Page 29

They cried out, and she pushed up and ran. She wanted to run outside, but her keys were in the kitchen and the attacker might force her into their car. So instead, she ran into her bedroom, then the bathroom, and locked the door.

Holden guided the smooth edge of the cabinet door through the table saw, the blade whirling as it sliced through the wood.

Cool air blew in from the open workshop doors, and sawdust and fresh-cut pine scented the air. He’d been working out here for hours. Doors lay on the workbench, their edges rough because he’d yet to sand them.

He’d barely slept over the last week. Clara was all he could think about. The tears in her eyes when she’d told him to leave. The pain in her voice.

He’d messed up. Fuck, he’d messed up so badly that he didn’t know how to fix it. She wasn’t answering his calls or responding to his texts. Was what he’d done completely unfixable?

His lungs tightened at the idea that it was. That he might never get Clara back.

He paused and checked his phone. He’d texted her not long ago, but still no response.

Being apart from her was killing him, and not just because he needed to fix things. She’d been sick. He needed to make sure she was okay, and right now the only information he was getting was secondhand through Jesse, Becket, and Pam.

Fuck it. He was going to go see her.

He turned everything off, took a quick shower, and climbed into his truck.

On the way, he went over so many scenarios in his head. Things he wanted to say. Apologies he needed to make. None of it felt like enough.

Maybe he should have stopped for flowers or an almond croissant or one of those sweet teas she liked.

He pulled over in front of her house.

Too late now.

This was it. This was when he begged her to forgive him.

He was just taking off his seat belt when his gaze caught on the front door.

It was ajar.

The fuck ? She wouldn’t have done that, not after Scarlett’s murder.

A pulse picked up speed in his temple. Quickly, he reached for his pistol in the glove box and slipped out of the car. He scanned her yard, then street as he jogged up her front steps.

Nothing looked out of place outside.

Quietly, he gave the door a little shove, aiming the Glock in front of him.

Nothing.

He lowered his gaze to the floor—and saw blood on the floorboards.

His muscles locked, his gaze immediately lifting again. “Clara?”

Silence. And it was so fucking loud.

He moved into the living room, then the kitchen, always keeping his back firmly against the wall and his weapon raised. Empty spice jars lay scattered on the counter, their contents spread everywhere.

What the hell happened here?

A siren wailed in the distance.

He turned and made his way into the bedroom. “Clara? Are you here?”

He stepped toward the bed, about to look beneath it, when he heard her.

“Holden?”

He swung toward the bathroom and took three quick steps forward. “Yeah, honey, it’s me. Can you open the door?” A few seconds of silence passed. When nothing happened, he took another step forward and gentled his voice. “Clara…you’re safe.”

One more beat, then the click of the bathroom lock sounded. The door opened, and Clara stood there, blood on the side of her head, her neck a deep red.

“Clara—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before she fell into him, her body shaking.

He wrapped one arm around her tightly and holstered his pistol as the air whooshed from his chest. For a moment there, when he’d seen the blood and the empty house, he’d wondered if he’d been too late.

He closed his eyes, thanking every fucking god out there.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“I—”

“ Clara? ”

They both looked up at the sound of Jesse’s voice.

Jesse found them in the bedroom. “Holden?” He looked from Holden to Clara to the cut on her temple and cursed. “What happened?”

She swallowed. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

Holden curved an arm around Clara’s waist and led her out to the couch. He studied the wound on her temple. “Maybe we should go to the hospital to have that looked at.”

She frowned and touched the wound, as if she was surprised it was there, before shaking her head. “No. I’m okay. I just need a bandage.”

“Clara—”

“I’ll get one of my guys to look at it,” Jesse said, still far too calm. He glanced at Holden. “Did Clara text you?”

“No, I came to talk to her. The door was ajar, so I assumed something was wrong.”

“They must have left,” Clara said softly, almost to herself.

“Who?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know.” Clara swallowed, then winced. “Whoever wanted the USB.”

Holden sat beside her on the couch, his hand going to the small of her back, the need to touch her consuming him. “USB?”

“I was with Indie in the parking lot of The Tea House when I suddenly remembered that on the night Scarlett died, she was rummaging through the spice drawer. So I ran home and found a USB that she’d hidden in the peppercorn jar.”

“What was on it?” Jesse asked.

She dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know. Just as I found it, I heard someone else in the house. That’s when I called you. They attacked me and I dropped it. If it’s not on the floor in the hall, I’m guessing they took it.”

Holden frowned at Jesse. “Pretty big coincidence that they came in at exactly the right time.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Jesse looked back at Clara. “Was anyone around to overhear your conversation with Indie?”

“I don’t—” She stopped, her brows dipping. “A car pulled in beside mine, but I didn’t look over, I only heard it. I guess they could have rolled down their window and listened.”

“And then followed you home,” Jesse finished.

Holden cursed. This was getting too fucking dangerous, and he didn’t like Clara being in the middle of it.

“Did you see who it was?” Jesse asked. “Did you recognize them, or could you give us a description?”

She shook her head, her brows tugging together again. “I didn’t see them. They were always behind me. I don’t even know the color of their car. I’m sorry. But there is something I’m certain about.”

Holden leaned closer. “What?”

“It was a woman.”