Page 22 of Over the Flames

Shuffling echoed through the one-way glass as a deputy escorted Brent Hayward into holding. She cleared her throat, all too aware of how close her ex-husband had gotten in the middle of the FBI Seattle office. Arden stepped out of his reach, a humorless laugh rolling up her sore throat, and folded her arms across her chest as though she could cut herself off from feeling…whatever this was between them. He’d saved her life out there, and she was grateful for it, but a few personal touches and whispered promises didn’t change anything.

For the first time in her life—since raising her siblings, since marriage, since having a baby, since relying on Baldwin to make it through the day—she was on her own. Her mentor had introduced her to the world of criminal investigations and uncovering the truth, but she owed it to herself to see it through. To see if she could do this on her own, to see if she could build something that belonged to her and no one else. Not Lawson. Not Rey. Not Baldwin. Just…her. Maybe then the grief wouldn’t keep trying to swallow her whole. Maybe then she’d be strong enough. Worthwhile. “I prefer to pack a bag myself. I’ll ask the sheriff to drive me if it’s too far out of your way.”

“We’re partners on this case, Arden. Where you go, I go. I made the mistake of not honoring our arrangement at Brent Hayward’s house, and I have no intention of letting you slip through my fingers again. Understand?” He countered her escape until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the table behind her. The sweats Sheriff Sanders had lent her suddenly weren’t thick enough to withstand the intensity in his gaze. Offering her his hand, Lawson waited, giving her the choice. A way out.

She’d come too far to turn back now.

Arden slid her hand into his and followed him into the hallway. He handed off Phil Anderson’s laptop to another agent on their way out the door, and faster than she thought possible, they were pulling out of the parking lot east onto Spring Street toward the freeway. Downtown Seattle took on an eerie glow in the light of the exhausted haze closing in. Blurred city lights and intimidating high-rises stretched across the landscape, but within what seemed like seconds, faded into smooth cement and the soft reverberation of tires beneath her. She drifted in and out, hyperaware of the man less than a foot away. His earthy scent tickled the back of her throat, but somehow simultaneously soothed the rough edges of fear, uncertainty, and soreness she’d clung to the past forty-eight hours.

She hated sleep. Hated that all she dreamed about was a pair of bright eyes the same shade of Lawson’s in a smiling, carefree face that resembled her own. She hated the emptiness that waited for her when she closed her eyes, the loneliness and anger, but with Lawson here, she felt…safe.

The car door slammed, jarring her back into dizzying consciousness before he rounded the front of the vehicle. Fourteen levels of balconies and outdoor furniture came into focus as her door popped open. He reached across her for the seat belt then directed her hands over his muscular shoulders. “I’ve got you, Arden. Just hold onto me.”

She entangled her arms around his neck as he lifted her into his arms. Drugging exhaustion battled with the questions running through her head. She wouldn’t win, and she couldn’t imagine how on earth she’d managed to stay on her feet this long. “How did you know where I lived?”

“I’m in the FBI. I know everything.” He hauled her closer, the fabric of his dress shirt warming under her temple. Or was that her imagination? Glimpses of the lobby and elevators punctured into her consciousness before the sound of her keys reached her ears. He must’ve pulled them from her purse before carrying her upstairs. He pushed inside, and a burst of warm air glided across her exposed skin. “Sure as hell hope that couch is more comfortable than it looks.”

“It’s not.” Arden forced her eyes open, caught off guard by a spine-tingling yawn as he headed toward the back of her apartment. Bright lights and modern teal wallpaper accentuated the mid-colored wood of her cabinets and flooring. The apartment wasn’t much, a one-bedroom, one-bathroom space, but over the past two years, it’d become everything to her. A reminder to keep fighting. A safe haven. Her body sank deep into multiple layers of white sheets, her comforter, and pillows as Lawson set her on the bed, but she couldn’t seem to let him go. “You didn’t have to carry me all the way up here.”

“I’m not sure we would’ve made it at all if you’d insisted on walking.” He pushed a tendril of hair away from her face, leveraging his weight into the mattress. He slipped out of her arms and started untying the laces on the pair of sneakers Sheriff Sanders had lent her. A hard thud reached her ears as he discarded her shoes at the end of the bed, and his hand settled against one of her ankles. “The crime scene unit recovered your baton from the woods a little while ago. I’ll see what I can do to have them release it from evidence in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Arden curled in on herself as the realities of the past forty-eight hours pressed her into the mattress. Her eyes had slipped closed again, but she didn’t need to see Lawson to know he was still standing at the end of the bed. Every cell in her body had become hyperaware of every cell in his. A distinctive cold feeling had taken up residence in her bones, one she couldn’t seem to forget. Forcing her eyes open, a different kind of energy prickled along her skin and raised goose pimples down her arms. “You and I both know the couch isn’t big enough for you just by looking at it.” She maneuvered to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers back. There was no chance they’d make it back to the island tonight. Not after everything they’d been through together. They’d have to make the best of the circumstances and pick up the investigation tomorrow. “Get in.”

