Page 112 of Monk

She ran. She fucking ran again.

I sat up fast. The blanket fell away from my chest as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room was bathed in warm light. Pale gold filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. I could hear birds outside. The distant sound of wind moving through the fields.

But inside the house? Pure silence.

I stood, my bare feet hitting the cool floor, and grabbed my jeans from where they’d been discarded last night. I yanked them on, not bothering with the button, and reached for my shirt before slipping both feet into my boots.

My mind was racing.

Where the hell did she go?

I was halfway to the door when I heard it. A sound, so faint and distant. The softclick-click-clickof fingers on a keyboard.I froze, my hand on the doorknob, and listened. There it was again. Typing. Coming from downstairs.

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction.

I pulled my shirt over my head and opened the bedroom door, stepping into the hallway.

The farmhouse was peaceful, still holding onto the last remnants of quiet before my daughter or David returned. Tatum’s door was closed. David’s too. I walked down the hallway, my boots silent on the worn wooden floor, and descended the stairs. The kitchen came into view first. And there she was.

My Lina. Sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open in front of her, her fingers flying across the keys. She was wearing a T-shirt—black, oversized, hanging off one shoulder—and a pair of jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She looked focused. Intense. Lost in whatever she was working on.

The afternoon light spilled through the kitchen window, bathing her in gold, and for a moment I just stood there at the bottom of the stairs and stared.

This is what I’ve been missing.

Not just her. Not just the sex or the passion or the way she made me feel alive. This. The quiet domesticity of waking up and finding her in the kitchen, working, existing in the same space as me. The knowledge that she washere.That she wasn’t running. That she was mine.

I walked into the kitchen, my boots making soft sounds on the tile floor.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t even flinch. Her eyes were locked on the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I stopped behind her chair and rested my hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, her fingers pausing mid-keystroke, and looked up at me. “Jesus, John,” she breathed, her hand coming up to rest over her heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t.

I liked catching her off guard. Liked the way her pulse jumped under my touch. “What are you working on?” I asked, my thumb brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking back to the screen. “The rape charge,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “I’m doing my own investigation.”

I frowned, leaning down to look at the screen over her shoulder. There were documents open—bank statements, text message screenshots, legal briefs. “Did you find something?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she replied, her tone careful. “I reached out to a contact of mine. Someone who’s good at digging up dirt.”

I straightened, my hand still resting on her shoulder.

“How good?”

“The best,” she said, glancing up at me. “If there’s something to find, she’ll find it.”

I nodded slowly, processing that. Lina wasn’t just defending me. She was going on the offensive. Hunting down the truth. Protecting me, the only way she knew how.

Fuck, I love this woman.“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, my voice rough as she turned in her chair to look at me fully, her expression fierce.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “You’re not going down for something you didn’t do. Not on my watch.”

I stared at her, my chest tightening. She was brilliant. Fierce. Relentless. And she was mine. I leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, claiming. When I pulled back, her eyes were dark, her lips parted. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

She nodded, her hand coming up to cup my jaw. “We’re in this together,” she said. “You and me. No matter what.”