James had taken some of the joy out of the work she’d been doing. The lodge was bringing it back, but everything had changed.
She was changed.
And she wasn’t sure how deep that change ran.
Sam poked her in the shoulder. “Where’d you go, Tans?”
She gave herself a small shake. “Nowhere. Just got lost in thought.”
“Someone hurt you, Tansy. I can tell. You’re going to tell me who it was.”
Not a question. A demand.
Her warrior.
Tansy reached over and rubbed her hand over his forearm, trying in vain to ignore the muscles and the sensations the simple act of comfort sent through her.
“I’m fine. There’s nothing to take care of. There’s no one to intimidate, but if there is, you’re the first one I’ll call.”
Sam studied her. “Promise?”
“You’ll be my first call. Promise.”
Sam sat on the edge of the bed in the room he’d chosen. Next door to Tansy on the top floor.
The security in the place was shit. Something he’d be taking care of in short order.
The woman had no defenses in place other than a few deadbolts. Didn’t believe she needed any.
As if her black belts alone were enough to keep her safe.
He’d texted Joe an update on his sister and the lodge. Tansy was keeping her brother in the loop on the repairs, but she hadn’t been as open about the isolation she’d surrounded herself with.
As a leader of his Hostage Rescue Team in the FBI, Joe Cheveyo was away more than he was home. Home had been Sacramento for most of their lives, but that was changing.
This lodge at Midnight Lake was the impetus.
And it had Sam thinking of changing as well.
Losing Hayley Armstrong was potentially a deal breaker for him. He didn’t want to face that kind of loss again.
Over his years searching for missing kids, he’d had many more successes than failures. But the failures ate away at his soul.
Tansy was taking on a new challenge.
Maybe he should do the same.
Tansy was pulled in a bazillion directions all at the same time by that beautiful brain of hers.
His wasn’t pulling him anywhere except into a constant swirl of doubt and confusion.
Washed up at thirty.
Which made him grin. Self-pity wasn’t his thing.
Time to figure out what was going to be his thing. Back to the FBI after his leave was over or on to something new? A few ideas had taken hold over the years, but were they practical?
He had the perfect person to help him figure it out sleeping right next door. Unless she was doing those ridiculous wolf naps all the time.