Page 86 of Distress Signal

“I didn’t lock the door when I went to dinner last night,” Reagan said from the doorway. Some color had returned to her face, and her green eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve only been locking it at night. I figured it was safe. I’m so sorry.”

“It’ssupposedto be safe,” I said, going to her and drawing her into my arms. “And you have nothing to apologize for, belle. This isn’t your fault.”

“Is anything missing?” Lane asked her. “Or disturbed?”

Reagan shook her head, stepping out of my arms to face my brother. “I had this weird feeling when we got back from dinner last night that something wasn’t right, but Finn cleared the house, and I did another check myself before I went to bed.”

“What kind of feeling?” he asked, withdrawing his notebook from his pocket and clicking a pen open.

“Like my space had been disturbed,” she said, eyes cutting tothe mirror. The message had completely faded, but the imprint lingered in illegible streaks, reminding us of what hid in plain sight.

“I’m going to call some deputies out to do a sweep and get photos of this,” Lane said. “From now on, make sure your doors are locked at all times.”

“Fuck that.”

Both of them turned to me with identical confused expressions. It would’ve been funny if I wasn’t still battling the fury in my blood.

“What do you mean?” Lane asked.

Ignoring him, I looked at Reagan.

“Pack your shit.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re moving in with me.”

“But—”

I cut her off, not in the mood to entertain her strong, I’m-an-independent-woman shit right now. I was going full caveman, and I didn’t give a single fuck.

“No arguments. I’ll fucking throw you over my shoulder andcarryyou home if I have to. Now pack. Your. Shit.”

Lane snorted, and I cut him with a glare that had him raising his hands and leaving the room, letting Reagan and I have our little battle of wills without an audience.

Unfortunately for her, she wouldn’t win this battle.

Reagan’s eyes widened at the complete, unrelenting demand in my tone. I half expected her to fight me, to put her foot down and tell me to fuck off.

But this woman continued to surprise me, because she listened for once.

There was a lot of foot-stomping and cursing my name under her breathing happening, but she rooted around in the closet, coming out with two giant rolling suitcases, opened themup on the bed, and started haphazardly throwing clothes into them.

“You’re an asshole,” she muttered, and I knew she purposely said it loud enough for me to hear.

“An asshole who wants to keep you safe.”

She paused, fists resting on the gentle swell of her hips, and faced me. “I can go stay at the motel.”

I chuckled darkly. “Absolutely not. That place has absolutely no security to speak of.”

“It’s just a creepy message,” she retorted. “It’s not like it caused me physical harm.”

“Reagan,” I said softly, closing the distance between us and cupping her face in my hands. “I found you curled up in the corner, sobbing. It may not have causedphysicalharm, but it still hurt you.”

“Scared the fucking shit out of me,” she admitted.

“And your scream did the same to me.”