Page 59 of Freeing Lark

Cormac stayed close. He never asked if she needed him. He simply remained beside her. Whenever she looked up, he was there. And for the first time since she’d opened the door and seen her life torn apart, Lark felt like she wasn’t facing it alone.

She didn’t know who had done this. She didn’t know what they’d been looking for. And she didn’t know why.

But she knew one thing. Cormac had come. And somehow, that made all the difference.

CHAPTER 17

By the time the last of the Condor’s Overwatch team left, Lark’s storefront looked less like a disaster zone and more like a particularly chaotic art studio. Which, considering what it had looked like a few hours earlier, was an improvement.

Boxes sat against one wall, filled with broken pottery, cracked frames, dented metalwork, and pieces of artwork that might be salvageable if the artists so desired.

That was the part that hurt the most. Not the money. She could compensate the artists. She would. If something couldn’t be repaired, she’d offset the cost.

But money couldn’t replace hours, days, or weeks of hard work. She knew from her own experience that sometimes months of someone’s life could be poured into a single creation. Someone had destroyed all that in minutes.

Lark crouched beside one of the boxes and carefully lifted a cracked ceramic sculpture. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. It felt ridiculous to apologize to an object. But she’d always believed art deserved respect.

Footsteps approached, and she looked up. Marilyn was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “That’s enough for tonight, sweetheart.”

Lark glanced toward the clock. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. “You should go home.”

“So should you.”

Marilyn’s expression softened. “I would offer you my couch, but you know the situation.”

Lark nodded. Her aunt’s house was undergoing renovations. Marilyn’s bedroom was currently the only usable bedroom, and the rest of the place was filled with construction materials.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

“I’m not being brave.” Marilyn gave her a knowing look. “I’m being stubborn.”

Marilyn laughed. “That too.”

Lark smiled faintly. She was scared. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. But she refused to let whoever had broken into her store chase her away. She’d worked too hard for this place. It was hers. She’d built it from nothing. And she wasn’t going to surrender it because some faceless person wanted her frightened.

“The security system goes in tomorrow,” she reminded herself.

“Condor’s Overwatch will have it done before you know it.”

Lark nodded. “I just have to get through tonight.”

“You don’t have to get through it alone.”

Lark looked toward the door. Cormac stood there, having just returned from “securing the perimeter.” She didn’t know exactly what he’d meant by that but she was grateful all the same. For some reason, his military-like speaking habits calmed some of the fear that still gripped her.

He’d been unusually quiet while everyone cleaned. Now those startling blue eyes were fixed on her, and she found it increasingly hard to pull her own gaze away from him.

Cormac had the rugged, almost lumberjack look of a man who belonged in the wilderness rather than a tuxedo. His brown hair was buzzed short, emphasizing the hard angles of his face and the strength in his jaw. A thick, neatly kept beard covered his jaw and chin, more rugged than polished, giving him a distinctly masculine, outdoorsman quality that Lark found ridiculously attractive.

But it was his eyes that always caught her off guard. They were a shocking, vivid blue, standing out against his dark beard and sun-browned skin. They weren’t soft eyes; they were sharp, watchful, and intensely observant. The kind that seemed to notice everything. Yet whenever his gaze settled on her, something in those startling blue depths softened, which in turn made her melt.

“I’m staying,” he stated. Not a question or request. Just a statement. As if the issue had already been settled.

Lark blinked. “Stay?”

“Overnight.”