Page 19 of Over the Flames

Keeping to the edge of the clearing, he circled to the nearest point where he could get a better look at the drag marks. The larger set of prints had held up under the constant sheet of rain, which meant the drag marks…belonged to Arden. Desperation clawed through him, and Lawson took off. Every muscle he owned begged for release as he pushed his legs harder, faster.

Someone had run from Brent Hayward’s house during the operation, and Arden had followed. Lawson had no idea what kind of situation he’d be walking into, but it didn’t matter. He’d failed her once when he hadn’t been there for her after their daughter’s death. He wouldn’t fail her again.

Grip too tight around his weapon, he sprinted alongside the drag marks until the sound of rushing water penetrated through the ringing in his ears. The river ahead cut straight through the trail, but there wasn’t any sign of Arden’s or her attacker’s prints on the other side. The water surged with the heavy rains. Forced to keep his distance, he searched along the bank, his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest. “Arden!”

A low moan registered at the base of his skull over the pound of rain, and he turned toward the source. Only he wasn’t fast enough.

A dark outline broke from the trees and crouched too fast for him to block the fist to his thigh. Pain ignited all the way down his leg, and he collapsed to one knee. Water soaked through his slacks as Lawson swung, but his attacker moved fast. Bone met flesh above his temple and snapped his head to one side. His eyes watered as the shadowed outline rolled across his back, and Lawson shoved to his feet in time to catch the son of a bitch from behind. He wrapped his smaller assailant in a choke hold and squeezed. “Where is she?”

Gloved hands clawed at his forearm for release before his opponent dropped their elbow and wrenched back as hard as he could. Pain exploded through Lawson’s side as he tried to absorb the strike. Once. Twice. Air crushed from Lawson’s lungs, and he released his leverage. Bent at the waist, he tried to regain his balance. “Who the hell are you? What have you done with my wife?”

The bastard landed a kick square to Lawson’s chest, and his gun fell from his grip. He landed on his back, water contorting the line of trees above. The dark outline of his attacker breached his peripheral vision. The asshole bent down, fisting a handful of Lawson’s hair, and brought him to his knees. A knee slammed into the side of his face, and Lawson hit the ground. He battled to get to his feet, but the son of a bitch locked him in a stranglehold. Pressure built in his chest the more he struggled for freedom, and the blackness closed in around the edges of his vision.

A solid thunk from behind reverberated through his assailant’s chest just before the weight around Lawson’s throat relaxed. His attacker collapsed to the ground, and Lawson fell forward onto all fours. Air burned its way down his throat as shouts echoed over the rush of the river through the trees. Dozens of flashlights grazed across the ground. He turned to gauge his attacker’s final position and came face-to-face with the woman who’d knocked the bastard unconscious. “Arden.”

“He…almost killed…you.” Strain coated her words, as though it took a considerable amount of effort to form a mere four words. She released the oversized rock in her hand and lunged, determined to help him to his feet. Tremors wracked through her as she wrapped one hand around his low back and maneuvered his free arm across her back for support. “Can you…walk?”

“I’m fine.” Cold temperatures worked past his soaked, muddy clothing. The sun had fallen well below the horizon and cast her features into shadow. Framing her jaw with one hand, he set his forehead against hers as relief washed through him. She was alive. His exhales mixed with hers. He’d almost lost her out here, and the murky hole in the center of his chest inflamed. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

Sheriff Sanders breached the tree line. “You sure know how to throw a party.”

He intertwined his fingers with Arden’s. Immediate fulfillment exploded in his gut at the contact. He didn’t give a shit about what the sheriff or her deputies said concerning professionalism during an investigation. He wasn’t letting his wife out of his sight again. Lawson swiped water and grit from his temple and bent at the waist to retrieve his discarded weapon. Holstering his firearm, he nodded toward the unconscious attacker at his feet. “One perpetrator. Unidentified. Haven’t searched him for weapons.”

“We can take care of that.” Sheriff Sanders motioned to a pair of deputies at her side. Her flashlight leveled on the man in dark clothing, steady, under control. “Flip him over.”

Deputies patted the suspect from head to toe then turned the attacker onto his back. Rain collected in the salt and pepper beard and mustache along the bastard’s jawline. Deep set wrinkles folded along the man’s forehead and around his closed eyes.

Recognition flared. He squeezed Arden’s hand as they confronted the man who’d nearly killed them both. “We can call off the search for Brent Hayward. He’s not going anywhere.”

Chapter Seventeen

Florescent lighting and the smell of disinfectant aggravated the headache at the base of her skull. Latex-covered fingers probed at the soreness and bruising around her throat as Arden slowly recounted tonight’s events to one of the deputies standing a few feet away. After a few minutes, rawness turned her every word into nothing more than a long-winded wheeze. Until her senses signaled Lawson’s presence at the edge of the drawn curtain. A sudden awareness flared— nothing but a thin fabric gown stood between her and the man who’d run straight into the dark to find her.

