Page 47 of Shea's Hero

“No, it’s fine.” I replace the pillow on the couch and move to meet her. As soon as I’m close enough, I pull her into my arms, hugging her body against mine. A surge of relief sweeps through me so quickly it steals my breath, and I just close my eyes and breathe in Shea’s familiar scent until I can trust myself to speak.

Shea twines her arms around my waist and tucks her head beneath my chin. “The pillows are fine? Or you’re fine?”

“Both.” My fingers comb through her silky hair, gently combing out the tangles. “I’m fine. And I was just fixing the pillows for you. They were a little messed up.”

Tilting her head back to meet my gaze, she gives me an assessing look. Then her little smile reappears. “It’s kind of therapeutic, isn’t it? Doing the pillow chop.”

My own lips twitch. “Actually, yes. I can see the appeal.”

“Yeah.” Shea covers her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m still tired.”

As I guide her to the couch, I answer, “Because you’ve been through a lot today, and your body is still recovering.”

“Oliver.” There’s a scolding note in her tone. “I just woke up. I don’t need to lie down again.”

“You’re not.” Gently tugging her onto the couch, I pull a throw off the back of it and tuck it over her bare legs. “You’re sitting. That’s different.”

Shea narrows her eyes at me and her nose crinkles. “I don’t need to sit, either. I was going to find something to eat. And maybe put some laundry in. Plus, I’d like to vacuum since there were so many people here earlier.”

Scooting close to her, I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “You need to rest. I can take care of all that.”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” She glances at the window. The sun hangs low in the sky, maybe an hour short of setting. “Crap. Oll. Your shift went until three. Did you get in trouble for leaving early?”

“No. Of course not.” I can tell what Shea’s doing. It’s common for people who’ve been through a traumatic experience. They try to occupy their mind with small tasks and details so they don’t have to deal with whatever bad stuff just happened. It’s not necessarily a bad thing in the short term, but there are thingswe need to talk about first. And I don’t want Shea exhausting herself with cleaning when she’s still recovering from a massive adrenaline dump, plus the aftereffects of the drug she was given.

“The captain understood,” I continue. “He wasn’t upset at all. And he gave me the day off tomorrow to stay with you, too.”

Not like I was going to ask for permission to leave. Once I got Shea’s call, nothing could have stopped me from going to her. Fortunately, I was helping with the DARE program at the elementary school, so I didn’t have to worry about finding someone else to cover. I just sprinted to my car and floored it all the way here, breaking at least five laws on the way over.

Shea snuggles into me, draping her legs across mine. It’s such a familiar position—we used to always sit like this before—my throat goes thick for a second. “You’re off tomorrow, too?”

“Yes. I thought—” I stop myself. That’s about five steps further ahead. “Well. I’ll get to that. But first, I want to talk to you about some stuff.”

She stiffens. After a brief hesitation, she says, “Right. Do you have any news? Did the police find the guy who attacked me?”

“Not yet.” There’s that guilt again. Part of me thinks I should be out there, trying to find him. But that would mean leaving Shea, and that’s something I’m not willing to do. Even though I know the guys at Blade and Arrow would protect her, and all my other friends have volunteered to stand guard as well, it’s not the same.

“Oh.” Disappointment tinges her voice. “Well. I guess it hasn’t been that long, has it?”

Long enough. Long enough to discover that the disguise was effective enough to foil any efforts at using facial recognition to identify him. Long enough to find the real delivery driver unconscious and stripped down to his underwear, with no memory of anything other than a masked man jumping himwhile he tried to deliver the mail to a house on the outskirts of town.

And it’s been long enough to know we’re still not close to solving this case.

It’s maddening, really. With all the people helping, with all my own experience, we should have something by now. We shouldn’t be spinning our wheels while the threat to Shea escalates.

I’m not saying any of that, though. Instead, I force a smile that I hope looks reassuring as I reply, “No, it hasn’t. We’ll find him.”

“What about the real delivery man? Is he okay?”

“Yes. A concussion, but he’ll make a full recovery.”

She exhales. “Oh, good.” A beat, and then, “Was there anything on the security footage? Any clue?”

“Not that we’ve found, but we’re still looking. The police are canvassing the neighborhood, talking to your neighbors. Leo is checking the traffic light cameras. And my friend Ben, he’s a paramedic for the Sleepy Hollow Ambulance Corp, but also a white-hat hacker. He volunteered to search through satellite images in the area to see if he can find anything.”

“Okay.” Shea pauses. “So that’s good, right? With all those people, they’ve got to find something.”

“I’m sure. And while the White Plains PD has jurisdiction here, my department works with them a lot. They’ll make sure to keep me in the loop.”

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