Page 40 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

Sam leaned forward in her chair. "We were all scared until we heard you were safe. Then relieved. Now we're planning how to make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

"The buddy system you and Chief Marten developed worked exactly like it was supposed to," Elle added. "When Georgia couldn't reach you for your usual Thursday morning check-in, we had search protocols activated within an hour."

Lavender felt her body loosen. The safety networks they'd built had functioned during the crisis, proving that community protection could be more than theoretical.

"Georgia, you tried to call me Thursday morning?"

"Every Thursday at nine for fifteen years, dear. When I got your voicemail instead of a cheerful update about café preparations, I knew something was wrong." Georgia's expression carried satisfaction at being proved right. "I called Chief Marten immediately."

Diana squeezed Lavender's hand. "Georgia's call was the first confirmation that you hadn't left voluntarily. It started the investigation timeline."

"So our community protocols worked?"

"Perfectly," Sam confirmed. "Within two hours, we had neighborhood searches organized, communication trees activated, and coordination with police units without bureaucratic frustration."

Elle nodded. "People knew exactly what to do because of the workshops you and Chief Marten facilitated. There was no panic, just an organized community response."

Lavender absorbed this, understanding that their collaborative approach to community safety had proven itself during a real crisis. Not just theoretical preparation, but practical effectiveness when lives depended on quick, coordinated action.

"What about the café?" she asked.

"Closed Wednesday and Thursday while we focused on finding you," Georgia replied. "But people kept gathering anyway. Racquel and Jordan organized meal sharing in the parking lot. Half the community spent those two days coordinating search efforts and offering emotional support."

"Dr. Hassan stopped by to check on the community’s mental health," Sam added. "She was impressed by how well everyone was handling the crisis and said most communities fall apart during this kind of trauma, but ours got stronger."

Diana's thumb moved across Lavender's knuckles. "Community resilience in action."

"When do you reopen?" Elle asked.

"When Lavender is ready," Diana said before Lavender could answer. "No pressure or timeline except what feels right for recovery."

Georgia stood, smoothing her skirt. "In that case, we should let you rest. But dear?" She paused at the door. "The community is planning a celebration feast for when you're ready. Nothing overwhelming, just everyone expressing gratitude that you're home safe."

After they left, Lavender sat quietly processing the visit. Her absence had created exactly the kind of community response she'd hoped their safety protocols would generate: organized, supportive, effective. People had taken care of each other while working systematically to bring her home.

"They love you," Diana observed.

"They love what we built together. The safety networks, the collaborative approach with your department, and the sense that community protection actually works." Lavender looked at Diana. "They love us too. Did you see how Georgia treated you like family?"

"I noticed. Fifteen years of keeping people at professional distance, and your community elder adopts me in less than two months."

"Because you proved you're worthy of what they're offering. Trust, acceptance, and belonging." Lavender leaned against Diana's shoulder. "How does it feel?"

Diana was quiet for a moment, considering. "Like something I didn't know I was missing. It feels…like home."

A knock interrupted them. Corinne Vernalis appeared in the doorway, her face showing exhaustion and overwhelming relief in equal measure.

"I know you're probably tired of visitors," she said, "but I needed to thank you personally."

"For what?"

"For building the networks that brought all of us home." Corinne's voice carried emotion that went beyond polite gratitude. "Joanna's alive because you and Chief Marten figured out how to work together. We all are."

Lavender felt tears threaten. Not from sadness or pain, but from recognition that the work she'd dedicated her life to had mattered during the moment when it counted most.

"How is Joanna?"

"Exhausted and traumatized, but alive and healing. She wants to see you when you're feeling up to visitors." Corinne smiled. "Fair warning: she's already planning a return to swimming lessons. Says the community needs normal activities to process what happened."

"That sounds like Joanna."

"Chief Marten." Corinne turned to Diana. "The community's grateful beyond words. But more than that, we trust you now in ways that go beyond professional respect. You're part of what we're protecting."

