Page 63 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
But the questions were just beginning.
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Chapter Fifteen
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Lily stepped inside Griff’s house, the door shutting quietly behind them as Griff locked up and set the security system. She slipped out of her coat, her movements slow, her limbs heavy with the kind of weight that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with what they’d left behind.
Griff didn’t speak as he hung his jacket on the peg next to hers. He just stood there for a moment, one hand braced on the back of his neck, his eyes distant.
She knew where his mind was.
It was in that office, in the flash of movement, the crack of the gun, the way the man had fallen.
Griff had pulled the trigger. He’d taken a life.
And though he’d had no choice, though that man would’ve killed them both without hesitation, it didn’t make it easier.
Lily wasn’t immune to the aftermath either. She hadn’t fired the fatal shot, but the sounds, the heat, the pressure of it all—it still clung to her skin like smoke. And even though she knew Griff had done what needed to be done, she could see the weight of it on his shoulders.
Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Or at least they did until Griff worked the keypad next to the door and the curtains slid shut.
“We don’t know who hired that man I killed,” he muttered.
That caused Lily’s stomach to knot even more. Because he was right. They’d identified the guy. Wes Danner. Thirty-six. A rap sheet for B&E and assault. Last known job was as a bouncer. Danner didn’t have any connections to Catherine or Everett so, yes, someone had hired him. No way could he tell though since he was dead.
Now, they would have to deal with the fallout.
That “fallout” had started when Hallie had ordered them both to go home. Standard protocol when there was a fatal officer-involved shooting. There’d be an investigation, statements, paperwork, a review of the footage and timeline. Hallie didn’t expect to find anything wrong in what they’d done. Lily didn’t either. But procedure was procedure.
And that meant, for now, they were grounded.
Not that either of them was going to get any real rest.
Griff finally turned toward the kitchen. His voice was low, a little raw. “I want a drink,” he muttered.
Lily followed him without a word, grateful for something as normal as that.
They moved into the kitchen, the silence between them stretching—but not uncomfortably. It was the kind of quiet that came after chaos, when the adrenaline wore off and only the weight of the day remained.
Griff headed toward one of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a bottle of high-end scotch. The glass was thick, the label aged and expensive. He poured a small measure into a tumbler, then glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Want one?” he asked.
Lily shook her head. “Never been much of a drinker.”
He winced slightly, lowering the bottle. “Right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She knew what he meant. Her parents, the years of alcohol-fueled chaos and violence. But she waved it off with a quick shrug.
“By all means,” she said. “Have your scotch. It doesn’t bother me.”
As he took a slow sip, she opened the pantry and found what she’d spotted earlier: a chocolate bar tucked beside a box of protein bars and instant oatmeal. She held it up, silently asking.
Griff gave her a nod. “Help yourself.”
Lily unwrapped it and broke off a square, the rich cocoa melting on her tongue. They stood there in the kitchen—him with a glass of scotch, her with chocolate—both too wired to sleep, too bruised by the day to talk much.
