Page 28 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

L avender woke before her alarm, the houseboat’s familiar rocking unable to lull her back to sleep. Salt air drifted through the porthole she’d left cracked, but the seabird calls that usually grounded her felt distant against the memory of yesterday’s forest crisis.

Saffron materialized beside her pillow, green eyes reflecting concern. Bail paced the narrow hallway between the bedroom and galley, his gray form ghosting past windows where harbor lights blurred in the morning mist.

They knew. Animals always knew when something wasn’t quite right.

Lavender pulled herself from tangled quilts and padded barefoot across worn wooden floors, and the boat swayed gently as she moved.

Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the copper kettle, muscle memory disrupted by the weight pressing against her ribs. The danger in the forest and Diana’s protective instincts overriding everything else when those voices had called through the trees.

Steam rose from her chamomile tea, carrying scents that usually calmed her but today felt insufficient.

She’d faced real danger yesterday, not the abstract threat that hung over the community for a month, but immediate peril that could’ve ended everything she’d built with Diana before they’d truly begun.

Her phone buzzed against the galley counter—a text from Georgia Darricott: Community’s buzzing about yesterday’s breakthrough. You holding up alright?

Another from Corinne: Heard you were part of the forest operation. Thank you for everything you’ve done.

The messages kept coming from community members who’d learned about her role in the investigation, offering their gratitude and concern. Lavender felt the weight of community leadership settling around her shoulders like a familiar coat, but today, it felt heavier somehow.

The first phone call came easier than expected. Georgia answered on the second ring, her voice carrying both relief and curiosity.

“Any word on what happens next?” Georgia asked.

“I’m sure there will be federal prosecutors and multi-jurisdictional coordination,” Lavender replied, settling into the cushioned nook where she took difficult calls. “There’s going to be lots of work over the next few months, but the immediate danger is over.”

“And you? How are you processing what happened?”

Lavender watched harbor lights reflect off water that sloshed around her houseboat. “I keep thinking about how close we came to losing everything. Not just the investigation, but…” She paused, recognizing territory she wasn’t ready to navigate.

“But your relationship with Chief Marten,” Georgia said gently. “Dear, half the community has noticed the change in both of you. The way you work together, the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.”

Heat rose in Lavender’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

“The best things usually are.” Georgia’s voice carried decades of wisdom. “But yesterday proved something, didn’t it? About what you’re willing to risk for each other?”

Before Lavender could respond, someone knocked on the houseboat’s main door. Sharp, professional raps that made both cats flatten their ears.

“I need to go,” Lavender said, ending the call as a wave of unease crawled up her spine.

She moved toward the door with growing caution, noticing how the knocking had stopped. Through the porthole, she caught a glimpse of a figure walking quickly away from the dock, too distant to identify but moving with a purpose that felt wrong.

Lavender opened the door carefully, scanning the dock area before looking down. An envelope lay on the deck, thick paper that looked official, her name written in large block letters across the front.

Her hands trembled as she brought it inside, locking the door behind her with deliberate care. The envelope felt heavy, substantial, like something that carried weight beyond just its physical presence.

Inside, a single sheet of paper with a message that made her blood turn to ice water:

Your involvement in yesterday’s operation has been noted. Community spaces can become targets too. Cafe operations should consider temporary closure for safety reasons. This will be your only warning.

No signature, no identification, just professional-quality printing that suggested resources and planning rather than a random threat.

Lavender sank into her reading chair, Saffron immediately claiming her lap while Basil pressed against her ankles. The cats’ warmth helped counteract the cold spreading through her chest, but couldn’t touch the fear that was crystallizing into something sharper.

The cafe, the space she’d spent fifteen years building into something precious and irreplaceable, was being threatened. The threat wasn’t just personal; it was aimed at the heart of everything she’d created.

Her phone buzzed, and Diana’s name on the screen made her pulse quicken with relief and something deeper.

