Page 13 of Devlin (Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana #4)

As he stepped back into the night, the cool air did little to temper the unease gnawing at his chest. Darkness had fallen, and the thought of Mia out in the camp unsettled him. The idea that she might have driven off because of him sent a fresh wave of guilt rolling through him.

But as he approached the food distribution warehouse, a flicker of relief coursed through him. The Jeep she’d driven earlier was parked in the same spot, now a welcome sight.

He exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. She’d come back.

The warehouse’s front door was locked, but as he walked around the side, he spotted the large cargo sliding door open, the glow of interior lights spilling onto the gravel outside. A few workers still milled around the loading dock.

Inside, the space was brightly lit, but the noise of earlier activity had vanished. The silence was almost eerie, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and a soft voice muttering in the distance.

Devlin’s ears perked, and he followed the sound toward the back of the warehouse. As he moved through rows of stacked crates, he finally caught sight of her.

Mia was perched on a ladder, her small frame leaning precariously as she tugged at the edge of a tarp covering several crates. Her dark braid swung over her shoulder, catching the light with each movement.

He stopped in his tracks, unwilling to startle her while she balanced so high up. Instead, he allowed himself a stolen moment to simply watch her.

She was thinner than he remembered, her frame more delicate, and he wondered uneasily if she was eating enough or pushing herself too hard. Knowing Mia, she probably worked herself to the brink without a second thought.

Her hair, pulled neatly back now, brought back a rush of memories he wasn’t prepared for.

He could still feel the silky strands sliding through his fingers, the way they’d spill over her shoulders in waves when she let it down.

He remembered waking up to find her hair strewn across his pillow like dark silk.

And then his mind betrayed him, conjuring images of her in his lap, her body moving against his, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, shutting out the world. Those moments had felt sacred like nothing and no one else existed but them.

His body stirred at the memory, heat pooling low in his stomach. Not now, he scolded himself silently, willing the rush of arousal to subside. The last thing he needed was to approach her while battling the evidence of his desire.

Her long-sleeved khaki shirt, now tied around her waist, revealed a fitted white T-shirt that clung to her breasts.

Devlin’s gaze swept over her, catching on the curve of her hips and the way her khaki pants stretched over her figure.

The sight tugged at a memory he couldn’t suppress—the first time he saw her nearly twenty years ago, chained to a goalpost, defiant and wild-eyed.

Even then, her presence had been impossible to ignore.

The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.

She straightened on the ladder, her movements deliberate and careful. He called out once he was sure she was steady, his voice cutting through the silence. “Working late?”

Mia whirled around, her braid whipping from one side of her chest to the other. Her sharp gaze searched the dimly lit warehouse before landing on him below. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a frown.

“Did you get lost on the way to the guest quarters?” she asked, her tone clipped.

Devlin tilted his head, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “If I say yes, will you give me a tour?”

A sound escaped her lips—a low, frustrated growl even at this distance. Without another word, she began climbing down the ladder. Devlin stepped forward, his hand steadying the frame instinctively.

She stopped when she reached the last rung, their faces suddenly level. The moment stretched, charged with tension and the unspoken weight of the years between them. Then she descended the final step, and Devlin’s gaze dropped to meet hers.

She barely came up to his shoulder, just as he remembered.

The memory of her tucked into his side flickered in his mind—her arm wrapped around his waist, her thumb looped through his belt loop, holding tight as though letting go might make her lose her balance.

She’d always said being with him made her feel safe.

Back then, he’d considered it his mission in life to protect her, even when she didn’t know it.

Now, standing before her, the ache of how he’d failed her spread through his chest like a slow, gnawing fire. Mia dusted her hands off on her pants, drawing his eyes briefly before she glanced up at him, her expression unreadable.

“Still checking the inventory?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral and professional. It felt safer—less likely to end with her kneeing him where it would hurt most.

She crossed her arms, one brow lifting slightly. “Someone has to.”

