Page 54 of Freeing Lark

Lark’s breath caught. “So... thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“Listening.”

Her eyes held his. “Anytime.”

That word nearly undid him. Hoot dropped his hand. Before he could do something stupid—like kiss her—he stepped away. He headed for the stairs.

“Hoot?”

He looked back. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

His chest tightened. “I will.”

He left before he could get sucked any deeper into whatever was happening between them. Because Lark wasn’t his job. She wasn’t his responsibility. And she definitely wasn’t supposed to matter. He clung to those lies. Yet somehow, those falsehoods were already slowly unraveling.

CHAPTER 15

Lark’s hug stayed with Hoot long after he’d left her storefront. That was a problem.

The woman had a way of getting under his skin without even trying. One minute he was standing there telling himself he needed to keep his distance, and the next he was holding her close, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo, wondering what it would feel like to do it again.

He’d barely made it back to Condor’s Overwatch before telling Flint everything, starting with the board and its ominous symbol. They all recognized the symbol instantly and Calloway’s name was front and center once more. They really needed Baker to come through for them and find something… anything.

Now he stood on the island in the middle of Bell Creek, boots sinking slightly into damp earth as he studied the area Lark had described. Spark crouched nearby. Eggs stood several feet away, hands on his hips.

“Definitely disturbed,” Spark said. “Something buried and dug up. Recently.”

“Yeah.” Hoot glanced around. There was nothing else. No crate, or pieces of crates. No equipment aside from what Lark had left behind for her sculpture. No fresh footprints. No indication anyone had been there recently.

“What do you think?” Eggs asked.

“Could have been someone hiding something.”

“Or retrieving something.”

Spark looked toward the river. “Maybe someone dumped something out here.”

“Then came back for it.”

“Could’ve been drugs,” Eggs theorized.

“Could’ve been weapons with the PSG connection,” Hoot volleyed.

Eggs scratched his jaw. “Could’ve been nothing.”

Hoot gave him a look. “That’s helpful.”

“I try.”

Spark grinned. “Maybe somebody buried treasure.”

Hoot snorted. “On an island in a Virginian creek?”

“Pirates weren’t exactly picky about geography.”