Page 16

“Independence Day”

Didi

I woke before dawn on the Fourth of July, instinctively reaching for Noah before remembering I was back in my own cabin.

After Callahan's call about Preston being in Montana, Noah had insisted on checking the security measures one more time before reluctantly returning to his place, both of us agreeing that a good night's sleep would serve us better than exhausted vigilance.

Sleep, however, had proven elusive. I'd spent hours staring at the ceiling, listening to every creak and rustle outside, imagination transforming innocent woodland sounds into footsteps, car doors, threats.

Now, as the first hint of daylight filtered through my curtains, I made a decision: I would not spend Independence Day cowering in fear. I hadn't fled Chicago to hide in a different prison.

My phone buzzed with a text from Noah: Morning. Coffee and breakfast at my place when you're ready.

I smiled, warmth spreading through me. A week ago, I’d never heard of Noah Sterling, Hope Peak PD. Now he was the first person I thought of when I woke up and the last before I fell asleep.

The thought should have terrified me—this rapid acceleration from attraction to something more. Instead, it felt like finding solid ground after months of waves of uncertainty.

After a quick shower, I dressed in a blue sundress patterned with tiny white stars—festive without being garish—and made my way to Noah's cabin. The morning was already warm, promising another scorching day.

He opened the door before I could knock, as if he'd been watching for me. The smile that spread across his face made my heart stutter.

"Happy Fourth," he said, looking unfairly handsome in worn jeans and a faded navy t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and blue eyes.

"Happy Fourth," I replied, stepping into his arms for a kiss that quickly deepened before he reluctantly pulled away.

"Breakfast first," he murmured against my lips. "We'll need our strength for today."

Over coffee and blueberry waffles on his deck, Noah outlined the day's plans—and security measures—with characteristic thoroughness.

"Callahan's stationed plainclothes officers throughout the resort area. Kyle's volunteered to keep an eye on our cabins." He poured more coffee into my mug. "The main celebration starts at noon—live music, food stalls, games. Fireworks at dusk over the lake."

I nodded, appreciating that he was sharing information without smothering me with protection. "What about Preston? Any updates?"

"Nothing since Billings." Noah's expression tightened slightly. "If he's heading here, he might already be in the area. But Hope Peak will be packed today—everyone in the county turns out for the Fourth. The chances of him finding you in that crowd are slim."

"Unless he saw my rental car. Or someone mentioned the blonde from Chicago staying in Cabin 7." The possibilities for security breaches were endless.

Noah reached across the table to take my hand. "Didi, if you want to stay here today, I'll stay with you. Honestly, whatever makes you feel safest."

I considered it briefly—the temptation of remaining in this bubble with Noah, doors locked, hunkered down. Safe, yes. But also letting Preston dictate my choices yet again.

"No," I said firmly. "I want to go. I want to see what Independence Day by the lake is all about. I want to eat funnel cake and watch fireworks and pretend—just for today—that I'm just a regular tourist enjoying summer with a handsome local."

Relief and admiration mingled in Noah's eyes. "Okay, then. One normal holiday, coming up."

He rose, moving around the table to pull me to my feet and into his arms. "For the record," he said, his voice dropping to that rumble that sent shivers down my spine, "there's nothing 'regular' about you, Didi Lawson."

His kiss tasted of coffee and sweet maple syrup, and I let myself sink into it, into him, anchoring myself in the present moment rather than worrying about what might come.

"So," I asked when we finally broke apart, "do I get the insider tour of Hope Peak's celebration?"

Noah grinned. "Complete with all the local secrets. Ready?"

"Absolutely."

***

By mid-afternoon, the heat had reached sweltering levels, but the festive atmosphere of Hope Peak more than compensated.

The resort's main beach and surrounding grounds had been transformed into a celebration straight out of a small-town America postcard—red, white, and blue bunting draped from every possible surface, the scent of barbecue and fried foods perfuming the air, children with painted faces racing between game booths.

Noah stayed close without hovering, one hand occasionally brushing the small of my back as he guided me through the crowds.

I caught the way his eyes still swept the area with professional thoroughness, even as he smiled and nodded at what seemed like every third person we passed.

It was strange seeing him so deeply embedded in this community he protected—watching him shift between alert detective and hometown local with easy familiarity.

"Noah Sterling, as I live and breathe!" A woman's voice called from a nearby food tent. "You actually took a day off!"

Ruth Anderson emerged wiping her hands on an apron, her silver hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She beamed at us as she approached.

"Didi! Wonderful to see you again," she said warmly. "Enjoying our little celebration?"

"It's amazing," I replied with genuine enthusiasm. "Everything is so beautiful."

"Been doing it forty years," she said proudly, then turned to Noah. "This young man here hasn't attended a single one properly since he joined the department. Always working, this one."

"Not by choice," Noah protested good-naturedly. "Sheriff's orders today."

Ruth snorted. "Orders I’m sure you'd have ignored if not for certain... incentives." Her glance at me was meaningful enough to bring heat to my cheeks.

