Page 11 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

L avender woke feeling that today the houseboat's rhythm felt restless, matching the flutter beneath her ribs.

Salt air drifted through the porthole she'd left cracked, carrying seabird calls and distant fog horns that usually grounded her but today felt insufficient against the memory of Diana's mouth on hers.

Saffron was curled up on the end of her bed.

Lavender's fingers found her lips, tracing where Diana had kissed her with such desperate hunger.

The café's backroom, candles flickering, and the careful distance Diana maintained dissolving into something raw and necessary.

Not a conquest but a surrender as Diana's walls cracked to reveal the woman underneath all that careful control.

The memory sent heat through her chest, complicated by everything it meant. Diana Marten, Phoenix Ridge's composed police chief, admitting she didn't know how to be human. The vulnerability in her voice when she'd confessed to carrying every unsolved case, every family she couldn't help.

When's the last time someone saw you?

The question had shattered something in Diana's expression, followed by that kiss that tasted like desperation and hope.

Lavender pulled herself from tangled quilts and padded barefoot across worn wooden floors. The boat swayed gently as she moved, a dance learned so thoroughly it had become unconscious.

Her phone buzzed against the galley counter. Text from Georgia Darricott: Community meeting went well. That police chief is different than expected.

Another from Corinne: Any word from your cop friend about the next steps?

Your cop friend. The phrase made Lavender's stomach flutter in a way she wasn't ready to analyze. How could she balance the community's need for information with whatever was growing between her and Diana? How could she protect both?

Steam rose from her coffee mug, carrying scents that usually grounded her but today felt insufficient.

She needed to see Diana again, needed to understand if last night had been a crisis-driven attraction or something deeper.

But more than that, she needed to know Diana was okay and that the vulnerability she'd shown hadn't sent her retreating even further behind professional walls.

Lavender typed carefully: Walk this afternoon? Community park, 2 p.m.? We should talk.

The response came faster than expected: About the case?

Even through text, Lavender could feel Diana's retreat. She typed back: About whatever you're comfortable discussing.

A longer pause, then: I'll be there.

Diana arrived at precisely two o'clock, but everything about her was different. Gone was the pressed uniform, replaced by jeans and a soft sweater that made her seem younger and more approachable. But her shoulders carried tension differently in civilian clothes—less armor, more uncertainty.

She stood near the playground where children's laughter mixed with ocean sounds, scanning the area with cop instincts that never fully switched off. When she spotted Lavender approaching along the coastal path, something flickered across her expression that looked like relief mixed with wariness.

"Thank you for coming," Lavender said, noting how Diana's hands found her jacket pockets.

"About last night—" Diana began, but Lavender shook her head.

"Let's walk first. Then we'll talk."

They fell into step along the path that wound through native coastal plants blooming purple against gray-green sage. Diana's rigid posture gradually relaxed as they moved, the rhythm of walking creating space for a difficult conversation.

"I don't usually..." Diana started, then stopped, jaw tightening.

"Make love to women in café backrooms?" Lavender kept her tone light, but watched Diana's reaction carefully.

"Get involved with people connected to investigations." Diana's voice carried the weight of professional training warring with personal need. "It compromises judgment."

"Does it?" Lavender paused beside a bench overlooking the harbor. "Or does caring more deeply help you understand what you're protecting?"

Diana turned to face her fully, and Lavender saw exhaustion in her features. "I don't know how to do this, Lavender. I've spent years keeping my work and personal lives separate."

"Maybe that's why you're so good at your job and so lonely in your life."

The observation hit its mark. Diana's facade cracked slightly, revealing something vulnerable underneath. "My last relationship ended because I couldn't…because the walls I'd built made it impossible to let anyone close enough to matter."

"And now?"

Diana was quiet for a long moment, watching fishing boats navigate the harbor entrance. "Now I'm standing here wanting to kiss you again, knowing it complicates everything but unable to convince myself to walk away."

Lavender's pulse quickened, but she kept her voice steady. "What if complicated doesn't mean wrong?"

"What if it means I can't protect you? Can't protect anyone because I'm too distracted by..." Diana gestured between them, words failing.

