Page 49 of Distress Signal

Conversation died, Lane waiting me out. I took a fortifying sip of my coffee and said, “So look, the reason for my call?—”

“You want an update on your sister.”

“Yes.”

“You’re in luck. I’ve got some time free in a couple hours, and I was planning on calling you anyway. Could you come down to the station?”

“Absolutely.”

“Eleven work?”

“Yep. I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you then.”

He hung up, and I relaxed a little, feeling slightly more confident about how seriously his department was taking my sister’s case. And maybe, hopefully, they had some break in the case that would get us one step closer to finding Lainey.

Eleven was still a way off, so I went back inside, cleaned up my mess from breakfast, then spent some time getting everything I wanted to hand off to the police in order. My hands shook as I sifted through her journals, the faux leather covers soft beneath my fingers.

I’d bought the first one after she’d mentioned offhandedlyone day that she wanted to start journaling, and I’d given it to her on our birthday that year—our first one after our parents died.

Lainey glared at me as I handed the wrapped present over. “This better not be a book.”

I simply shrugged, my smile growing wider as she ripped through the paper to reveal the small journal. I’d found a place to personalize it, and her initials, LML, were stamped in the bottom right corner of the cover.

“You didn’t,” she said, though her tone held no admonishment, only awe.

Again, I shrugged. “You said you wanted to journal, so I bought you one.”

Lainey wrapped me in her arms, holding tightly, and I didn’t mention the cold, wetness that dripped onto the shoulder of my tee.

“Thank you, sissy. I love it.”

“Just don’t use it to talk shit about me,” I said with a laugh as I pulled back.

Lainey wiped her eyes. If I’d known it would mean so much to her, I would’ve bought one months ago when she first mentioned it.

“Never,” she promised.

A gentle knock on the front door pulled me from the memory, and I swiped at my own face. I’d been doing that a lot lately—crying without realizing it, the tears silently spilling free from my eyes.

One day, I’d find out if she kept that promise, but not today.

I’d left the inside door open last night, letting the midnight breeze filter in, and as I approached, I saw a tall, broad figure silhouetted in the frame.

Finn.

I had every intention of standing firm in my claim that I couldn’t do this—whateverthis—was with him, that my entire focus had to be on Lainey. But my mind and my body, the traitorous bitch, were on different levels, because every fiber of my being fuckingyearnedfor him. Not only in remembrance of the sex, either. I couldn’t explain it except to say something deepwithin me knew I was safe with this man. Every negative emotion and invasive thought settled when he was near.

Staying away was that much harder because of it, even though my brain knew it was for the best.

“Morning, belle,” he said when I opened the door for him. His hand instantly went to the back of his neck, cupping and scratching in a gesture I knew to be a nervous tic. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly, stepping back to admit him. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to check in. Make sure you’ve got everything you need.”

I couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly what I meant. I’d rejected him—and not gently, I might add—and he still came to me, making sure I was doing okay.