“Morning,” Diana’s voice carried warmth that immediately began to melt the ice in Lavender’s veins. “How are you feeling after yesterday?”

“I—” Lavender’s voice cracked slightly. “Diana, I need to see you. Someone left a threatening message.”

“Are you safe right now? Are you at home?”

“Yes, I’m safe and I’m at home, but they threatened the cafe.”

“I’m coming to get you,” Diana said, and Lavender could hear movement in the background. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t open the door for anyone except me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The line went dead, leaving Lavender alone with cats and the recognition that everything had changed again.

Yesterday's crisis had proven their partnership could survive external danger.

Today's threat would test whether their relationship could navigate the reality that loving someone meant accepting the risks that came with their work.

Lavender reread the message. This wasn't random intimidation but strategic pressure applied by someone who understood how to exploit emotional vulnerabilities.

She gathered the envelope and its contents, photographing everything with her phone before sealing it in a plastic bag. Diana would need evidence, and despite her fear, Lavender found herself thinking analytically about documentation and chain of custody.

Outside, morning mist was beginning to lift from the harbor, revealing a city that looked normal from the surface but carried threats in its shadows. Phoenix Ridge had been her home for fifteen years, the place where she'd built community and found purpose.

Now someone was trying to use that love against her.

Twelve minutes later, Diana's patrol car appeared on the dock road, and Lavender gathered her keys and the evidence.

Whatever came next, they would face it together. But first, Diana needed to see what they were dealing with, and Lavender needed the safety that only Diana's presence could provide.

The threatening message had succeeded in one thing: it had proven that their relationship was worth targeting, which meant it was worth protecting with everything they had.

They’d both been silent during the ten-minute drive to the police station, both women processing the threatening message and what it meant. When Diana finally spoke, her voice carried professional control layered over personal concern. "We'll figure out who sent this. I promise."

Lavender nodded, studying Diana's profile as she drove. The woman beside her was both the chief of police and her lover, and today those roles felt more integrated than ever.

The Phoenix Ridge Police Station felt different than during her previous visits.

Lavender followed Diana through corridors that smelled of coffee and official business, fluorescent lights harsh after the houseboat’s warm ambience.

Her canvas bag held the threatening message, photographed and sealed in plastic like Diana had taught her.

"My office is through here," Diana said, her hand finding the small of Lavender's back as they walked. The touch was brief but grounding, a reminder that beneath the uniform and badge was the woman who'd held her through the night and had fiercely protected her with her life.

Diana unlocked her office door and stepped aside to let Lavender enter first. The space was exactly what Lavender had expected: clean lines and organized efficiency, but there were personal touches that spoke to the woman underneath the authority.

A small plant thrived on the windowsill that Lavender was certain hadn't been there a month ago.

Photos of the missing women held places of honor on the desk, not filed away but present, reminders of why the work mattered.

"Please sit," Diana said, closing the door behind them. "Let me see what we're dealing with."

Lavender handed over the evidence bag, watching Diana's expression shift. This was Diana in her element—competent, thorough, and protective in ways that went beyond personal feelings to encompass duty itself.

"It’s a professional print job on quality paper," Diana observed, photographing the message from multiple angles. "This isn't some random crank. Someone with resources put thought into this."

"They know where I live and how much the cafe means to me."

Diana's jaw tightened. "They know that targeting you gets to me." She reached for her phone. "Morgan, I need you in my office. Priority evidence analysis."

While they waited, Diana moved to the window overlooking downtown Phoenix Ridge. Lavender watched her, seeing the tension in her shoulders.

"You're scared," Lavender said.

Diana turned, something vulnerable flickering across her features before her professional composure reasserted itself. "I'm angry. Someone threatening you is threatening everything that matters to me."

A few minutes later, Detective Morgan Rivers knocked and entered the room, laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She nodded to Lavender with professional courtesy before focusing on Diana.

"What do we have, Chief?"