"By feeling something real for the first time in years?"

Diana laughed, but it sounded more like a wound reopening. "By falling for someone whose community I'm supposed to serve objectively."

The admission hung between them, and Lavender stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in Diana's dark eyes.

"Come to dinner," she said quietly. "Let me cook for you. Let's see what this is without the weight of three missing women and community expectations hanging over us."

Diana's resistance wavered visibly. "Lavender..."

"Come to my houseboat. Seven o'clock." Lavender watched something shift in Diana's expression—fear and longing warring within her. "What do you say?"

When Diana finally met her gaze, her eyes held a vulnerability that made Lavender's chest tighten.

"Okay," Diana said simply. "Seven o'clock."

Diana arrived at seven carrying a bottle of wine and visible nerves. She stood on the dock for a moment, studying the houseboat as it bobbed gently.

"You found it," Lavender said, emerging from the cabin with Saffron weaving around her ankles.

"GPS helped." Diana held up the wine, a decent pinot noir that suggested she'd put thought into the selection. "Thank you for inviting me."

Lavender accepted the bottle, their fingers brushing briefly. "Come in. Don’t mind the cats. They're curious about visitors."

Lavender watched Diana's reaction as she stepped into the houseboat's interior.

The police chief stopped mid-step, taking in the space that Lavender had crafted over fifteen years.

Travel souvenirs mixed with local art, books stacked everywhere, and plants thriving in the marine environment.

Afternoon light streamed through portholes, casting moving patterns on worn wooden floors.

"This is..." Diana paused, and Lavender felt a flutter of pride at the wonder in her voice. "Beautiful."

"Fifteen years of collecting things that matter." Lavender moved toward the galley, noting how Diana's gaze lingered on community photos and handmade gifts from café regulars. "Make yourself comfortable. Dinner won't be long."

Lavender watched from the kitchen as Diana settled onto the cushioned seating area, where Basil immediately claimed her lap with purring authority. The sight made something warm unfurl in Lavender's chest. Her usually standoffish cat accepting this woman so readily felt like a good omen.

"He doesn't usually warm up to strangers this fast," Lavender observed, pulling ingredients from the compact but efficient kitchen.

"I'm honored." Diana's laugh was genuine, her hand stroking Basil's gray fur with surprising gentleness. "What can I do to help?"

"Keep me company."

Lavender found herself stealing glances as she prepared dinner, watching Diana study the travel photos on the walls.

Each image carried memories—Morocco's spice markets, Thailand's floating temples, Nova Scotia's rugged coastline—adventures from before community responsibility had anchored her to Phoenix Ridge.

"I wanted to see the world," Lavender said, seasoning pasta with herbs from her windowsill garden. "Ended up finding it right here instead."

When Diana offered to help set the small table, Lavender felt the shift in energy as they moved around each other in the confined space. Their movements gradually synchronized, and when Lavender reached for wine glasses, Diana's steadying hand on her elbow sent warmth shooting up her arm.

Over dinner, Lavender watched her walls come down incrementally.

Diana spoke of her military family, the pressure to serve and protect that had shaped her from childhood.

In return, Lavender shared her journey from wandering to rootedness, how creating a sanctuary for others had become her life's work.

"My parents wanted me to be a lawyer," Diana admitted, refilling their wine glasses. "Follow Mom's footsteps, work in air-conditioned offices instead of chasing criminals."

"But you chose this instead."

"I chose duty." Diana's smile held complicated emotions that Lavender longed to explore. "Sometimes I wonder if I chose it or it chose me."

The wine worked its magic, relaxing Diana's rigid posture as they moved to the main seating area.

Evening deepened around them, harbor lights beginning to twinkle beyond the windows.

Lavender guided conversation from serious to playful, delighting in each glimpse of the woman Diana kept hidden beneath her professional armor.

"You laugh differently here," Lavender said, observing how Diana's features transformed when genuinely amused.

"I don't laugh much at work." Diana tucked her legs under her. "It's hard to find humor in missing persons cases and domestic violence calls."

"What do you do to unwind?" Lavender kept her tone gentle but pointed, watching Diana consider the question seriously.