His free hand cups my face. The question is clear in his gaze even if his voice doesn’t speak it.
I lean in and kiss him.
The kiss isn’t tentative or slow. He lets go of my other hand, and I clutch the front of his jacket. His other hand goes to the small of my back, pulling me closer. I rise on my toes.
The low sound he makes shoots straight through me. Heat flares low in my belly. I want to stay right here with him, wrapped in pine-scented cold air and the steady strength of his body.
My phone rings.
We both go still. One beat. Two.
His forehead drops to mine. “Blocked number?”
I already know it is. He does too, from how rigid I’ve gone. Still, I glance at the screen.
Blocked number.
Logan touches my shoulder. “Don’t answer.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
The phone rings twice more, then stops. The silence feels heavier now, charged.
“We’re not done with this,” he says.
All I can manage is a nod, but I lean into him.
“Let’s go home,” he says.
Home. The word steals my breath, but too much is happening for me to fully unpack it right now.
We drive back to his cabin. My phone doesn’t ring again.
Logan checks the perimeter with a calmness that soothes something deep inside me. He knows what he’s doing. I’m safe here.
I make tea. He drinks it. We sit at the kitchen table with the lights dimmed, the curtains drawn, working through what comes next: the warrant, the stop, and the contingency plans if Chaz Volkov moves before the warrant lands. I ask sharp questions. He answers them.
We finish around midnight.
He checks each door and window again, then turns off the kitchen light.
“The bathroom’s across the hall from the bedroom you picked. There’s a switch by the bed that turns the porch light on if you need to see the driveway. Tomorrow, you can work the morning shift. Reeves should have the warrant by noon.”
“Thanks. And Logan…”
He stops in the hallway. “Yeah?”
“I would do it differently if I could.”
“The auction?”
“Everything.”
“Same,” he says. “But we’re here together now. Let’s put the regret behind us.”
I lie in the second bedroom in the dark with the door cracked three inches and the porch light off. The sound of the river rushing down the slope fills the room. I’ve heard that river my entire life, but tonight it sounds different.
Maybe that’s because I’ve finally stopped running.