After Corinne left, the room fell quiet except for monitoring equipment and distant hospital sounds. Lavender felt community love surrounding her recovery like a warm embrace, but also the recognition that she and Diana had become something larger than their individual roles.

"We're not just a couple anymore," she said quietly. "We're a symbol of what Phoenix Ridge can be when different kinds of leadership work together."

"Is that overwhelming?"

Lavender considered the question, testing how the weight of community expectation felt against her shoulders. "It's motivating. We proved something important about collaboration and partnership. Now we get to keep building on it."

Diana's arm tightened around her. "Together."

"Always together."

The afternoon quiet felt different from the morning's community energy.

Visiting hours had ended, leaving Diana and Lavender alone with sunshine streaming through windows that faced the harbor.

In the distance, Lavender could see boats moving through water that sparkled like scattered diamonds, the familiar view grounding her in the reality of Phoenix Ridge's continued existence.

Diana had pulled her chair as close to the bed as medical equipment allowed. Her hand rested on Lavender's, her thumb tracing patterns across knuckles with absent concentration.

"What aren't you telling me?" Lavender asked.

Diana's thumb stilled. "About what?"

"About how scared you were and what it felt like to find the houseboat empty. About whether you thought you'd be too late." Lavender turned her hand palm up, interlacing their fingers. "You've been taking care of me since the rescue, but you haven't processed your own trauma."

"I'm fine."

"Diana."

The single word carried the gentle authority Lavender used when people tried to deflect instead of dealing with difficult emotions. Diana's professional mask couldn't survive that tone.

"I thought I'd lost you." The admission came out rough, scraped raw. "I walked into the houseboat and saw the overturned furniture and found your phone tangled in the sheets, and for about thirty seconds I couldn't think, couldn't move. I just stood there imagining?—"

She stopped, jaw tightening against whatever images had filled her mind.

"What did you imagine?"

"All the ways I might never see you again.

All the things I should have said but didn't because I was too careful about professional boundaries.

" Diana's eyes met hers. "I realized I'd been so worried about protecting our relationship from my job that I'd never told you how completely you'd changed everything for me. "

Lavender felt something shift in her chest, recognition that they were finally moving past crisis management into territory that would define their future together.

"Tell me now."

Diana was quiet for a long moment, gathering words for thoughts she'd apparently never voiced.

"Six months ago, I defined myself entirely through my competence.

Professional success, department effectiveness, case clearance rates.

I thought caring too much would make me weak and hesitate when people needed me to act. "

"And now?"

"Now I understand that caring about you makes me better at everything else. I’m more intuitive with community members, more strategic about resource allocation, and more effective at building the kind of trust that actually solves cases.

" Diana's smile was soft but certain. “You taught me that emotional intelligence supports professional capability instead of diminishing it.”

"You taught me something too." Lavender shifted to face Diana more directly. "I've spent fifteen years believing that community leadership meant giving everything to everyone else. That romantic partnership would drain the energy I needed for service."

"But?"

"But loving you doesn't diminish what I have to offer the community. It amplifies it. When we work together, I'm more confident, more effective, and more myself than I've ever been alone." Lavender squeezed Diana's hand. "You make me better at the work I was already good at."

They sat in comfortable silence, processing the recognition that their relationship had enhanced rather than complicated their individual purposes.

"What happens now?" Diana asked eventually.

"What do you mean?"

"The community knows about us. My department accepts our partnership. We've survived the ultimate test of whether personal and professional can coexist." Diana's expression carried vulnerability Lavender had rarely seen. "So what do we do with that?"

Lavender studied Diana's face, seeing uncertainty beneath the question. Not doubt about their relationship, but confusion about how to navigate territory neither had experienced before.

"We build something sustainable," Lavender said. "We figure out shared living arrangements that support both our work. We develop routines that honor our individual needs and our partnership. We create a life together that serves both our communities."

"Shared living arrangements?"