His audible exhale pooled tension at the base of her spine. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Afraid I’ll bite?” Pulling the covers up near her face, she rolled onto her side to make room and settled deeper into the comforter, nearly succumbing to unconsciousness. “What if I promise to keep my hands to myself?”

“It’s not your hands I’m worried about.” He hadn’t moved, and that fact drew her gaze to his. “All I could think about in those woods was that I couldn’t lose you. Not again, and I’m afraid if I climb into this bed with you, I might never summon the courage to leave.”

Raw vulnerability contorted his expression as he stared down at her, and in that moment, he’d never seemed so…broken than he did then. Her heart jerked in her chest as the overwhelming compulsion to have him close tore through her. Arden pressed her weight into her elbow and sat up. She’d spent the time since their divorce trying to deny the craving for physical contact—to prove she was stronger than her basic biological urges, that she didn’t need anyone—but after barely surviving what’d happened with Brent Hayward, she wanted nothing more than to know she wasn’t alone. “Stay with me.”

Three words. That was all the permission he’d needed. Lawson pulled his suit jacket from his frame and tossed it onto the floor. Setting his button-down shirt across the white pillowcases she’d picked out when she’d moved in, he toed off his shoes. His crisp white undershirt framed a fit, muscled body. Slowly, carefully, he unbuckled his belt and slacks, giving her the chance to change her decision.

She wouldn’t. Not tonight.

Arden laughed at the sight of his bright purple boxer briefs. “Are those fighting raccoons?”

“Kung fu raccoons, to be more specific.” His smile pierced straight through her. The mattress dipped under his weight as he slid under the sheets, his eyes never leaving hers. In her next breath, he wound his arm beneath her ribcage and dragged her close, wrapping her in safety. In love. His mouth settled at the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and the black hole of hollowness in her chest ebbed. He held her as though she were the most precious being in his world, and for a brief instant, she was more than willing to believe it. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

Chapter Twenty

Lawson’s phone pinged with an incoming email, and he slapped his hand over the lit screen before the notification woke the woman in his arms. Not just any woman. Arden. Deep aches registered as he gripped the phone and turned into the curve of her back pressed solid from his sternum to his hips. Hints of her light perfume tickled the back of this throat from the mountains of bedding they’d buried themselves under. Hell, the moment she’d settled in his arms, he’d dived straight into unconsciousness as though his body had been waiting for her all this time. Waiting for her to come back.

A soft moan escaped past her lips, and she brushed her legs against his.

The soft glow of the blue LED clock on her stove reflected off the large glass and wood barn door sealing off her bedroom from the main living space and cast across the walls. Ceiling to floor windows let in the white noise sounds of the city while geometric and colorful art gave the small apartment a severely modern feel. Golds, teals, and whites bled through the darkness as he set his head back on the pillow. The color combinations took him straight back in time as details of the home they’d shared spilled across the walls, but he couldn’t help but notice one major difference between Arden’s apartment and the house they’d made into a home for their family. Everything—the furniture, the art, the bedding—looked as though it’d come straight out of a magazine. Sterile. Impersonal. Empty.

Arden had lived here for two years, having moved out of their home one week after their daughter’s funeral, but while the decor had made the journey, the elements that’d made their house a home had not. Elements his wife had accrued herself. There wasn’t a single photo or personal effect in sight, and the rock in his gut grew heavier at the realization he was staring at the physical reflection of the ghost of the woman he’d loved. A shell, one who’d tried to erase any memory of the life they’d had together, tried to erase the memories of Rey.

Her breathing changed, and mindfulness pulled him back into the moment. “The notification on my phone woke you.”

“No.” The single word punctured by strain, and he was reminded of the damage Brent Hayward had done all over again. “I can feel when you’re thinking about one of your cases in the middle of the night. You fidget a lot more, and your heart rate picks up.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the case.” Fire simmered beneath his skin, and he tugged his arm out from under her before swinging his legs over the end of the bed. Digging his fingers into the edge of the mattress, he tried to breathe through the betrayal tightening his throat. The bed creaked a split second before long fingers traced the ridges of his spine from the top of his neck to his lower back, and the muscles across his back hardened. She’d asked him to stay, but how long would it be before she went back to pretending the life they’d created together never existed? When they solved the case? Sooner? “You’ve gotten rid of any evidence she existed. No photos, no reminders, like she was nothing.”

The invisible path Arden had created with her fingers down his back slowed until she pulled away altogether, and a coldness he hadn’t expected surfaced. One breath. Two. “Lawson, please—”

“Help me understand.” He centered his chin over his left shoulder in order to keep her in his peripheral vision. “Tell me why pretending she was never part of our lives is better than facing the truth she’s not coming back.”

---