Page 31 of Distress Signal
“Maybe we can?—”
“No,” I said, gently but firmly. “I can’t…There’s too much going on up here.” I tapped my temple. “And until I find my sister, I can’t take on anything else.”
Though his expression fell from earnestness to disappointment for the second time today, he said, “Okay, I understand.”
“I’m sorry. All of this is a lot right now.”
“No, I get it. Don’t worry about it.” Hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, he inclined his head toward Lane’s office and said, “I better go.”
“Right. Well…see you around.”
“Yeah, see you.”
I didn’t move from the spot as he walked away, watching as his long legs ate up the distance to his brother’s office, his broad shoulders hunched forward, head down.
Wondering if this was the last time I’d lay eyes on Finn Lawless.
nine
. . .
FINN
“What the fuck, Lane?”I fumed as I stalked into his office and slammed the door shut behind me. Placing my palms flat on his desk, I leaned in, getting right in his face.
“I swear to god, Finn, I hadnofucking idea.”
“You just put that woman through hell fornothing,” I gritted out.
“I know, I know,” Lane said, raising his hands in surrender. “And I’m sorry. But honestly, I could not have predictedthat. No one could have.”
As furious as I was for Reagan’s sake, he was right, and it took some of the wind out of my sails.
“Somebody please tell us what the fuck is going on,” Crew demanded.
I straightened and began pacing, mind spinning, while Lane filled West and Crew in on what had happened.
“So…the sister isn’t dead?” Crew asked.
“Not as far as we know. She and Finn”—he glared pointedly at me—“seem to agree that she wouldknowif her sister was gone thanks to some woo-woo twin shit.”
West nodded in understanding. “Makes sense.”
Lane rolled his eyes. “Not you too.”
West shrugged. “I can’t explain it, Sheriff. I just know it’s real.” He tapped a spot on his chest, right over his heart, then jerked his chin at me. “I’d know if something happened.”
I smirked at Lane.
“Like when you got shot,” I said. “I knew right away.”
“Yeah, can we not bring that up?” he asked, palm moving slightly to the left, to the point where a specially designed armor-piercing bullet had shredded through his Kevlar vest and pierced his body. “I swear it fucking…pulsesevery time someone mentions it.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“The point is,” Lane said, redirecting our attention to the matter at hand, “now I’ve got a fucking missing person’s caseandan unidentified dead girl in the morgue.”
He leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.
