Page 97 of The Woman Left Behind

Harry closed it on them.

“She’s a sweet kid,” I observed.

“The best,” he replied and came to me.

When he did, all the dogs came to both of us and bustled around.

But Harry was only about me. I knew this when he slid his arms around me, not losing contact with my gaze.

Yeah, there it was again.

I was grounded. I was safe. I was with a good man.

This was right.

“Wanna start dinner?” I asked.

“I have something to share first,” he told me.

Uh-oh.

“Is it something bad?” I asked hesitantly.

“No. It’s something we hope will be really good.”

Oh my God.

He said “we.”

Like police “we?”

“What?”

He let me go but again took my hand, and this time he led me to the couch. He sat us down, doing this close. The dogs continued to bustle around, and Harry gave some distracted head strokes, but again, his attention didn’t leave me.

Then he told me about suitcases and journals and a motel owner who remembered my parents.

He finished with, “I don’t want to get your hopes up. But when an ongoing crime crosses state lines, the FBI is automatically called in. This means you have the Fret County Sheriff’s Department, Coeur d’Alene Police and the FBI looking into it. We had very little to go on, Lilly. We now have something to follow. Your mom’s journals could be key. I was very worried how this investigation would go, honey. I’m feeling a fuck ton better about it now.”

“Mom journaled,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said.

“For as long as I knew. She told me she liked to ‘get it all down, even if it’s the bad stuff, doll baby, get it out, put it away, but mostly if it’s the good.’ That’s what she’d say.”

Harry took my hand in both of his, and I was so wound up in the knowledge there were suitcases, journals in my mom’s hand, journals sharing her thoughts, it took me a bit to realize he was saying nothing but playing with my fingers.

“Harry?” I called.

My breath caught when his brown eyes came to mine.

They were burning.

“I need to find these fucks for you,” he said, his deep voice abrasive, rubbing over my skin like sandpaper.

Even so, that strength of feeling soothed some rough spots.

I caught his hands in both of mine.

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