Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(35)

My pencil scratched across the pages as I listed everything Wren would need to secure this place. I swiped my thumb back and forth under my bottom lip as I studied the drawings, the list. Something was missing.

I twisted my head to the side, cracking my neck. The answer still didn’t come. I tossed the notebook onto the coffee table and returned to my duffel, searching for the smaller bag I had inside.

It didn’t look like much, just a small canvas pouch. But it had been my salvation more than once as my brain tortured me night after night. It gave me something to focus on. And I’d learned that it was a great way to puzzle through jobs or problems. My team had learned that whenever we were on a tough case and got stuck, they should leave me holed up in a room with my watches.

Unzipping the bag, I carefully dumped the contents onto the table. I always had a few different watches to choose from. Different eras and issues.

Tonight, I grabbed the one I’d picked up at a flea market in London. The timepieces came from anywhere and everywhere. Some had extravagant names like Rolex and Patek Philippe. Others were classics like Timex and Swatch.

This one looked as if it had been a kid’s first watch, maybe from the eighties. The art deco face held splashes of bright colors only slightly muted by the passage of time. The second hand ticked in a steady rhythm but stuck in the same spot.

I grabbed the set of tiny screwdrivers from my kit and set to work opening the back of the watch. Before long, I had it taken apart so I could assess the damage.

A floorboard creaked. I was on my feet in a flash, pulling the gun from the holster at my back.

A second later, Wren emerged from the hallway. Her eyes zeroed in on the weapon in my hand, and she swallowed hard.

Slowly, I moved to holster it again. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head, making her hair cascade over her shoulders in waves that I wanted to trace with my fingers. “No.”

“Sleep not coming easy?”

Wren huffed out a laugh. “Can’t imagine why. Triggering dispatch call, creepy lurker, oh, and my ex-boyfriend deciding to take up residence in my living room.”

“Hell of a day. Decide which of the three is the worst?”

She made a humming sound. “Still figuring that out.” Her gaze traveled to the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

I glanced down at the hobby that had become a lifeline. “Fixing a watch.”

Wren’s brows rose. “You can do that?”

“Fix clocks, too.” I inclined my head to the antique timepiece on her wall. “That’s four and a half minutes off, you know.”

“I don’t really use it to tell the time. That’s what my phone is for.”

I shrugged, but my fingers itched to grab it off the wall and get it running smoothly again. “Wouldn’t hurt to fix it anyway.”

“Who taught you how to do this?”

I sat back down on the couch. “No one, really. The internet is a beautiful thing sometimes.”

Wren eased forward a couple of steps. It wasn’t much, but to me, it felt like the world’s greatest victory.

“It’s a cool thing to teach yourself to do.”

I lifted my gaze to hers. “Want to see?”

Wren stilled, tension grabbing hold of her muscles. My lungs had a stranglehold on the air inside them, refusing to let go until I got her answer. She worried the side of her lip, that familiar little tell taking root in my chest.

“Okay.”





16





WREN





What the hell was I doing? This was the definition of a dumb-girl move. Like when the heroine of a slasher movie runs back into the house instead of going to her neighbor’s for help.

Yet here I was, sending myself into the killer’s den to get sliced and diced. And I couldn’t help but think that it would be worth it, just for a little more of that hopeful gleam in Holt’s eyes.

I lowered myself to the couch, putting as much distance between us as possible. It was a mistake. The second I entered his orbit, the scent of pine with a hint of spice swirled around me—part comforting hug, part brutal slash to my heart.

“What was wrong with this one?” I choked out. I had to focus on something else, anything but the memories warring to get free.

Holt’s gaze swept over my face, assessing. Even my best mask wasn’t enough because he would always read me like a book. No, it was more than that. He could sense what I was feeling, as if whispers of those same emotions radiated through him.

His eyes held mine for another beat, and then he turned back to the watch currently in pieces on the table. “This one has a sticky second hand.”

“So, it’s stuck in time?”

Holt nodded. “It ticks but doesn’t make any forward progress.”

“Like it’s living the same moment over and over again.” God, I knew how that felt. And it tended to be the worst one possible. The crushing blow of my eyes tracking over the words in Holt’s letter. The one that told me he was letting me go.

Holt shifted in his seat, his assessing gaze back to probe all my scars. “It happens more than you might think.”

There was a wealth of understanding in those words. And for the first time since Holt had returned, I felt a whisper of his emotions wash over me. He was trapped in the same prison, but his moment was different. Finding me on the bathroom floor. Not knowing if I was alive or dead.