“You broke into a top-secret security compound, and your biggest concern is snacks?”
Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t break in. The fence was unlocked.”
“It was not unlocked.”
“Then maybe it has trust issues.”
I blink. “Did you just insult a fence?”
“I insultedyourfence,” she says, folding her arms. “There’s a difference.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. I can feel the grin trying to fight its way through, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Because this girl is trouble. All fire and funny one-liners and unshakable stubbornness. I clocked it the second I pulled my weapon on her and she didn’t even flinch.
“I’m serious,” she says, dialing back the sass for a moment. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to find my sister.”
The seriousness in her voice lands hard. It drains the amusement from the air like a flipped switch.
“Mia,” I say. “Your sister.”
She nods. “Mia Lincoln. She went missing six days ago. I filed a report with the Hanover Falls PD, but something didn’t feel right. The case wasn’t going anywhere. And then…” Her voicewavers, just slightly. “I found a note in her apartment. It said ‘Haven 7.’ That’s all. Just those words scribbled on the back of a receipt.”
My stomach tightens.
“You sure it wasn’t something else? Heaven 7, maybe?” I offer.
“Unless Mia suddenly became a Bible verse, yeah. I’m sure. Haven 7.”
Damn.
I glance toward the monitors on the back wall, where Boyd is watching everything from the perimeter cameras. Silas, our sheriff-slash-teammate, is leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, tracking this conversation with his eyes like it’s a live wire.
We don’t advertise this place. We don’texist.Unless someoneveryconnected wants to find us.
Which begs the question...
“How did you even know where we are?”
Her mouth twitches. “Trade secret.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You a PI?”
“No. Just stubborn. And slightly unhinged.”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop it.
She grins. And that grin—soft, scrappy, defiant—punches right through my defenses.
We’re not set up for this. For civilians with pretty eyes and messy hair and desperate hearts. I should tell her to leave. To pack upher glittery pen and her sarcasm and go back to wherever she came from. But something about her won’t let me.
“All right, Emma Lincoln. You want answers?” I ask.
She nods. “Damn right I do.”
“Then you stay put. You follow my lead. You don’t touch anything unless I say it’s safe. And if you so much as breathe in the direction of a locked door again, I will personally duct tape you to a chair.”
She pauses, and then tilts her head. “…Kinky.”