Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(24)

“Shit, he’s running out the back. I’m in pursuit,” Clint clipped.

Footsteps sounded.

“I’ll get to Jane,” Amber said.

I struggled to keep my voice even as I unmuted myself on the phone. “Jane, he ran out the back. Amber is coming to the closet now.”

A knock sounded.

“Y-you’re sure it’s her?”

“Jane, it’s Amber. I’m going to open the closet door. Think you can climb out of the crawl space?”

Tears filled the line. “I-I can get out.”

Shuffling filled the line, and then the sound of tears as Amber let out an oof. “It’s okay, Jane. I’ve got you.”

The girl only cried harder.

Abel motioned to me. “Tell Jane her dad’s on his way.”

“Did you hear that? Your dad’s on his way.”

I could barely make out the “thank you” as she continued to sob. “I’ve got her now. You can disconnect, Wren.”

My finger hovered over the button to end the call as if I couldn’t be sure that Jane would really be all right.

Abel leaned over and hit it for me, startling me out of my frozen state. Concern filled his eyes. “You okay?”

I nodded as I jerked to my feet, tearing off my headset. “Gonna take my ten.”

“Wren—”

But I was already moving. Everything blurred around me as I wove through the desks, desperate for a hit of mountain air and to not feel as if the walls were closing in around me.

My lungs burned as visions of faces twisted with hatred whirled in my mind. The sound of taunting and destruction filled my ears—the feeling of white-hot pain in my chest.

I tore through the front doors and onto the sidewalk, colliding with a tall, broad form. Arms came around to steady me. It wasn’t the body I recognized or even the hands. Those were so different from all those years ago.

It was the scent—pine with a hint of spice and a little something else that I’d never been able to identify but had always meant Holt to me. One that always felt like home.





9





HOLT





It shouldn’t have felt this good to have Wren in my arms—not when I could feel the panic rolling off her in waves.

The moment she realized that I was the one holding her, she jerked out of my grasp. It cut. I deserved it, but I felt the bite of it anyway.

Worry quickly replaced the hurt. I had trained for a decade in ways that guaranteed my ability to take in a scene and process it in a split second. Wren’s face was so pale it was almost translucent, her hands trembled as she wrapped them around herself, and her breathing was far too quick.

“What happened, Cricket?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

It might’ve been anger, but at least it was something. It wasn’t the cool indifference of last night, or the anxious panic of mere seconds ago. I’d take anger over those two any day.

I stared at the face I still knew by heart. I would’ve known Wren anywhere—even with fuller cheeks and lighter hair. She could’ve looked completely different, and my soul would’ve somehow managed to pick her out of a crowd.

“Tell me what happened.” It wasn’t a question, but it was still spoken with as much softness as I could manage with the need to know what had caused this fear in her pulsing through me.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Wren turned to go, but I grabbed her wrist to stop her. My grasp was gentle, but it didn’t matter, the feel of her skin against mine burned through me—a wildfire of want and grief, mixing into a deadly concoction.

She tugged her hand free of my hold. “You can drop the good-guy act. It’s just me. You don’t have to pretend to care.”

My back molars ground together. “I’m not trying to put on any act.” The idea that I was a good man had long since dissipated. I had too much blood on my hands. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

Wren looked as if I’d slapped her. Then, a second later, her mask was back in place. “Sure as hell could’ve fooled me.”

She took off down the street as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

But the look on her face was still so vivid in my mind. A branding iron of betrayal.

I moved to the station. Wren might hate me, but I still needed to know what had spooked her so badly.

Pushing open the door, I stepped inside to a cacophony of sound. A handful of officers were scattered around, talking to each other in raised voices. My gaze scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, one who might tell me something.

“Holt.”

I turned at Nash’s voice, not missing the lack of easygoing amusement on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with search and rescue?”

Nash’s jaw tensed. “Law and I had to turn back. Call in town.”

“What kind of call?” It must have been bad to get them to leave their SAR team down two men.

He inclined his head to the side, and we moved down the hall. “Break-in at Dale Clemmons’ place. Their teenaged daughter was home alone.”

Everything in me stilled. “She okay?”

“Thankfully, yes. The intruder took off into the woods. We’re organizing a search now.”