Page 8 of Forgiveness River

Wyatt nodded. The “buyer” was actually DEA Agent Melissa Kwan, whose cover as a resort developer with a sideline in distribution had been meticulously constructed over the past year.

“She’ll be here,” he confirmed. “Same time tomorrow.”

“Good.” Moss snapped the case shut. “And O’Hara? Next time there’s a patrol, I’d appreciate a heads-up. Viper here doesn’t always have my restraint.”

The threat wasn’t even thinly veiled. Wyatt understood its implications perfectly—one mistake, one misstep, and he was expendable.

Just like that, the meeting was over. The three men departed as efficiently as they’d arrived, leaving Wyatt alone in the cabin with the case and the crushing weight of his double life.

He waited until the sound of their SUV faded into the distance before allowing himself to breathe normally again. His hand trembled slightly as he extracted a burner phone from his boot and sent a coded message to Blaze and Agent Kwan.

Package delivered. Pickup confirmed. Route adjustments needed.

How many more nights like this? How many more lies to Raven? How many more close calls before his luck ran out?

He secured the cabin and began the careful hike to where he’d hidden his own vehicle, a nondescript truck borrowed from the DEA’s fleet of unmarked cars. The night air felt clean in his lungs after the stifling tension of the cabin, the stars overhead offering silent witness to his solitary burden.

His regular phone vibrated again. Heart quickening, he checked it, hoping for a response from Raven.

Nothing.

The hollow feeling in his chest expanded. She hadn’t responded to his message. Didn’t ask where he was, when he’d be home, if he was safe. The silence between them had grown so deep that his wife no longer even questioned his absences.

Maybe she’d stopped caring. Maybe she’d given up on them entirely. The thought was like ice in his veins, colder than the mountain air.

Or worse—maybe she’d started looking elsewhere for the companionship he wasn’t providing. The image of Raven finding comfort in someone else’s arms twisted through him like a serrated blade.

No. He refused to believe that. Raven was loyal to her core—it was one of the things he’d first loved about her. But loyalty could only withstand so much strain before it fractured. And he’d been testing hers for months now.

Wyatt reached his truck and climbed inside, sitting for a moment with his hands on the wheel, exhaustion settling over him like a physical weight. The mission was important—vital, even. The drug operation was poisoning communities across the Northwest, ruining lives, destroying families.

Including, he realized with bitter irony, his own.

Two more weeks. That’s what Agent Kwan had promised. Two more weeks until they had enough evidence to bring down Moss and his entire network. Two more weeks of lies and absences. Two more weeks of watching Raven’s eyes grow colder, her smile more distant, her hope dimmer.

If their marriage survived that long.

Wyatt started the engine and began the careful drive down the mountain, taking the long way to avoid being seen. Tomorrow, he’d have to face Raven, look into those blue eyes the color of a lake in winter that had once shone with so much love for him, and lie again.

For now, though, he just needed to make it home—to the house that no longer felt like one.

Chapter Four

Heavenly DelightsBakery opened at five every morning, the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls wafting through downtown Laurel Valley before most residents had even hit the snooze button.

By six thirty, the cozy establishment with its white Priscilla curtains and farmhouse tables was humming with early risers—resort executives grabbing artisanal espressos before strategy meetings, yoga instructors in designer athleisure fueling up on gluten-free scones, and the occasional vacationing CEO who’d risen with the mountains’ first light to check stock prices before hitting the slopes. Despite the upscale clientele that had transformed this once-sleepy mountain town into a destination for the wealthy, Rose had steadfastly refused to change the bakery’s rustic charm or inflate her prices, making Heavenly Delights that rare Laurel Valley establishment where authenticity wasn’t just a marketing strategy.

And then there were the O’Hara brothers.

They didn’t manage to coordinate their schedules often—between Colt’s medical practice, Hank’s construction business, Duncan’s artistic temperament that rarely acknowledged conventional hours, Aidan’s work at the garage, and Wyatt’sunpredictable assignments as a DEA agent—but when they did, it was tradition. Rose’s back corner booth, the one with the view of Twin Peaks through the beveled-glass window, was unofficially reserved for them.

“All I’m saying,” Aidan insisted, pointing a forkful of pancake at Colt, “is that you could have warned me that Mrs. Ellison was going to corner me about her arthritic hip the minute she saw me in the produce section. I’m a mechanic, not an orthopedist.”

Colt’s shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. “Doctor-patient confidentiality,” he managed between chuckles. “Besides, she’s seventy-eight and thinks all O’Haras are essentially interchangeable.”

“I was holding a pineapple,” Aidan continued, his handsome face twisted in mock horror. “And she starts doing the hip rotations you taught her to do right in the middle of the aisle. What was I supposed to do?”

This sent the table into a fresh round of laughter, even Wyatt managing a genuine smile despite the weight that had settled permanently between his shoulder blades these past months. These moments with his brothers were precious in the storms he’d been navigating—brief opportunities when he could simply be himself without calculation or performance.

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