lecturing me on making smart choices, you sure suck at following your own advice.”
Tom chuckles, the sound rough and familiar. “It’s a vice, Henry. We all have them.” He glances at me.
Despite myself, I chuckle. Tom’s been around for as long as I can remember, the only stable authority figure in my life after my parents died. He’s the reason Sarah and I made it through without becoming total disasters.
“Well, this is one vice that’s after your life. You’re too old to have your body lungs break down.”
“I don’t go down easy, son.” Another puff of smoke. “Whatever’s after my life better get in line. Speaking of which—how’s the doc?”
I stiffen, scowling at the pavement.
Tom grins. “That bad, huh?”
“She’s stubborn,” I admit. “Thinks she doesn’t need protection. Doesn’t listen. Pushes every button I have.”
He laughs. “She’s been through hell, son. You can’t expect her to warm up overnight.”
“This isn’t about warming up. She doesn’t listen. She thinks she can handle everything on her own.”
“Remind you of anyone?” Tom eyes me knowingly.
I scowl. “That’s different.”
“Sure, it is.”
A pause stretches between us. Then, more seriously, he asks, “You think you can keep her safe?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know if I’m the right guy for this.”
Tom’s expression softens, and for a moment, I see something almost fatherly in his eyes. “There is no other guy for this. You’re the only one I trust with her life.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“I don’t do people,” I mutter.
Tom sighs. “Henry, you’re not at war anymore. You don’t have to keep your guard up all the damn time. Show her some empathy, drop your damn walls and you might see a difference.”
Not likely.
I scoff. “Yeah, because I’m so great at that.”
Tom chuckles, then sobers as he changes the subject. “You hear Logan got her a job at the ER?”
I nod. “Was that you?”
“Thought it’d help. Give her something normal to hold on to.”
“Always a damn saint, huh?”
He smirks. “Somebody’s gotta balance out your grumpy ass.”
We both chuckle, but there’s something real behind it.
After a moment, Tom exhales, flicking his cigarette away. “You ever figure out what’s next for you?”
I shake my head. “Psych examiners still say I’m not fit for action. Yet.”
“You ever think maybe it’s time to leave that life behind?”
“No.” The answer is immediate, automatic. “This town is slow. Boring.” My jaw tightens. “At least until she showed up.”
Tom watches me, unreadable. Then, after a beat, he claps me on the shoulder. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you can get really attached to the town if you give it a chance to protect everyone in this town instead of just one person?”
I roll my eyes. “Not taking the cop job, Tom.”
“Figured.” He grins. “Still doesn’t mean I won’t keep offering.”
My eyes return to him. “You’re a good man, Tom.”
He smirks. “Don’t let that get around.”
I shake my head, amused despite myself. “You ever regret stepping in for us? For me and Sarah?”
His face softens. “Never.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks for that.”
He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Anytime, kid.”
“You got plans for the day?” Tom asks as we start walking back inside.
Scoffing, my head shakes all morning. “Emily wants me gone, so I figured I’d let you put me to work until I have to go back and check on her.”
Tom chuckles. “Perfect. I got something for you.”
***
Hours later, after helping the department with paperwork and an inventory check, I find myself at a security store, grabbing everything I need to upgrade Emily’s house.
Not thinking about her has been impossible.
She’s been in my head all day—the kiss, the way she’d tasted like coffee and defiance, the way her lips had parted just slightly when she leaned into me.
I exhale sharply, shaking the thought away as I throw the last item into my cart.
I need a distraction. Or maybe I just need to be with her. Maybe my dedication to this job is making me want to be with her, or my sixth sense is warning me to stay close to her—those are more sensible scenarios I want to believe.
My fingers twitch over my phone before I finally give in and call her.
She answers after two rings. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.”
I roll my eyes. “Just checking in.”
Her voice is light, teasing. “How thoughtful of you.”
I rub my temple. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay,” she says. “I’m drinking wine, eating cake, and getting the juiciest gossip about you from your niece.”
I groan. “Don’t believe a damn word Grace says.”
As if on cue, Grace grabs the phone. “Hi, Uncle Henry!” Her voice suddenly bursts through the speaker. “Uncle Henry, is that you?!”
I shut my eyes. “No.”
“Yes, it is. Didn’t you really once fall into a pond because you were too busy staring at the sheriff’s daughter?”
I groan again. “I hate you, Grace.”
Emily laughs in the background. I grit my teeth against the warmth that spreads through me at the sound.
I need to get out of here.
Instead of heading home, I park near Rocker’s Café and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, Emily steps outside, slightly unsteady on her feet.
Drunk.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
She sways down the sidewalk, her blonde ponytail bouncing, looking so completely unaware of her surroundings that it makes my jaw clench.
I jump out of my car and hurry after her. She’s slightly tipsy, her steps just a little too loose, her expression relaxed. She’s an easy target for anyone out here and I’d feel better walking her home and knowing she’s safe.
I keep my distance, watching as she walks down the street. My eyes sweep the area, scanning for anything—anyone—out of place.
Then, suddenly, she picks up speed.
My body tenses.
She turns into an alley.
I curse and follow.
She hears my footsteps and whirls around, eyes wide, hand diving into her bag.
A second later, I’m ducking as she sprays something at me.
“What the hell, Carter?!” I snap, knocking the pepper spray out of her hand.
She gasps. “Henry?!”
She looks genuinely shaken, her chest rising and falling quickly.
And then, without warning—
She crumbles.
Her hands press against her temples, her breath ragged.
I reach for her instinctively. “Emily—”
“I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I thought it was someone else.”
I swallow hard. “Who?”
Her eyes glisten. “There was… someone, back in New York. Stalking me. Leaving notes. Waiting outside my apartment. I kept reporting it, but…” She lets out a shaky breath. “Nothing ever came of it.”
Something sharp twists in my gut.
I knew about her being targeted by Black Talons. But this?
She’s been living in fear long before this gang ever set their sights on her.
I exhale, slow and controlled. “Come here.”
She hesitates.
I don’t. I close the distance between us, scooping her up before she can argue.
She stiffens. “Henry—”
“Relax.”
She doesn’t. But she doesn’t fight me either.
I walk out of the alley and down the street that’s fortunately empty right now. Opening the passenger side of the door, I place her gently into the seat and buckle her in.
She’s watching me, wide-eyed, as if she’s trying to figure me out. I shut the door, climb into the driver’s side, and start the engine.
Neither of us speaks as I drive her home.
But the tension between us? Thick enough to cut with a knife.