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He tried again, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here on my own.” He reached for her hand, found it trembling, but she didn’t pull away. “I was terrified,” he admitted. “Not of Waddell. Of what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come and stopped me when you did.”
She blinked fast, then pressed her forehead to his chest, just for a second. He felt her shudder, the tension draining out of her.
“I love you, Desiree,” he finally admitted, the words blunt and unadorned, no joke to soften them.
She breathed out, then looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I love you, too. Even when you’re an idiot.”
He managed to laugh, which hurt, but it was worth it. “I guess that’s good, because I’m pretty good at being an idiot.”
“Don’t I know it,” she teased back.
They stood there, arms tangled around each other, neither willing to be the first to let go. Brandon’s heart hammered against his ribs, his body trembling with leftover adrenaline and something deeper—something that had nothing to do with the fight in the barn.
Desiree’s grip on his jacket tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric. He could feel her breath against his neck, warm and uneven.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Don’t you ever go off alone like that.”
He pulled back just enough to see her face. Tears streaked through the dust on her cheeks, and her eyes held a ferocity that made his chest ache. “Brandon, I can’t—” She stopped herself, jaw tightening.
He knew what she meant, and he didn’t want to put her through what his mom went through if he could help it. His job was dangerous enough. He didn’t need to run toward danger when he didn’t have to. “I won’t do it again. We’re in this together.”
Brandon leaned down and claimed her mouth with his own. Not gentle this time but filled with the kind of passion that came after years of trying to do everything on his own and realizing he was better as part of a duo. It was the kind of kiss that started in the chest and burned its way out.
His ribs screamed when he pulled her closer, but he didn’t care. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing the wet tracks on her cheeks. He tasted salt and dust and the faint tang of whatever she’d had for dinner.
She kissed him back like she was trying to prove something—to him, to herself, to whoever was watching from the barn or the sky or the gravel drive. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, then slid up to the back of his neck, holding him there like she was afraid she’d lose him at any moment again. But he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not after she’d said the words he hadn’t dared to hope she would ever utter to him.
Brandon’s lungs burned as he tried to catch his breath. The cut above his eye throbbed with each heartbeat, and his ribs ached, but none of that mattered. Not with Desiree’s hands still pressed against his chest, her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket like she was afraid to let go.
The sheriff’s deputies moved around them, flashlights cutting through the darkness, radios crackling with updates. Someone had set up a perimeter. Someone else was calling for a K9 unit. Brandon registered it all with the awareness of a man who’d just survived something he probably shouldn’t have and ended up with the perfect woman loving him despite all his bad choices.
“I meant it,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion. “What I said.”
Desiree’s eyes searched his face, and then a small smile spread across her face. “I know you did. So did I.”
The case wasn’t finished, and Waddell was still out there. But at that moment, it felt like—for the first time—neither of them had to go it alone.
CHAPTER 12
Desiree sat wedged between Brandon and his mother on the smooth, glossy oak of a Sweet Bloom Community Church pew, the sanctuary crowded and restless, every seat occupied. The candles on the sills flickered with the restless currents of bodies coming and going, throwing little knots of light onto the stained-glass windows. The nativity was live—three actual children in dollar-store halos, a borrowed goat munching hay at the feet of a plywood manger, and a trio of high schoolers doing their best not to break character as the Magi. Everything at the front of the church was wrapped with white lights except the wooden cross.
Desiree tried to focus on the Christmas Eve service, wanting to enjoy the progression of carols and readings, but her mind kept defaulting to the plan she and Brandon had concocted with Sheriff Hart. They had hammered out the details the day before, hunched around the long table at the fire station.
Hart had been the most skeptical. He’d leaned back in his creaking chair, arms folded, his face set to the default look of parental concern. “You’re saying we set a trap for the arsonist,” he summarized. “But who’s the cheese?”
She met his gaze, not blinking. “Us, but it makes perfect sense. He’s already targeting Brandon. We’re not creating the risk. We’re controlling it.”
Brandon didn’t say anything for a beat, just let the words hang, then nodded once. “She’s right. We’re the perfect cheese.”
Hart’s face scrunched as he considered their plan. “And you’re okay with that? Putting not only yourself, but her at risk?”
Brandon shrugged, something in the movement stubborn and resigned. “He’s going to come after me anyway. This way, we control the timing and the place. And as far as Desiree is concerned, she’s her own person.”
“This was my idea,” she pointed out. “I’m not naive. I know what I’m signing up for.”
She could tell Hart didn’t like it, but in the end, he respected the logic. “I’ll call in extra hands from the county. Plainclothes. You won’t see them unless you need them.” He thumbed the radio at his hip and started making calls before anyone could change their mind.
Desiree felt an unexpected safety in that, even as she knew they were betting their lives on her plan.
