Page 234 of Lost Then Found
“It’s not really about the Bluebell, sweetheart,” I tell her, my hand rubbing slow circles into her back. “We think…she wants out. Back to California. She’s got kids there, grandkids. Maybe this was her way to get to them. An early retirement. Just with a…darker route than any of us saw coming.”
Lark leans back, her eyes searching mine, like she’s trying to glue the pieces of it together in real time. “Oh my god,” she breathes, stunned. “She mentioned her daughters. It was only a few weeks ago—she said something about her grandkids, too. She was in my house, Boone. Laughing with me. Asking about Hudson.” Her voice catches, hard. “Shewas doing all this while pretending she was my friend?”
She turns and sets the folder down on the counter—only it’s less of a set and more of a slap. Paper shifts inside. Her hand flies up, swiping another tear from her cheek, and I catch the next one before it can fall.
She looks to Miller now, the disbelief hardening into something colder. “What do we do? She can’t keep working there, obviously. But if I just fire her without telling people why, it’s gonna blow back on me. The town loves her. They’ll ask why they never see her around anymore. We need to expose her somehow.”
Miller, still seated but laser-focused, straightens and speaks clearly. “We need to be smart about it. No public accusations until we have it airtight. I say we pull her employment records, get a paper trail. If you know when most of these issues started, we’ll compare that to the money trail—dates, patterns. We find the overlap.”
Lark nods slowly, listening now, trying to tuck the emotion away long enough to process. “So we document first.”
“Exactly,” Miller replies. “We get everything in order. Then, when we’re ready, you don’t just fire her—you present the truth. Calm. Measured. The story will tell itself.”
Lark doesn’t answer. Her eyes stay fixed on the edge of the counter, blinking like she’s trying to absorb everything at once without letting it take her down.
I pull her even closer. She’s warm, but tense—shoulders drawn up so tight it looks like she’s holding her breath.
“She played the long game,” I say, quietly, for her and no one else. “That doesn’t mean you have to play nice.”
Lark exhales, long and shaky. “I’m just…so fuckingtired,Boone.I’m tiredof people trying to take shit from me.”
“I know.” I brush a piece of damp hair away from her face. “But you’ve got people in your corner.”
Her eyes meet mine. They’re still glassy, still an ethereal shade of blue lit with that wounded fire. I’d do anything to get rid of it, but I can’t. So I settle for holding her gaze and letting her see that I’m not going anywhere.
From the table, Miller clears her throat. “And luckily for you, one of them happens to look great in a pantsuit and has zero moral hesitation about ruining someone’s life.”
Lark’s head tips slightly, and then, like a crack in heavy ice, she laughs—short, sudden, but real. It slips out before she can stop it. It’s not loud, but it’s full-bodied, like her chest needed the release.
I swear I could hug Miller for that. For knowing the exact second the silence was getting too heavy, for giving Lark that moment to come up for air. Most people wouldn’t dare crack a joke with the weight of all this in the room. I’ve never been more thankful for Miller’s brutal, unflinching timing in my life. I kiss Lark’s temple and keep her tucked in close, her body softening just a little.
Miller stands. “We’ll reconvene this weekend,” she says. “In the meantime, just act normal. You don’t know athingwhen you’re around Dawn. You’re just the usual cheerful, overworked diner owner. Nothing more.”
Lark nods. Her fingers drift toward the edge of the folder again, then fall back to her sides.
Miller steps in and pulls her into another hug—this one a little longer, a little tighter. “You’ve got this,” she murmurs. “Don’t let her steal another inch of your peace.”
Then she pulls back, already reaching for her phone. “Client meeting in twenty,” she says, glancing at the screen with a sigh. She turns to me, expression deadpan. “I need a ride back to my car in that horrid contraption that brought me up here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean the Gator?”
She visibly shudders. “Yes. That heinous thing.”
Lark laughs again, softer this time, and I press a kiss to her forehead. “You gonna be okay for a few minutes?”
She nods, eyes a little clearer now. “Yeah. Go. Just don’t let her sue you for emotional distress on the way back.”
Miller smirks. “I’m already billing him for it.”
Lark shakes her head and squeezes her arm gently. “Thank you. You’rethe best.”
Miller lifts a brow. “I know. Get some rest, okay? Sleep it off or something.”
Lark snorts, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to make me breathe easier. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers a little shaky but her voice stronger when she says, “Yeah, I’ll try.”
Miller spins on her heel, already moving for the door. “Let’s go, cowboy.”
I fall into step behind her, but she pauses at the threshold and glances back at Lark one last time. “If you don’t hear from me by tonight, check that creek down the hill. He probably threw my body in there.”
