Page 44 of Moonlit Hideaway
Sierra shrugged off her jacket and hung it in the closet. Then, she picked up a knitted afghan and wrapped it around herself. She lay down on the bed, making room for him, and it was all he could do not to rush in and hold her in his arms.
Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched her, his heart pounding. He’d never felt such a strong connection to anyone before, and he was willing to wait for her cue—to be whatever she needed.
“Hank, I’m scared.” Her voice was barely above a breath. “Not just of what might happen, but of how much I need you. It’s overwhelming.”
He leaned over and caressed her cheek. “I feel it, too.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He loved the feel of her skin—so soft and how she felt she could rely on him. He kissed her gently on her forehead and then rolled her into his arms. In his embrace, she relaxed, her body molding against his.
“You make me feel safe, Hank. I can face anything as long as you’re by my side.”
He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers. “And you make me feel alive, Sierra. Like everything I’ve ever wanted is right here in my arms.”
And so, he held her in his arms and let her troubled soul rest, sure she hadn’t been sleeping well since her father’s death. She’d been on the run too long, and he’d been lost in the maelstrom of grief—going through the motions of living. And in Sierra, he’d not only found a reason to truly live, but an ember of hope burned in his breast. Her courage and spirit stirred something inside him he thought long dead—hope—a chance to love again, even with danger on the horizon.
He wondered what Chloe would think, with him and Sierra lying down together on her daybed in her sewing room, and all he could conjure was sweet approval and a gentle hand on his back—her voice whispering for him to let go of the pain and guilt. And maybe, this time, he’d do better—he’d stick to the woman he loved no matter where she wanted to go and how high her dreams took her.
In his arms, she slept, her breath slowing and her body soft and restful. Hank’s chest swelled with a feeling he hadn’t dared acknowledge until now.
His heart was alive again, yearning and beating toward a new tomorrow.
Chapter Sixteen
Sierra’s heart pounded as she and Hank approached the Hattokwa Island police station. With its weathered shingles and charming shutters, the rustic building did little to ease her deep-rooted aversion to law enforcement, ingrained by her family’s shady dealings.
She tried to relax as they walked in, but her nerves had been frayed since the day her father passed away.
Inside, the space was cramped and sparse, with three metal desks crammed into the front room. A small holding cell with iron bars stood empty in the back. Sheriff Ruth Davis sat at the largest desk behind a dispatcher and the deputy.
All three looked up, and Sierra felt their scrutinizing gazes. Davis stood and waved them over. She didn’t seem as friendly as when she’d interviewed Sierra about the break-in. No doubt, she’d had time to review her family’s mob connections.
“Mr. Whitman, Ms. Romanski,” she said, gesturing to the two chairs across her desk. The other two officers glared at her as if she were a plague-bearing dog.
Sweat prickled on Sierra’s brow as she perched on the edge of the seat. She’d put on light makeup, no longer able to hide as plain Jane Dolan now that the word would get out about heridentity. She felt Hank squeeze her hand, reassuring her, and she gave him a grateful smile. His solid presence was the only thing keeping her from bolting.
“Liam Walsh is still on the island,” Ruth said without preamble. “He’s not forthcoming about why he’s here or how he found you.”
Sierra sucked in a breath. There was no more hiding or pretending. “Liam works for my father’s organization—the Romanskis. I didn’t recognize him at first because we were both children the last time I saw him. However, it seems he is a roving contractor. He must have tracked me here, or someone told him I was here.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed, her demeanor shifting from official to protective. “How dangerous is he? What does he want with you?”
Sierra’s voice faltered as she replied, “He’s not high-ranking, but he’s dangerous in his own right. A lookout, a snitch, and possibly more.”
Ruth’s focus intensified. “Why the confrontation earlier?”
Hank leaned forward. “He was arguing with Sierra over a scarf he claims to have found. But we suspect he broke into her truck. Can you get a search warrant?”
“I need evidence.” Ruth shook her head. “Or something I can use to lean on him.”
“He told me he took my things to keep me here,” Sierra said. “But he said he’d return them before leaving the island.”
“He hasn’t left, has he?” Hank asked.
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “No, but I want to know the danger he poses. Who do you think he’s working for?”
At that, Sierra and Hank glanced at each other. Sierra wished the two other officers weren’t in hearing range, and Hank’s expression darkened into a glower.
The sheriff sat back, her eyes thoughtful. “This is bigger than I thought. I suggest we move to the interrogation room for privacy.”
