Page 9 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“This Ryan Caine. How dangerous is she?”

Grant’s jaw tightened. “Very. She was one of Detroit’s best tactical officers before she went bad. Trained in weapons, hand-to-hand, special operations. No conscience left.”

“And she’s after you because…?”

“Because I arrested the man she loves. Eduardo Diaz—major drug dealer in Detroit. She crossed the line for him, and I turned her in. Then I brought him down. He’s serving life. She’s been trying to kill me ever since.”

Colt applied a bandage to a particularly deep cut on Grant’s cheek. “And now she thinks you and Liza are together?”

Grant looked at Liza’s unconscious face. “We just met. But Caine isn’t sane. In her mind, she could think any number of things.”

Liza stirred. A soft moan escaped her lips, and her hand moved to her head.

Grant was beside her instantly, kneeling by the couch. “Easy. Don’t move too fast.”

Her eyes fluttered open—dark and unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening. “What…?” She looked around, confusion and fear warring on her face. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” Grant said, keeping his voice calm. “You’re in the apartment above the sheriff’s office. I’m Grant, remember? And this is Colt O’Hara—he’s a doctor.”

“The bakery.” Her voice was hoarse. “There were gunshots.”

“That’s right.” Grant’s hand found hers. “You got hit with some debris when I pulled you down. You’ve been unconscious for almost half an hour.”

“Blaze?” The worry in her eyes was immediate.

“On his way to the hospital,” Colt said, moving to sit on the coffee table so she could see him without turning her head. “Shoulder wound. He’ll need surgery, but he’s going to be fine.”

Relief washed across her face. “Anyone else?”

“No,” Grant said. “Just you and Blaze.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, processing. When she opened them again, they were clearer, more focused. “I feel like someone used my head for batting practice.”

“Concussion,” Colt said. “You’re going to have a headache for a while. Maybe some nausea. I need you to rest, stay quiet, minimal stimulation for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Okay.” She started to sit up, then clearly thought better of it. “Who shoots up a bakery on a Tuesday morning? This is Laurel Valley, not Detroit.”

The way she said it—like she was trying to make sense of something that made no sense—hit Grant harder than it should have.

Colt stood. “I’m going to head to the hospital, make sure Blaze gets into surgery okay. Grant, keep an eye on her. Any changes—vision problems, vomiting, increasing confusion—you call me immediately.” He handed Grant a card with his number. “I’ll have someone swing by with something for that headache.”

After Colt left, silence filled the apartment. Grant stayed kneeling beside the couch, very aware that Liza was watching him.

“This was about you,” she said. Not a question.

He nodded.

“You know who did it.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

Despite everything, Grant felt his mouth twitch. Even with a concussion, even scared, she had fight in her. He pulled out his phone and showed her the text.

Liza stared at the photo of herself on the screen. At the message below it. Her stomach turned, and not just from the concussion.

Pretty girl. Would hate for her to have an accident.