Beckett sighs heavily. “Duty.”
He leans in just enough to stage-whisper to me, “This is already my favorite call.”
Then he jogs off before I can decide whether murder in uniform is technically against policy.
Lark watches him go. “Is everyone in your life like that?”
“Only the exhausting ones.”
“And there are multiple?”
“Unfortunately.”
That one does make her mouth move. Not quite a smile. Close enough to be dangerous.
I glance toward the inn one more time, then back to her. “You got anything inside you need tonight?”
“Phone charger. Bag. Dog food.”
The dog huffs like he resents being reduced to a supply line.
“I’ll get it,” I say.
Her chin lifts again immediately. “I can do it.”
“I know you can.”
That one makes her pause. Maybe because it isn’t a challenge. Maybe because it isn’t pity. Just a fact.
I nod toward the side entrance. “Tell me what room.”
“The first-floor bedroom in the back.”
“Stay here.”
Her eyes narrow. “That went so well the first time.”
I almost smile. “Stay where I can see you, then.”
The correction settles better.
I head inside. The first floor smells like old wood, mildew, smoke, and the harsh bite of whatever cleaning product she’s already been using. Windows stand open in a few rooms. A contractor bag sits near the foyer wall. A stack of supplies crowds the hallway. She’s barely arrived and she’s already been working.
Of course she has.
The back bedroom is exactly where she says it is—less destroyed than the rest of the floor but still rough enough that the idea of anyone sleeping here tonight makes my jaw tighten. The mattress is stripped. One lamp sits on the floor. A folded blanket and a duffel bag rest near the wall. Dog food and a bowl are tucked into the attached bath.
I grab the bag, the charger from the bedside, the food, the bowl. Then I stop for one second and look around. This room is not temporary in the way she wants it to be. It’s survival. Barely.
I walk back out with my arms full and shoulder the side door open. Lark is exactly where I left her. Still near the porch. Still gripping the last of her dignity with all the force she can muster.
I hand her the bag.
“Our five-star accommodations await.”
That gets a real look from her. Assessing. Caught somewhere between offense and humor.
“Is that your attempt at charm?”
