Page 93 of Freeing Lark

Flint nodded slowly. “Which means taking down Calloway won’t necessarily end this.”

“No,” Baker said. “It might only cut off one branch.”

Silence settled over the men. One branch. That meant the tree was still standing. And somewhere out there, someone knew what the missing scientist had discovered. Someone might still have the information PSG had been willing to kill for.

And until they found that person—or the scientist himself—the nightmare wasn’t over.

Not even close.

After the call, he was heading toward the kitchen when he heard it. A muffled sound. He stopped and heard it again. Crying. Hoot didn’t think. He turned and walked straight into the guest room.

She was on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled into herself. Her head was buried against her knees. Her shoulders shook. Something inside his chest cracked. “Lark.”

She looked up. Her face was wet with tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” He crouched carefully beside her.

She wiped at her face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“I should be stronger than this.”

“Why? You’ve had one hell of a week.”

Her eyes filled again. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” He opened his good arm. She hesitated for only a second before moving into him. Hoot held her firmly. Carefully. Like he could somehow hold the fear out of her.

She buried her face against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He stroked her hair. “You survived. We both did.”

Eventually, he helped her onto the bed. She curled onto her side. He started to stand, but her fingers caught his hand. “Don’t go.”

He looked down at her. “Okay.”

“Just... stay for a while?”

His chest tightened. “Yeah.” He eased himself onto the mattress beside her, careful of his shoulder. Lark shifted closer. He wrapped his arm around her.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Hoot stared at the ceiling. He’d spent years believing home was a place. Four walls. A bed. A secure perimeter. Something you defended.

But with Lark curled against him, he was beginning to understand that maybe home wasn't a place at all. Maybe it was a person. And judging by how fiercely he wanted to protect the woman sleeping against his chest, he was already in deeper than he’d ever intended to go.

CHAPTER 30

Lark woke to darkness. Not the deep, frightening darkness of the cabin in the mountains, but the soft gloom of a storm-heavy afternoon. Rain tapped against the windows, and the room had taken on a bluish-gray cast.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then she felt the warmth beside her. Everything came rushing back. She remembered the dam breaking, tears streaming uncontrollably as her body released the tension held for over two days. Cormac had held her while she cried. He hadn’t tried to fix her or tell her everything would magically be fine. He’d simply held her, listened, and let her fall apart without ever making her feel weak for doing it. She suspected very few people had ever seen that side of him. And something deep inside her believed she could very well be the only woman who had ever received that kind of tenderness from Cormac.

She thought of how he’d tucked her into bed after she’d cried herself empty. Her vulnerability embarrassed her, especially when she remembered grasping his hand and asking him to stay. It had been such a small, needy thing, but Cormac hadn’t teased her or made her feel foolish. He’d simply stayed, lying beside her until she’d fallen asleep, as though there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. The memory still made warmth creep into her cheeks.

Upon noticing the darkened room, it was clear they had slept through most of the day. After everything they’d endured, they’d needed it.

Lark turned her head. He was still asleep. And she allowed herself to look.

His nearly buzzed hair had somehow managed to become mussed in sleep, the short strands sticking up in every direction, softer without its usual military neatness. Dark lashes rested against his cheeks, making him look younger somehow. His brows were strong and slightly furrowed, even in sleep. She followed the straight line of his nose to his mouth, where his lips were relaxed and unexpectedly soft-looking.