Page 3 of Driven By Impulse

Ash had no intention of letting those signs touch fresh air.

“Hanna, where are you?”

Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, walking farther in the house that was built on memories he had locked away to collect dust.

“She could be at the station,” Nicco offered. “Or out on patrol. It’s late.”

Thankfully, they had already been working a job in Montana when Ash had gotten Hanna’s call, and rather than the day’s drive from the Colorado compound, they had been able to get to Bitterroot in just a few hours. Still, it was past the middle of the night.

But…

“That’s not her style,” Ash said simply. “She said she’d be here.”

He made his way along the dark hall, the walls filled with pictures from a different time—Hanna’s graduation from the academy, Wil’s old service photo, Rose and Hanna as young girls, jumping through a sprinkler in the backyard.

“Is this you?”

He turned to see the picture Nicco was looking at, and his heart stuttered, the feeling of the breath being squeezed from his lungs like the welcome, frozen fingers of death herself wrapping around his throat.

Because, of course, it was. In the small picture, tucked into the corner of the frame in front of a shot from a family reunion, Ash had his arm wrapped around Hanna’s shoulder. They were impossibly young, but despite the years stretching between the frozen moment in time and that very night, Ash could remember every detail. He could remember how they sat pressed together in the saddle of his bike up at Hollow Point, how Hanna had snuggled into the comfort of his worn leather jacket, claiming she was chilly, how she had looked up at him as if he’d been the one to hang the moon in the sky that night.

And how her fingers had been warm on his face, stroking the line of his jaw, brushing tension from his cheeks with her simple touch. He could remember how she’d pulled out her instant camera and snapped photos for only them to see, both of them knowing that Wil would hang them out to dry if he figured out the truth, both of them knowing there was no one left to confide in but each other.

That had been the night Ash had allowed himself a taste of the forbidden fruit.

And all these years later, the poison still surged in his veins.

“Long time ago, Hoss. Least now I can actually grow a beard.”

Nicco gave an indulgent shake of his head, the movement making dark curls brush his shoulders. “Ash…”

Too familiar, too knowing, and Nicco’s all-seeing gaze, clashing with the overly bright memories of the house Ash hadn’t been back too in so long, made it feel like the walls were closing in around him, like he couldn’t get a deep breath past that choking, cloying memory.

Only a few people had ever truly seen Ash. And now, it seemed, all those left were all in the same place.

Nicco didn’t say a word, just clapped a hand on Ash’s shoulder. Because he had always known what Ash needed.

Ash swallowed hard, gave a short nod, and finished the pilgrimage to the living room, half-expecting to see Wil waiting for him on the same worn yellow couch he’d sit at on the nights Ash came home too late.

Wil was gone.

But the couch was still there.

And on it, Hanna lay fast asleep.

Her head was buried in her pillow, a riot of dark red curls spilling free, nearly to the floor. Even in her sleep, she was coiled tight, muscles tense and powerful, her back rigid, the throw blanket half-clutched in her hands like a life raft. Only one leg was stretched out, and when Ash followed the strong line of her calf to her thigh, half-hidden under the throw, he realized she wore only a pair of thin cotton panties that cupped the perfect curve of her ass before disappearing into the shadowed folds of fabric.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, then dropped to his knees beside the couch. It was an effort to push away the memories of the last time he’d kneeled before Hanna, but he did, focusing his attention on waking her.

“Hanna.” He gave her shoulder a shake. “Come on, Han. Wake up.”

Hanna groaned and shifted in her sleep, the movement sending the blanket spilling to the floor, revealing her smooth, freckled skin, the constellations Ash had once followed with his fingers and tongue.

“Sheriff.” Nicco’s voice was tight. “You’ve got a job to do.”

Ash glanced back at his captain, but Nicco just shrugged. “Thought that might work.”

It probably should have. Hanna had always been focused, purposeful, determined to do her very best in every situation, from school to sports to police work. It spoke to just how overwhelmed she had to be if even the threat of missing out on her responsibilities still didn’t stir her to life.