Shadows of You (Lost & Found #4)(79)

I arched a brow at him. “I don’t know about that. I’ve seen you with some stage-five clingers.”

That glare turned to me. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

Nash burst out laughing. “That’s cold.”

I just shook my head, but my lips twitched. “You guys were always on me to participate, join in. Careful what you wish for.”

“Don’t worry, I’m regretting it right about now,” Lawson muttered.

A knock sounded on the open door, and Sheriff Jenkins stepped inside. “Afternoon.”

“Bruce,” Lawson greeted.

“Law,” he said in return, taking a seat. “How are things around here?”

“Quiet,” Lawson said. “I don’t like it.”

Sheriff Jenkins frowned. “I get it. That prickle at the back of your neck that says this isn’t over.”

Lawson nodded.

Nash set his bag of chips down. “Maybe the vet and Luisa are wrong. If the knife marks aren’t actually a match, then this death could be an isolated incident. Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing.”

Sheriff Jenkins let out a low whistle. “Don’t be letting Luisa hear you think she got it wrong.”

Lawson chuckled. “I’ve learned my lesson once before.”

The corner of Sheriff Jenkins’ mouth kicked up. “I’ve done the same. Won’t make the mistake twice.”

“It was just a thought,” Nash grumbled.

“Or someone’s waiting for the heat to die down before they make another move,” I said.

Sheriff Jenkins glanced at me. “I’d guess that’s more likely. I saw the photos of the body. This was either extremely personal or someone with a taste for killing.”

I nodded and turned to Lawson. “Did you get ahold of Anson?”

Lawson’s mouth thinned. “Yeah.”

“Who’s Anson?” the sheriff asked.

“An old friend of mine who used to be a profiler with the FBI.”

Nash scoffed. “Can you call him a friend when he tells you to screw off whenever you get in touch?”

Lawson pinned him with a stare. “He went through a lot during his time with the bureau. Wants away from that world. I get it. I could just really use his insight right about now.”

“I take it he wasn’t eager to help?” Sheriff Jenkins asked.

Lawson shook his head. “He hung up on me.”

Nash chuckled.

“Hell,” Lawson muttered. “He might be broodier than Roan used to be.”

I scowled at my brother. “You’re an asshole.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. A text flashed on the screen.

Tender Heart



I got something at The Brew. I think it might be from John.





I was on my feet in a flash, moving for the door.

“What the hell, Roan?” Lawson asked, getting to his feet.

“Aspen.”

It was the only thing I said, and it was all my brothers needed. They followed me out the door and through the police station.

Blood roared in my ears as I shoved open the door and stepped out into the sunlight. The brightness didn’t do a thing to warm the frigid ice swimming through my veins.

“What happened?” Lawson clipped.

I shoved my phone at him, and he cursed as he read the text message. “She’s fine. She’s at The Brew. Safe.”

My gut churned. He didn’t know that for sure. We had no clue what was in play.

Fury pulsed through me as I picked up to a jog.

Lawson grabbed my arm. “You need to pull it together. Going in there like this will freak her out.”

I struggled to get my breathing under control, but each inhale and exhale was painful. “This asshole tried to kill her,” I gritted out.

“And he’s locked up in prison,” Nash reminded me.

“He got out a damned letter. Whatever he sent her today. What else can he do?”

The panic reared up, nearly taking me to my knees.

Lawson’s eyes widened. “You love her.”

My mouth snapped closed. I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was.

“You’re just figuring that out?” Nash clipped. “Of course, he loves her. Roan doesn’t like to spend more than an hour with anyone, and he’s been living in her house for weeks.”

Something shifted in my chest. A painful rearranging of muscle and bone. And as it moved, a deep knowledge settled into place.

I was in love with Aspen Barlow. Her daughter, too. And if anything happened to either of them, I’d never survive.





39





ASPEN





I stared at the flowers on the counter. I didn’t want to touch them. Even to throw them in the trash.

I hated that John was winning. That he still had the power to terrify me. Anger surged so fast and fiercely it nearly stole my breath. And on its heels came a burning behind my eyes—the pressure of tears. But I refused to let them fall.

The bell over the door jingled, and I swung around as if John himself might walk through those doors. But it wasn’t him.

Fury had carved itself into Roan’s face as he stalked toward me. Most people would’ve taken a step back, trembled even. But Roan’s anger was comforting in a way. It told me he cared.