Page 53 of Tactical Revival

“Yeah.” I turn back to Lance. “Call me the second you have something?”

“I will. Silas is out on an install, but he’s going to stop by the scene of the accident and look, too. See if we find anything the police may have missed.”

With a nod, I turn and leave the lighthouse, Michael beside me.

We step out into the sunlight, and Michael stops on the porch. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah. We are.”

“Then I want you to know that if your interest in Margot is more than friends, I’m okay with it.”

“What are you—what do you mean?”

“I saw the way you looked at her last night,” he tells me.

“What do you mean?”

“Like you were willing to tear apart the entire world if it meant keeping her safe.”

Exhausted, I step into the B&B.

Margot is standing behind the front desk, and the sight of her catches me off guard. Her face is bruised, one of her eyes encircled in black, the white of it bloodshot. There’s a bandage at her hairline, and both of her hands have white gauze wrapped around the palms, leaving her fingers free.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” she insists.

“Margot—”

“I needed to do something,” she insists. “My mom kept Matty tonight so I would rest. But I don’t know how to rest. How can I rest, Jaxson? Someone tried to kill me. What did I ever do? I don’t?—”

“Margot,” I interrupt, closing the distance between us. I reach out and cup her unbruised cheek, and she stops speaking.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you need to rest. We’re going to find whoever did this.”

“Reyna could have died, too.”

“But she didn’t.”

“But she could have.” She closes her eyes, and a tear slips free. “What if this is because of Chad? What if somehow?—”

“It’s not him,” I tell her. “He was in jail last night. Sleeping off an overindulgence of alcohol.”

She relaxes slightly. “Is it bad that I’m relieved it wasn’t him?”

“No.” And because I can’t help myself, I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her. Margot envelops me back and we stand in the lobby holding onto each other for longer than friends typically would.

Holding her feels as familiar as drawing breath. “I almost lost you last night. I don’t know what I would have done if—” I pull away.

“I’m okay, though. Michael scared off whoever it was, and we live to fight another day.”

Footsteps on the stairs carry down happy chatter, so I step aside as Mr. and Mrs. Avery from room two stop in front of the desk.

“Margot! What happened to you?” Mrs. Avery asks, the grandmother of seven immediately coming around the desk to get a closer look at her hostess.

“I had a car accident.” Margot smiles. “But I’m okay.”

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