He allowed himself another moment to drink her in now that the initial shock of seeing her again had passed.

The years had only sharpened her beauty.

Though there were faint lines at the corners of her eyes, her features held the same striking balance of strength and softness that had captivated him all those years ago.

A flood of questions rushed to his mind—about her family, her work, how her life had unfolded since he’d last seen her. But he kept them locked behind clenched teeth. He hadn’t earned the right to ask those things, not yet. The weight of that truth settled heavily in his chest.

Mia shifted, glancing down at her boots, her hesitation palpable. When she finally looked back up, her shoulders sagged with a deep sigh. “You want a tour?”

Devlin almost staggered with relief. It wasn’t an invitation for conversation, but it wasn’t a dismissal, either. For now, that was enough.

“Absolutely,” he said, keeping his tone even but warm. “I’d be honored.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came, only another soft exhale.

Without further comment, she turned, and he fell into step beside her.

As they walked the length of the warehouse, she pointed out the careful organization of crates and supplies.

Her tone was even and professional, though her voice had a faint edge of weariness.

He followed her lead, listening as she explained the intricate logistics of running the warehouse. And though her words were measured, every step they took together felt like progress toward reclaiming something he thought he’d lost forever.

“In some ways, it’s like a grocery store,” he observed, gesturing toward the aisles of goods.

“Same principle,” Mia agreed. “It makes it easy for us to get an order from a village—whether they need rice, potatoes, dairy, or vegetables. We can quickly figure out how much we have, how much they need, how many trucks to load, and how much personnel I’ll need to send to make the transfer.”

Devlin nodded, his mind half on her words and half on the guarded tone she maintained. She was answering his questions, but her answers were precise. Personal details were noticeably absent.

At the end of the warehouse road, Mia abruptly stopped, her expression tightening as though a sudden thought had struck her like a physical blow.

“Mia?” Devlin’s voice was laced with concern.

Her gaze met his, heavy with emotion, and then, as if she couldn’t hold it back any longer, she blurted, “Did you know?”

He frowned, unsure of her meaning, and stayed silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

Did you know I was here?” she pressed, her voice sharper now, the demand slicing through the humid air like a blade.

The question hit him square in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He knew this was a moment he couldn’t afford to fumble.

One wrong word, one hesitation, and she’d be gone—not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

But he’d promised himself that with Mia, he would only offer the truth.

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice measured and careful. “My boss… he knew Margarethe, and when Margarethe got your email, she wanted to handle things privately. She was the one who coordinated the WFP contract with us.”

He braced himself, waiting for the storm to hit, but Mia’s expression remained unreadable. That was worse. That eerie stillness, the silence stretched so thin it felt ready to snap. But her eyes searched his, digging, peeling him apart to see if he was lying.

Finally, she nodded… slow and deliberate.

The silence stretched between them, taut and fraught with unspoken words. Devlin wanted to say more, to explain the circumstances fully, but he sensed this wasn’t the time. Not here and not now.

“Of course,” she murmured, voice flat. “Convenient how life works, isn’t it? That after ten years, after—” She exhaled hard, like she refused to give breath to the words choking her.

Devlin swallowed. “I’d like to talk more,” he said gently, his voice softening as he held her gaze. Her eyes—so familiar yet distant—searched his, and he felt as though he were drowning in their depths. “Mia?—”

She held up a hand, stopping him cold. “You want to talk?” she asked, her tone deceptively mild. “Now you want to talk? Because the last time you had the chance, you said nothing. Not a word.” She scoffed. “Not that anything you could have said would have made a difference.”

The accusation landed like a punch, and he flinched despite himself. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Her laughter was bitter, humorless. “Wow. That makes it so much better. You didn’t want to, but you did it anyway. Well, that makes one of us because I sure as hell didn’t want to be gutted and abandoned without so much as an explanation.”

Devlin’s chest tightened. “I?—”