Page 13 of Hot Lovin'

“My deputies are on the way,” I tell her, my voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions inside me.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” she says with a soft laugh, cupping my cheek.

The way she looks at me, like she’s found the world in my eyes, makes my heart thud harder in my chest. Christ, I wish we were alone instead of in a parking lot rapidly filling with people.

My deputies show up, the red and blue strobes on their cars washing over us. I give them the information about the shooting, holding Lottie when she turns to me for comfort, and glare at any onlookers who appear as though they might come near us to ask questions. Lottie needs to feel safe right now, and answering the public’s questions will only make her more anxious.

I watch the people in the crowd, wondering if Mike, Alicia, or one of their friends might be here, ready to finish the job they failed to carry out. I knew that facing down Aiden’s parents would be problematic. If my suspicions are correct, they’ve now shown me their willingness to kill. What wasn’t personal has now become very fucking personal. For Aiden. For Lottie. For me.

“Come on,” I say firmly, leading her to her car. “Let’s get you safe.”

“Quinn?” Lottie’s voice is stronger now, tinged with her innate humor even after everything. “Next time we decide to have a moment, let’s avoid the dramatic shootouts, okay?”

“Agreed.” I chuckle, the sound rough in my throat. “Takeaway and a Netflix movie next time, I promise.”

“Good,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Because I like this version of you, too. The one who kisses me like the world is ending.”

My heart stutters. I’m getting in over my head with my little coffee-slinging tornado. It scares me to death. But what scares me even more is the thought that I could’ve lost her tonight.

The weight of my badge against my chest suddenly means so much more now Lottie and Aiden are in my life. And that responsibility terrifies me the most.

Chapter 6

Lottie

I’m sifting through my closet, trying to find something that doesn’t scream, “I’ve given up on adulting,” when Aiden bursts into my bedroom, his tiny face scrunched up in concern. I drop the questionable sweater I was about to throw on over my pink blouse and kneel to his level.

It’s been three weeks since the incident. News travels fast in a small town, and once rumors circulated that I’d been targeted because of my connection to Aiden’s case, his temporary foster family became twitchy. They were reluctant to keep a child who could potentially bring danger to their doorstep, particularly as they had the safety of other foster kids to consider.

I couldn’t blame them, although it seemed like another abandonment of a child who needed love and protection. I knew I could give him the first in unmeasured quantity, and Quinn and his team could provide the latter for both of us. Which is how Aiden came to be living with me.

Adjusting to life with a traumatized child hasn’t been easy, but it’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. Aiden has had to ensure things no four-year-old should.

He woke every night the first week he was with me, crying and shaking until I soothed him back to sleep. It broke my heart to see and hear his pain, and I vowed to do whatever it took to give him the peace and security he deserved.

The second week was better as he settled into his new routine, and this past week has seen his bruises fade to light smudges, a healthy glow return to his pale features, and him sleeping through the night. The speech therapist has been spending time with him, as well as the school counselor, who’s helping him process his emotions through play therapy.

But right now, my little man is upset.

“Hey, buddy, what’s the emergency?” I ask, keeping my voice light despite the hammering of my heart. It hasn’t stopped since the night Quinn and I were shot at, a stark reminder that danger is only a shadow away.

“Mr. Bear gone!” he declares, near tears. He thrusts his empty hands at me as if I can conjure his stuffed friend from thin air.

Aiden is incredibly attached to the bear I bought when he moved in, and he takes him everywhere. Mr. Bear sits in the chair while we eat dinner, accompanies Aiden to the bathroom, and is tucked securely under Aiden’s chin as he sleeps. He’d take Mr. Bear to pre-K if I let him. In his young mind, Mr. Bear is his friend and will never leave him. So losing him is a big deal.

“Okay, mission ‘Find Mr. Bear’ is a go.” I take his hand, squeezing reassurance into his palm.

We embark on the noble quest, checking under beds, behind doors, and in closets until we find the fuzzy fugitive hiding in the laundry basket.

“Fank you, Lollie,” Aiden says, clutching Mr. Bear like a lifeline.

His eyes are like two drops of the darkest chocolate and hold gratitude far too deep for someone his age.

I ruffle his hair, something I can do now he’s used to me and trusts me. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Anxiety and anticipation jolt through me as the doorbell rings. With Aiden safely distracted by his reclaimed bear, I stride toward the door and pull it open. Quinn stands there, all brooding intensity wrapped in a sheriff’s uniform that fits him in ways that have nothing to do with regulations.

He stops by every morning before school and every evening to check in on us, and he has a deputy stationed outside the house, keeping watch overnight. The extra security makes me feel safe, and I wish Quinn would linger, but he only stays long enough to ensure all the windows and doors are secure and check we have everything we need.

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