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After all these years, she still wears them.
The sight ricochets through my heart like a bullet.
But before I can say a word, she’s plucking her duffel bag from my hand.
“It’ll be okay,” she says. “It’ll all be okay.” Her black, haunted eyes flick to mine. “Goodnight, Davis.”
The door shuts on me before I can say another word.
It’ll all be okay.
Bullshit. Nothing about this is okay.
Dakota’s forced words of bravado do nothing to instill confidence in me. No matter how much she wants to act like she has it handled, she doesn’t.
The only consolation I have right now is that she’s secure in the lodge, with me on guard.
An hour after the light in her room turns off, I stomp for the Bullshit Box, the place where I run all the ranch’s security operations. AKA another place for me and my brothers to bullshit.
I hate leaving Dakota alone, but I need a place to stew.
A place to dig.
When I get there, I head for my desk and take a seat. With my gaze on the computer monitor, I type Dakota McGraw into the search engine and scroll through the results.
Does the perfect cupcake exist? Yes, it does. And I found it at DC’s Milk & Honey, the boulangerie and bakery owned by pastry chef Dakota McGraw.
Accompanying the article is a photo of Dakota leaning back against a glass bakery case. She’s wearing a chef’s coat, her ebony hair cascading around her shoulders. On her red lips, a sly smile.
She looks proud. Happy.
She made it. She did it.
This photo isn’t new to me. I’ve looked at it a dozen times over the last two years. A reminder that she was meant to leave Resurrection. That I did the right thing by letting her go.
A rock wedges itself in my throat at the thought, but I clear it and focus on the task at hand.
Leaning back in my groaning metal chair, I keep scrolling until I find what I’m looking for. My attention lasers in on numerous articles fromTheWashington Post.
Fire Destroys Popular DC Bakery, Investigation Underway
Grease Fire at Milk & Honey Bakery Deemed Accidental
No Injuries in Midnight Bakery Blaze
Police Concerned for Well-being of Pastry Chef Dakota McGraw in Connection with Fire; Not Considered a Suspect
I rub a hand over my jaw. “Fuck.”
It’s good she’s back here. Resurrection will let her lie low. She can speak to the authorities and the insurance company over the phone. Because Dakota flying back to DC and being in the same state with the motherfucker who put hands on her is not happening.
If he comes after her, I have to be ready.
People go after the things they want. Especially when they’re out for vengeance. I’m not holding out hope that this guy miraculously fades into the ether.
To keep her safe, I have to keep her close.
Which means no surprises. Which means I plan.