“Ms. Olsen has had a long night. I’ll get the rest of her statement after she’s had a chance to recover.” He patted the deputy on the back and came within the perimeter of her hospital bed. Tugging the curtain completely closed, he sealed himself inside as the doctor finished her examination. Bruising marred his handsome features around his left eye, evidence of a physical fight with Brent Hayward stark on his knuckles. His gaze locked on hers, Lawson folded his arms across a clean shirt. “How’s she doing, Doc?”

A disbelieving smile brightened the attending’s warm, brown skin. “Unless you’re family, Agent Mitchell, you’re not getting anything out of me about my patient.”

“She’s my wife,” he said.

Arden’s heart jerked in her chest.

The small prick of hope behind her ribcage blossomed from a lie. Calling her his wife was nothing more than an attempt to get information about the damage sustained during the attack, something he could use against Brent Hayward when charges were officially filed. The implications of that simple twist in words didn’t mean a damn to him. She had to remember that.

The attending’s rich, dark eyes raised to hers for confirmation, and Arden nodded.

“All right, then. Your forensic techs have collected her clothing and samples from her fingernails and hair.” Sitting up straight, the doctor rolled back on her stool and peeled the gloves from her hands. Dark, textured hair fell over her white coat as she noted something into the digital chart in her lap. “There doesn’t seem to be permanent damage, but it’s hard to tell with the swelling right now. We’re going to have to wait a few days to get a better look at her vocal cords.” She looked up at Arden and handed her a business card. “We’ve already run a CT scan. There’s no sign of head trauma, so we won’t need to keep her overnight. All in all, she’s lucky her attacker didn’t apply more pressure. I recommend taking it easy, talking as little as possible, and a whole lot of ice, but I can tell by the way you’re fidgeting that you’re not going to listen to me. If the pain persists, call me. Don’t play hero and try to suffer through it. And you, Agent Husband,”—the attending stood, confronting him—“you’re in charge of making sure she listens to doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lawson maneuvered out of the way as the attending pulled back the curtain then closed it behind her, sealing them alone together for the first time since they’d left Brent Hayward’s property.

“You…followed me into…those woods.” Arden forced the edge of the card into her palm as he approached. Exhaustion weighed heavy. Rough calluses caught on her skin as he covered her hand with his, and an undeniable tug jolted in her chest. Warmth charged up her arm and into the space she’d kept empty since realizing their marriage had ended. He hadn’t been there for her after Rey had died, but he was here for her now. She wouldn’t forget that. Bruises and scrapes blemished the thin skin along the back of his hand, and she brushed her thumb over the small lacerations. She swallowed to counter the rawness at the front of her throat, her voice strange even to her own ears. “You…saved my life. Thank…you.”

A hardness her ex-husband usually reserved for late night dives into his cases sharpened his features, and a coil of anger filled his gaze. “You scared the hell out of me. Brent Hayward is suspected of killing three people—five if you include the two bodies recovered from his alleged fires as the Arsonist—and you chased after him straight into the woods where I might not have been able to find you until it was too late.” He reached back and took the seat her doctor had vacated a minute before and wedged his knees on either side of her. Releasing her hand, Lawson threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of her skull, careful of the soreness around her temple. “I lost a piece of myself when Rey died, Arden. I’ve spent night after night since her death trying to understand how our daughter was taken from us in order to fill the hole she left behind. But these past couple of days, I’ve felt…whole. Because of you, and it nearly drove me crazy thinking about the fact I might lose you, too, that I wouldn’t be there for you.”

Her breath caught, a burn in the muscles along her throat, as she clamped her dirt-caked fingers around his wrists. No. This was an adrenaline-fueled reaction to the danger they’d faced together. Nothing more than biology. It wasn’t real, and she couldn’t afford to believe it was. The moment she and Lawson solved this case, he’d move onto the next and the one after that, and she’d be in the same position as she had been before the divorce. Alone. Broken. Worthless. She’d meant it when she’d admitted a part of her still loved him, but it wasn’t enough. She’d never be enough. “Lawson, I told you. I’m not yours to lose—”

“Yes, you are, and I’m yours.” He lowered his voice, a hint of desperation intertwining with every word. He released his hold and set his head against her chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he held her as though she were made of glass, destined to break with one wrong move. “I don’t care what a stack of papers says or what some judge decreed. You will always be my wife, Arden, and I won’t fail you again.”

The Ache that had nothing to do with the struggle between her and Brent Hayward set up residence behind her sternum. Pain she’d tried to avoid, to run from. Tears burned as deep-set exhaustion took hold. She battled to keep her bottom lip from trembling and eased the tips of her fingers through his hair. Patches of mud and dampness slicked along her skin as she held him as tightly as he held her. His heat burrowed through the thin fabric of her gown and chased back the ice in her veins. If it hadn’t been for Lawson, she would’ve died out there. “I couldn’t let him get away with what he’d done.”

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