Page 118 of Wild Embers
Think.
There was someone in Blake’s room, someone who means her harm.
I hate that there’s nothing I can do about that now. All I can do is work the case.
The lock was broken, which means that the person doesn’t know how to pick locks. From the canvas Tessa and Ridgeperformed last night, no one heard the person breaking into the room, nor did anyone hear Bear barking like a rabid dog.
Hard to believe, but it is what it is.
Then Bear was trapped in the bathroom and attacked the person. The full DNA report will likely take months, but I greased a few palms this morning to get a Forensic DNA Phenotyping report. That one won’t take as long and will at least help us narrow down the search.
Blake could’ve returned to Moose Gap Lodge while the person was still inside.
I don’t let myself finish the thought. I don’t have to.
My imagination does it for me anyway, causing my mouth to twist wryly as every muscle in my body contracts.
I should have put one of my deputies outside her room. I should’ve made her move into Santiago’s house sooner.
Blake would’ve laughed in my face, but I have no qualms about kidnapping to ensure Blake’s safety.
My radio crackles from where it’s plugged in, ripping me from my apprehensive pondering.
Jo laughs at something in the lobby. She’s probably on the phone.
The ancient printer in the bullpen rattles as it spits out a file. That thing could be heard from a mile away.
Closing my eyes, I do my best to focus, but I find myself listening for Blake.
Is she thirsty?
Does she have a headache from being in that room for so long?
Should I get her to take a break?
My fingers massage my brow ridge as I ridicule myself for acting like this—obsessed. Checking the clock on the wall, I discover that only five minutes have passed.
Just.
Five.
I wait for the five minutes to turn into six before I lose the argument with myself and find a reason to go back to Blake.
Whipping up a coffee in the little breakroom, I search for anything I can add to it. I fill half of the mug with milk and the other half with drip coffee. I send a thank-you to the deity upstairs when I find a can of extra-creamy whipped cream and cinnamon in the cabinet.
At the station, we pretend Tessa is the reason we have all the things for a latte, but it’s me. Although I’m not the one who supplies the mugs. That’s Jolene. A fact that is made apparent when I get a look at the words on the mug in my hand as I take it to Blake.
Chaos Coordinator.
Nothing says, “I’m not thinking about you,” quite like this mug.
Entering the room, I find Blake in the exact same position she was in when I left.
“I figured this might help,” I say by way of announcing my presence as I carefully find a spot to set down the mug.
“You’re an angel.” Blake snatches the coffee from my hands and takes a gulp, a smile brightening her face. “Oh, sweet bean juice.” She takes another look at the ceramic cup. “Did you make this?”
Unwilling to answer, I ask a question of my own and pull out the empty chair opposite her. “How’s it going?”