This glimpse into Noah's history, the depth of his connection to Hope Peak, touched something in me. In Chicago, I had colleagues and a small circle of friends. But nothing like this tapestry of relationships that stretched back generations.

We wandered through the celebration, Noah stopping to introduce me to what felt like half the town.

Each time, he referred to me as "Didi" with no explanation or qualification—not "my neighbor" or "my friend"—and each time, I noticed the raised eyebrows and knowing smiles.

Everyone seemed to understand that my presence at Noah's side was significant.

By late afternoon, we'd sampled nearly every food stall (with the church ladies' strawberry shortcake winning top honors), cheered for the children's sack races, and listened to a local band's surprisingly good covers of summer classics.

Despite keeping watch for Preston, I found myself enjoying the day, almost forgetting why I'd come to Hope Peak in the first place.

"Want to watch the fireworks from the water?" Noah asked as the sun began its slow descent. "We'd have a better view from the lake, away from the crowds."

The idea appealed to me immediately. "That sounds perfect."

We made our way to the marina, weaving through families staking out spots for the display. Noah led me down one of the long docks, past boats of various sizes until he stopped beside a familiar craft.

"Your rescue vessel," I said with a wry smile as he helped me aboard. "At least this time I'm not drifting toward Miller's Rocks."

Noah's mouth quirked up at one corner as he started the engine. "And I'm not having to chase you down." His hands moved over the controls with easy confidence, guiding us away from the increasingly crowded marina.

In the boat, Noah's hands moved over the controls with practiced confidence, guiding us away from shore. When he glanced at me, his eyes held the same intensity I'd noticed during that first rescue, except now it carried warmth instead of caution.

He navigated to a spot near the center of the lake, far from the fleet of boats gathering near shore.

As he cut the engine, silence settled around us, broken only by water lapping against the hull.

The sky had deepened to indigo, with stars beginning to appear overhead.

Around the lake, lights from the celebration created a glowing ring against the mountains.

Noah settled beside me, his arm finding its way around my shoulders like it belonged there.

"Thank you for today," I said, leaning into him. "It's been perfect."

"Even with fan recognition and the heat?" he asked, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.

"Especially those parts," I smiled. "It felt normal. Like I was just a woman enjoying a holiday with..." I hesitated, unsure how to define us.

"With her mountain man?" Noah supplied, his voice teasing but his eyes serious.

"Yes," I agreed, meeting his gaze. "With her mountain man."

His lips met mine with the quiet intensity I was coming to associate with everything Noah did, his strong hand cradling my face with surprising tenderness. When we broke apart, the first firework exploded overhead, sending cascades of red and gold across the night sky.

We watched in comfortable silence, my head resting against his shoulder, his fingers entwined with mine. Each burst of color reflected on the lake's surface, creating the illusion that we were suspended between twin displays of light and sound.

It was during a particularly dramatic burst of blue and silver that I noticed Noah tense beside me. His hand reached slowly for his phone, which had vibrated in his pocket.

"Everything okay?" I asked, immediately alert.

I caught the flicker of hesitation before Noah spoke. "Didi, I think we should head back."

Fear knotted in my stomach. "Is it Preston?"

"Security might have spotted someone matching his description near the resort docks," Noah admitted, already moving to restart the engine. "Probably nothing, but—"

"But we should be careful," I finished, cold dread replacing the warmth of moments before.

Noah navigated swiftly back toward the marina, his eyes constantly scanning the increasingly crowded shoreline.

Boats of all sizes had gathered for the fireworks, making our return slower than our departure.

Overhead, the display continued, but its magic had dissolved into a cacophony that now seemed to mirror my fraying nerves.

As we approached the docks, I studied the crowd milling about on shore, searching for a familiar face in the mass of strangers. That's when I saw him—standing slightly apart from the crowd, staring directly at our approaching boat.

Preston Barrett stood exactly as I'd seen him in the photos Jamie had sent—medium height, thinning brown hair, unremarkable except for the unsettling focus in his eyes as he watched our approaching boat.

"Noah," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the fireworks and engine. "He's here. By the bait shop. Watching us."

Noah followed my gaze, his body instantly coiled with tension. "Stay in the boat," he instructed, reaching for his phone to alert Callahan. "I'll handle this."

But as we drew closer to the dock, Preston began moving toward us, his determined stride pushing through the holiday crowd, his face illuminated in flashes of red and gold from the sky above.

In that moment, the distance between us seemed both impossibly vast and terrifyingly small—just yards of water and wood separating me from the man who had haunted my nightmares for months.

"He's coming," I said, my fingers gripping Noah's arm. "Noah, he's coming right for us."

The final chord of "The Star-Spangled Banner" played over the resort's speakers as the fireworks reached their crescendo, the sky erupting in a blinding finale of light and sound—but I barely noticed.

All I could see was Preston Barrett's face, his expression a disturbing mixture of anticipation and triumph as he reached the edge of the dock, waiting for our boat to complete its inevitable approach.

"At last," I heard him say, the words somehow carrying over the chaos of sound. "I've found you, my Midnight Star."