Page 101 of Freeing Lark

“Decide what I can handle.” He stood there silently. She set the book aside and rose. “I know you want to protect me.”

“I do.”

“But keeping me ignorant isn’t going to make me safer.”

Hoot rubbed a hand over his jaw. She was right. He hated that she was right. “There were four dead men in the woods,” he finally said.

Her face paled. “The men from the island?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed. “And the fifth?”

“Missing.”

Her eyes met his. “Then he’s still out there.”

“Possibly.” Hoot crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly, knowing there was no way to promise her that everything would be okay. So he didn’t.

He needed to have the conversation about her protection with her, but needed more time to think of a way to break it to her. Instead, he simply held her and said the only thing he could. “We’re going to find him before he finds you.”

CHAPTER 33

The nagging feeling had been with Lark for days. She couldn’t put a name to it, which made it worse.

Something had changed. Not between her and Cormac. If anything, that had become frighteningly good. They’d spent every night together since their first time, and each morning she woke with the same sense of wonder that this man had somehow become hers—or perhaps she’d become his.

Cormac’s shoulder was healing, too. He exercised it carefully every day, gradually gaining more range of motion. She’d caught him doing the exercises more than once and teased him about being incapable of sitting still.

But something else was happening. He was worried. She could see it in the way his jaw tightened when his phone rang. In the way his eyes sometimes went distant when he thought she wasn’t watching. In the way the guys from Condor’s Overwatch kept dropping by.

Nobody said anything. Which, naturally, made Lark suspicious. She’d asked Cormac repeatedly what was going on. He always gave her some version of, “We’re handling it.”

She hated those words. They reminded her far too much of her family. She’d spent her entire life being told that other people knew what was best for her. She wasn’t going to start living that way again. Especially not now that she’d finally built a life that belonged to her.

Her store was still waiting. She needed to get back there soon if she intended to open on schedule. Artists were waiting to bring in their work. The co-op space needed organizing. And, most importantly, her Liberty Bell still wasn’t finished. She couldn’t put her life on hold any longer.

Which was why, on a beautiful, clear morning several days later, Lark wandered into the kitchen and found Cormac pouring coffee. “I think today is the day.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “The day for what?”

“The bell.”

The expression on his face changed instantly. “No.”

Lark blinked. She’d expected concern. Maybe an argument. Not a flat refusal. “No?”

“You’re not going to the island.”

Her fingers tightened around the mug she’d just picked up. “I’m sorry?” she asked, unable to believe her ears.

Cormac set down the coffee pot. “You heard me.”

Something hot and familiar began crawling up her spine. “I need to finish my work.”

“Then work somewhere else.”

“The bell is on the island.”