Page 41 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Hudson.

Of course he was here. The certainty of the thought caught her off guard.

He was leaning against the far wall, arms folded, talking to one of the nurses. When he saw her, he broke away immediately. His expression changed the instant he saw her.

Some small, clenched part of her released. It lasted less than a second, but it annoyed her that the morning felt fractionally less impossible.

“You’re up early,” she said, instead of what she was really thinking.

His dark hair looked as though he’d pushed a hand through it more than once that morning. “So are you. Owen called. I came straight over. Word travels fast through federal channels when something happens near an active case. How is he?”

“About to find out.”

Hudson nodded. “All right.”

Nothing more. No promise that Petey would be fine. He fell into step beside her as though there had never been any question.

17

Hudson was behind Sarah when they reached Petey’s room.

She slowed and turned to Walter. “Give us five minutes.”

He nodded and positioned himself next to the door. “I’ll be right here.”

Before she went in, she stilled for the smallest fraction of a second. A transition, the visible work of a woman putting something down. The woman from the stables slipping away behind the badge.

Hudson didn’t say anything about it, but he respected the hell out of watching her do it.

He opened the door, sweeping the room before Sarah crossed the threshold. Nurse. Window latched. Bathroom door open. No blind corners.

He stepped aside. “Clear.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t remark on it as she walked in.

Petey was propped up against a stack of pillows that didn’t suit him at all, one eye swollen dark purple and nearly shut. His right arm was in a cast from wrist to elbow, the hospital gown doing nothing to disguise how much smaller he looked than he had on the cannery dock. His feet stuck out from the bottom of the sheet, wearing disposable hospital socks that looked ridiculous on a man who wore steel-toed boots. A nurse was adjusting his IV line.

“There they are.” Petey’s voice came out rough but unmistakably his own. “Took you long enough.”

“Petey.” Sarah crossed to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck that turned out to be a person.” He shifted, winced and tried to sit up further.

The nurse put a hand on his good shoulder without even looking up from the line she was checking. “I told you to stay flat.”

He frowned at her. “I’ve been flat for two hours. I’ve got pipes that need draining before the freeze sets in proper, and I’m lying here like a⁠—”

“Petey,” Sarah said again, gentler this time, “the pipes can wait.”

“That’s what Seattle said about the sump pump, and look how that turned out.”

The nurse clicked her tongue but smiled at Sarah. “Five minutes only. He needs to rest.” The thin hospital curtain whispered along its track behind her as she left.

Hudson stepped aside to let her past, then remained by the door, giving Sarah space.

“Did anyone check the cannery doors?” Petey said. “East entrance sticks if you don’t lock it right. Anybody could walk through there tonight and I wouldn’t know it from in here.”

Hudson’s stomach tightened. Petey thought he was talking about pipes. But this sounded like a man worrying that he’d left his home undefended.