Page 18 of Forgiveness River

“Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty minutes.” Kwan’s voice was sharp, professional, with that edge of constant urgency that seemed to define her.

“Taking the long way back. Needed to clear my head.” He glanced at the eastern horizon, where the darkness had begun to soften with the first hints of dawn. “What do you need?”

“We’ve got movement on the Murphy shipment timeline. Moss is pushing it up—Thursday instead of next week. The surveillance photos just came in.” She paused, and he could hear the faint sounds of papers rustling. “You don’t sound so good, O’Hara.”

“I’m fine.” The lie came automatically, worn smooth by repetition.

“No, you’re not.” Kwan’s tone shifted, softening almost imperceptibly. Few would have caught it, but Wyatt had spent enough time with her to recognize when the agent gave way to the human being. “Talk to me. Is it your wife?”

Wyatt exhaled slowly, watching his breath form a small cloud in the chilly mountain air. “She gave me two weeks. To explain or—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Or she walks,” Kwan supplied. “I’m sorry. But you know we can’t?—”

“Can’t compromise the operation. Can’t risk the safety of the agents involved. Can’t jeopardize months of work.” He recited the reasons he’d repeated to himself a thousand times like a mantra. “I know the protocol, Kwan.”

“This is bigger than just one relationship, Wyatt.” Her use of his first name underscored the personal nature of theconversation. “The amount of fentanyl in this shipment could devastate communities across three states.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rose, echoing slightly in the confines of the truck cab. “You think I’m not reminded of it every time I sit across from Moss, pretending to be the kind of man who would let poison flow into his hometown for profit? Every time I close my eyes and see the faces of overdose victims from my last case?”

Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.

“I know you know,” Kwan finally said, her voice quiet. “That’s why you’re our best asset. Why you’ve lasted this long undercover without breaking. But I need you at one hundred percent, O’Hara. I need your head in the game.”

“It is.” Another lie. Another brick in the wall between him and the truth.

“Is it?” she challenged. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re a man being torn in half. And split focus gets agents killed.”

Wyatt’s gaze drifted to the photo of Raven still open on his phone. “What would you have me do? She thinks I’m having an affair, Kwan. She’s sleeping in the guest room. She’s stopped asking where I’ve been or when I’ll be home. It’s like she’s already gone, just waiting for the deadline to make it official.”

“I wish I had an easy answer,” Kwan said after a moment, her usual brisk efficiency giving way to rare candor. “God knows I’ve lost enough of my own relationships to this job to understand what you’re facing. But the timeline’s accelerated now. Thursday’s shipment could be our last chance to bring down Moss’s entire network. After that?—”

“After that, I can tell her everything,” Wyatt finished. “If she’s still there to hear it.”

The first true light of dawn broke over the eastern mountains, painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink andgold. Below the overlook, Laurel Valley began to emerge from the shadows, the town he’d sworn to protect coming slowly awake. Somewhere down there, in their Craftsman with the blue door and white trim, Raven was starting her day, carrying the weight of his secrets without even knowing what they were.

“I’ll send the new surveillance photos to your secure drop,” Kwan said, reverting to professional efficiency. “Briefing at 1400 hours at the safe house. And O’Hara?” She paused. “Get some sleep. You’re no good to anyone running on fumes.”

The call ended. Wyatt set the phone down and rubbed his hands over his face, the stubble on his jaw rough against his palms. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not with the Summer Festival starting today. The town would be crawling with tourists, creating both additional security challenges and perfect cover for Moss’s people to move unnoticed.

He’d need to do a sweep of the downtown area before the crowds arrived. Check in with Blaze about the security arrangements. Review the latest intelligence.

And somehow, find five minutes to stop by Raven’s boutique. Not because it would fix anything—those wounds ran too deep for casual conversation to heal—but because he needed to see her. To remind himself what he was fighting for. To store up the sight of her like water before a drought.

The sun crested the mountains fully now, spilling light across the valley in a bright cascade. Wyatt started the truck, the familiar rumble of the engine settling into his bones. He took one last look at Raven’s laughing face on the screen before tucking the phone away. Ten days. Somehow, he had to make it enough.

Putting the truck in gear, he began the descent into Laurel Valley, into the web of obligations and deceptions that had become his life. But for the first time in months, he felt the faintest stirring of something like hope. Thursday’s shipment.The operation’s endgame. The chance, however slim, to reclaim the life he’d put on hold.

To reclaim Raven, if she would still have him.

As he drove, Wyatt’s mind slipped almost involuntarily to the words his grandmother used to say about forgiveness. “Some rivers run slow and quiet,” she’d tell him. “Others crash and thunder. But they all reach the sea eventually. Forgiveness is like that—it finds its way home in its own time.”

He desperately hoped she was right.

Chapter Nine

Main Street Laurel Valleyglowed beneath twinkling festival lights that stretched from lamppost to lamppost, creating a magical canopy above the bustling crowd. The 75th Annual Summer Festival had transformed the charming mountain resort town into a kaleidoscope of color and sound—local musicians playing on the community stage, artisan vendors showcasing their works, and the mouthwatering scent of funnel cakes and smoked brisket permeating the air.

All along Main Street, shop owners had thrown their doors wide open, extending their displays onto the sidewalk to create an open-air marketplace. Raven adjusted the collection of flowing silk scarves on the front display rack, her fingers lingering on the soft fabrics. The bright patterns and vibrant colors matched the festive atmosphere, but stood in stark contrast to the hollow feeling in her chest. A week had passed since her conversation with Sophie at The Reading Nook, a week of strained silences and empty spaces where conversation should have been.

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