Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(8)

Not something. Holt.

Invisible claws dug into my chest, ones of grief and rage. But I’d mastered not letting that show. I could be in agony on the inside, and no one would know.

“Hey, Amber.” I smiled, but it was strained. I didn’t want to be a reminder of all she’d lost. But I wouldn’t look away from her grief either.

“Hi, Wren.”

My phone rang, and I instantly swiveled toward my computer monitors as I positioned my headset. “Cedar Ridge police, fire, and medical. What’s your emergency?”

“T-there’s someone here. I think they’re trying to break in.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my breathing in check as I glanced at the computer readout. “Is this Marion Simpson at five-two-two Huckleberry Court?”

“It’s me, Wren. They’re scratching at the door like they’re trying to pick the lock. Please send someone.”

“Stay on the line. I’m going to get someone out to you right now.” I clicked over to our radio system. “Reported 10-62 at 522 Huckleberry Court. Possible B and E in progress. Requesting officer response.”

A familiar voice cut across the line. “Officers Hartley and Vera responding. Let us know what we’re walking into.”

I switched back over to the call. “Ms. Simpson, are you home alone?”

“Y-yes.”

“Can you see who’s at your door?”

“No. I’m in my bedroom. I didn’t want to go down there.”

A loud banging sounded across the line, and my stomach twisted. “Stay where you are. I have two officers en route. They should be there momentarily.” If Nash was driving, they’d be there in under two minutes. But this was one circumstance where I didn’t mind his daredevil ways.

“Thank you, Wren.”

There was still a slight tremble in her voice, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been earlier.

“Of course. Do you have any weapons in the house?”

“Just my shotgun, but it’s downstairs in the gun safe.”

“Okay. Hold on for me. I’m going to give the officers a little more information.” I moved to the radio. “Marion Simpson is the only person in residence. The only reported weapon is a shotgun in a gun safe downstairs. She’s located upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Thanks, Little Williams. We’re less than a minute out. Stay on the line with her.”

“Will do.” I went back to the phone line. “Ms. Simpson, two officers will be there in less than a minute.”

“I’ve told you, Wren. Call me Marion.”

“Okay, Marion. What do you hear now?”

“I’m not sure… Rustling, I think. Is he getting in?”

God, I hoped not. “The officers are almost to your house.”

“I hear sirens,” Marion said, the line crackling. “They’re here.”

“That’s good. Just stay on the line with me.”

Shouts sounded from far off. I focused on keeping my breathing even, controlled. In for two, out for two.

“Oh, dear,” Marion mumbled.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to go.”

“Marion, don’t—” But the line had already clicked off. I called her back, but she didn’t answer. Then I opted to turn up the radio.

“Little Williams, you might want to call my brother.”

“Law?”

“Roan.”

I was already dialing his cell. “What’s going on?”

“I just tranqued a bear. Apparently, Ms. Simpson’s been feeding them.”

From his chair next to me, Abel cursed. “Is she a moron?”

“Oh, no!” Marion wailed. “Did you kill Yogi?”

“I gotta go,” Nash muttered.

My anxiety left me on the flood of an exhale. Then laughter bubbled up. “Keep feeding them, and they’ll be really annoyed when you stop.”

Abel took the phone from me. “I’ll call Roan and get Fish and Wildlife on it. You take your lunch.”

I glanced down at my watch. Only five minutes late. I pushed out of my chair and pressed a kiss to Abel’s cheek. “Thanks.”

He waved me off with a grumble, and I moved toward the front doors and sunlight. As I stepped outside, I took in a lungful of mountain air and the scent that would always mean home.

“Hey, girl,” Gretchen said with a big smile. My old classmate had a reusable shopping bag slung over her shoulder, currently stuffed full of produce.

I returned her grin. “Coming from the farmers market?”

She nodded. “Told Mom I’d make her favorite pasta primavera.”

“How’s she doing?”

Gretchen’s smile faltered for a moment. “She’s hanging in there, but her heart’s still struggling. We’re just making the most of all the days we have together.”

God, Gretchen had been through enough. Targeted the same night I was, she lived with those nightmares every day. But she never let them skew her outlook on life.

“Why don’t I bring you guys dinner next week? We can have a real catch-up,” I suggested.

Gretchen beamed. “That would be great, and Mom would love to see you.”