Page 15 of Mountain Protector

My fingers convulse around his. My breathing quickens. That dreaded band around my chest tightens again.

“Lark.” Knox looks at me, understanding and empathy in his gaze. “Do you want me to leave? Or stay with you?”

Is it cowardly to ask him to stay? Shouldn’t I be able to handle some questions on my own?

The answer to both is yes. But I can’t make myself say it. Instead, I whisper through a narrowing throat, “Stay. Please.” And after a beat, realizing how pathetic I sound, I add, “But if you have somewhere else to go?—”

“I don’t.” His response is immediate. Certain. “I want to stay here with you.” Then he turns back to Officer Quillian. “I won’t interfere with your questions. But I’m staying with Lark.”

A small smile touches Officer Nelson’s lips as she answers for her partner. “It’s fine, Knox. I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Officer Quillian pulls a small notebook from his pocket and flips it open. In his other pocket, he retrieves a bright pink pen topped with a tiny spray of sparkly feathers. It’s so incongruous to the rest of his appearance, I can’t help staring at it.

He catches the direction of my gaze and smiles, a bigone that lights up his face and brings a softness to his expression. “It’s from my niece,” he explains. “She’s seven. And she gave it to me for my birthday this year, very insistent that I take it to work with me. So”—he gives a little shrug—“here it is. Ruining my very serious police officer demeanor.”

I return his smile with a small one of my own. “I like it. It’s very colorful. And sparkly.”

“That it is.” There’s a pause, and then his posture stiffens. “So, Miss Weber. I hate to rush into this, but if we’re going to find this guy, we need as much information as possible.”

My heart lurches into my throat. “You didn’t find him?”

“Not yet.” He frowns. “But we’re working on it. There’s a team dusting your house for fingerprints and searching for evidence as we speak. We’ll need access to your security footage—I noticed you have cameras at both doors—and anything else you have.”

“The alarm didn’t go off,” I tell him. “I don’t know why. It’s always set at night.”

“How did you know he was in the house?” Officer Nelson asks.

“I was up late reading. Usually I go to bed around ten, ten-thirty. But it was such a good book, I kept reading. I was just about to go to sleep when I heard the sound. A creak. At first, I thought the house was settling…”

And from there, I tell them everything. About how I was sure the sound was nothing, but I wanted to be sure. And how I took the gun, feeling kind of silly about it, truly not believing I’d have to use it.

I outline in meticulous detail everything I can remember about the altercation in the hallway. The man’s dark clothing—black I thought, but on further reflection, it could have been dark gray or blue—his height, nearly as tall as Knox, and even the Vermont inflection to his words.

When I recall those terrifying moments when the intruder shot me, Knox bites out a low curse, and his features turn stony. And when I talk about shooting the intruder, Officer Nelson gives me an approving glance, the first sign that I might not be in trouble, as Knox said.

By the time I wrap up my story, plus stopping every minute or so to answer additional questions, I’m wiped. But it’s a jittery kind of exhaustion, like I haven’t slept for days and just downed three energy drinks in a row. I’m still clutching Knox’s hand, but he hasn’t tried to remove it, instead giving me tiny, comforting squeezes as I talk.

“Well,” Officer Quinlan says after taking another quick glance at his notebook. “I think we’re good for now. If we think of any other questions for you, Miss Weber?—”

I give him a tired smile as I interrupt him. “I think at this point, it’s okay if you call me Lark.”

“Okay.” He smiles back. “Officially, I’m still Officer Quillian. But outside of my police duties, you can call me Patrick. Or Pat.”

“And I’m Sage,” Officer Nelson adds. “In case I see you around town.”

“What about Lark’s safety?” Knox asks, bypassing the niceties and cutting straight to the point. “With thisman still out there… and Lark’s house is a crime scene…”

Oh. It’s a kick to the chest. I hadn’t thought about the logistics of where I’ll go. But Knox has a point. How can I go home when the police are checking for evidence and—oh, God—there’s probably blood on the floor…

“I’d recommend Miss Weber—Lark—find a safe place to stay. Someplace with plenty of security.” Focusing on me, Officer Quillian adds, “If you don’t have anywhere to go, we can set you up at a hotel?—”

“Like the one you sent Winter to?” Knox asks, a bite to his voice.

“Wedidn’t send her to the motel,” Officer Nelson replies calmly. “And no. We would make arrangements at one of the places right in Bliss. The Blissful Bed and Breakfast or the Village Hotel.”

Knox scowls. “Those aren’t safe. An amateur could break into either of those, no problem.”

“Well, maybe I could stay at my dad’s,” I start. “He’s in Montpelier, and his house has a full security system.”

---