Page 38 of Silencing Stolen Whispers (Kinsley Aspen #2)

Kinsley Aspen

July

T he chocolate chip cookies in the oven had turned a perfect golden brown, their sweet aroma filling Kinsley's kitchen with the promise of tomorrow's family dinner. She bent down, oven mitt covering her right hand, and breathed in the warm, sugary scent as she pulled the baking sheet from the rack.

The heat from the oven washed over her.

“Perfect,” Kinsley murmured, setting the tray on top of the stove. She would give them a minute before transferring them to the cooling rack on the counter. “Mom can’t complain about store-bought cookies now.”

The cookies sizzled slightly as they settled, chocolate chips still molten and glistening. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, surveying the three previous batches already in a Tupperware container.

She peeled off the oven mitt, tossed it back into the drawer, and then turned off the oven. Leaning a hip against the counter, she reached for the bottle of beer from the six-pack she had purchased at the convenience store.

The Scriven case had officially been closed, and the last two days had been nothing but paperwork.

The DA had already filed first-degree murder charges against Melanie Reeves.

She had driven to the cabin with the intent to kill Hannah Scriven.

It wouldn’t surprise Kinsley if the woman’s defense attorney sought out a plea deal of some kind.

Either way, the investigation was over, and tomorrow was a new day.

Kinsley took a long sip of her beer, debating whether to have another cookie. She had already eaten two spoonfuls of dough.

“Why not?” Kinsley asked herself, reaching for one on the cooling rack. She moaned in pleasure right as the doorbell rang. Swallowing, she called out, “Coming!”

She shoved the rest of the cookie into her mouth. Wiping her hand on her worn jeans, she headed for the door. Owen had promised to stop by tonight to replace her router. She had been having issues with it lately, and the lag was enough to make her pull out her hair.

The porch light illuminated a silhouette through the thin curtain covering the door's window—one too broad to be Owen. Kinsley slowed her approach as she tightened her grip on the glass bottle.

She would recognize those shoulders anywhere. The way they were rigid and straight gave way to the man’s tension. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, and she took a brief moment to gain some composure.

“Shane,” Kinsley greeted with a smile, not bothering to keep the curiosity from her voice. He hadn’t set foot in her house since the day she broke things off. “This is unexpected.”

He stood still on her porch, hands buried deep in his pockets, jaw clenched so tightly she noticed the muscle twitching beneath the stubble on his cheek. The harsh shadow across his face deepened the lines around his eyes that hadn't been there when they first met.

“May I come in?” His voice was flat, the question barely a question at all. “We need to talk.”

“Of course,” Kinsley replied as she instinctively stepped back, opening the door wider. “Is everything alright?”

Shane moved past her without responding to her question, carrying the humidity from the night air and something else—a tangible anger that seemed to radiate from his skin.

Kinsley slowly closed the door, pausing briefly to steady herself against whatever had upset him. He waited in the center of her living room, seeming both out of place and unmoving. He hadn't sat down, which she took as a silent sign that he didn't plan to stay long.

“Would you like something to drink?” Kinsley offered, holding up her beer.

“No.”

She knew he would refuse, but she was doing her best to stay polite. His one-word reply lingered between them, and she suppressed her irritation.

“Then what can I do for you, Shane?”

He met her gaze directly for the first time since he had arrived, the blue in his eyes resembling ice. She waited, her pulse fluttering as he stared at her with an intensity she had never experienced.

This wasn't the Shane who had laughed with her over old reruns of I Love Lucy . Nor was he the man who reached for her hand across a restaurant table or even caressed her knuckles with the pads of his fingertips.

The man standing before her was Detective Shane Levick. And he was glaring at her as if she were a suspect. His eyes scanned her face, searching for guilt, fear, or some sign of deception.

Kinsley swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She had to be wrong. Hadn’t she already handled the situation with Beck Serra?

She needed to say something—anything—to relieve the mounting tension.

“Is this about Chloe?” Kinsley asked, keeping her voice light despite the heaviness in her chest. “I noticed she wasn't at the game on Sunday.”

Kinsley’s living room suddenly became too small and the air too thin.

“Alex mentioned you took some personal time,” Kinsley continued when Shane didn't respond. “I thought maybe something happened between you two.”

Her words hung in the space between them, paper-thin and inconsequential. Shane's expression didn't soften. Not once. If anything, the line of his jaw grew more pronounced as he clenched his teeth.

“This visit has nothing to do with Chloe,” Shane finally responded in a way that was unfamiliar.

“Then what is it, Shane?” Kinsley asked tersely, fighting to keep her voice steady. She set her bottle of beer down on the side table before reaching for the back of the couch. She needed something solid to ground herself. “I’ve got to say that I don’t appreciate…whatever this is.”

Kinsley waved her hand, but she quickly lowered it to clutch the fabric of the cushion. This couldn’t be happening, yet everything inside her screamed that this was it—her consequence.

“I have one question for you, Kin. Just one.” Shane paused, his chest rising with a deep breath. “And I want the truth.”

One question, followed up with the truth.

Such simple concepts, and yet they bore the weight of everything she had been carrying for two years.

Kinsley's breathing became shallow, her pulse quickening until she could literally feel it throbbing in her throat, her wrists, and behind her eyes. A cold sweat broke out across her back, dampening her t-shirt between her shoulder blades.

She realized—God, she realized—what this was about.

The moment she had been fearing since that fateful night. The moment that jolted her from restless sleep, gasping for air, with the phantom sensation of the trigger beneath her finger as real as it had been back then.

She thought of Noah and the silent pact they had made. Of her father, who would defend her until the end. Of her career and her freedom, both hanging by the thinnest of threads.

“Ask your question,” Kinsley whispered, her words barely audible in the quiet house.

Shane took a step toward her, closing the careful distance she had maintained. The lamp in front of him cast the upper part of his face in shadow, but she could still distinguish the intensity in his eyes.

Not just anger now, but something deeper, more complicated.

Hurt, perhaps.

Betrayal.

“Did you kill Calvin Gantz?”

Five words. Simple, direct, and devastating. They hung in the air between them, altering everything—the room, the night, their relationship, and her future. How and what she answered next would either preserve or destroy it all.

~ The End ~