Page 50 of Distress Signal
Finn Lawless was a giver, always making sure everyone around him was taken care of before he ever spared a thought for himself.
I knew this deep in my bones. Maybe I didn’t know much about him on the surface, but I knew the man beneath the muscles and ink.
How he’d come to my rescue in the bar that night seven years ago.
How he’d held my hand through one of the worst experiences of my life a month ago.
Of course, even a grazing thought over the night we met had my mind running away with me, conjuring images of him and me, tangled in those motel room sheets.
The way he’d made me come several times before ever giving into the demands of his own body. The way he’d talked me through it all, the deep tenor of his voice riling me up as much as his hands and cock had.
Oh yes, Finn Lawless wasabsolutelya giver—a generous man in and out of the bedroom.
“I’m okay,” I answered, an easy, blanket answer that didn’teven come close to encompassing how I truly felt. “I have a meeting with your brother this morning, actually.”
“About the case? Have there been any developments?”
“I have no idea,” I told him honestly. “I’m hoping so, but he wasn’t exactly forthcoming on the phone.
Finn chuckled, a low, deep sound that rolled over my body and settled on my bones.
“Sounds like Lane,” he said.
As if drawn together by some invisible force, our gazes collided and held. I couldn’t have looked away if I tried, entirely entranced by the ocean depths of his eyes.
A woman could easily drown there, and I couldn’t deny there was a part of me—a big one—that wanted to throw myself into the deep. Surrender to the siren sounds of his presence.
Shaking my head slightly, I discarded that thought and dragged my attention away.
Nothing good could come from giving into my desires.
“Is that all?” I asked, a bit curtly. Goddesses, this man sent my emotions haywire. My mama would be appalled at how badly my manners failed me when he was around.
I refused to look at him again, though I didn’t miss the way his brows pinched together as he stared at me, his gaze a brand on my cheek.
“I—” he started but cut himself off. “Yeah, that’s all. You’ll call or text if you need anything?”
“Sure thing.”
“Okay then. Well, good luck with your meeting.”
“Thanks.”
He lingered for a moment, clearly waiting to see if I’d backtrack and apologize, or offer anything else. Ask him to stay, ask for his help,something.
I said nothing, and eventually, he left.
And I took my first full breath since he’d arrived.
At eleven on the dot,I walked through the front door of the sheriff’s department. The woman at the desk behind the bullet proof glass smiled warmly at me.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she said after she slid open her little window. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see Sheriff Lawless.”
“Name?” she asked, looking down at a clipboard of notes and papers in front of her.
“Reagan Lindsey.”
