Whispers of You (The Lost & Found Series Book 1)

I knew now why I’d stayed away from photos of Wren. She’d been beautiful when I’d fallen in love with her. But now? It was the kind of beauty that branded you. Looking at her and truly seeing? You’d never be the same.

Heading back to the B&B, I’d frozen as I saw her stepping out of the restaurant. I’d stood in the shadows like a creep, just watching her, drinking in every detail like a man burning from thirst. She’d tipped her face up to the sky and breathed deeply as if taking the whole world into her lungs, not wanting to take a single thing for granted.

Her long hair cascaded down her back. The soft brown had hints of blond woven through it that hadn’t been there before. I hated that I didn’t know when they’d appeared. Recently? In the weeks after I’d left?

The moonlight hit the swells of her cheeks, her skin picking up the rosy glow, even in the darkness. But the lack of light stole that mix of brown and green in her eyes from me. I would’ve given anything to see just how much green danced in them tonight.

Wren’s nickname had slipped from my tongue so easily that it was like I’d never stopped saying it. As if my mouth knew its shape better than any other word.

She froze, her muscles locking with a force that should’ve cracked bones, and then her head lowered to face me. “Holt.”

Everything about this was wrong: the cool expression on her face, the absence of emotion in her tone. A million questions played in my head; things I’d been dying to know the answer to for years—things I didn’t have a right to know.

“How are you?” It was the only thing I could allow myself to ask, and even that answer wasn’t something I deserved. But I craved it anyway.

“Good. I’m sure your parents are happy to have you home.”

The words came with a careful politeness that I’d never heard from Wren before. A flatness. An indifference.

Anything would’ve been better. Screaming. Crying. Slapping me across the damn face. Not staring at me like I was no one. A stranger.

I twisted my keys around my finger. “One of them is.”

I thought I might’ve seen a flicker of reaction, a little emotion bleeding through. But when I blinked, it was gone, and I wondered if it had simply been the moon and wishful thinking.

“I need to get home. Nice to see you, Holt. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

Wren was moving before I had a chance to say another word. She cut through the parking lot to a red truck that looked as if it had seen better days. I wanted to know the last time a mechanic had looked it over, and if the brakes were still sound. All the tiny details I didn’t have any right to. Things that had always given me a sense of purpose and pride.

Wren’s hair lifted in the breeze as she climbed behind the wheel. Her eyes never once strayed in my direction, instead remaining focused only on the parking lot around her.

I stayed frozen to the spot as she backed out and pulled onto the road. I didn’t breathe until her taillights disappeared altogether.

I’d been an idiot to think that I could handle seeing her. Even now, I swore I smelled a hint of gardenia on the breeze. Just like that perfume her grandma had gifted her all those years ago.

I wanted to roll around in it and burn it out of me all at the same time. I pulled my cell from my pocket and hit a contact. Two rings later, Lawson answered.

“Everything okay?”

Big brother, through and through.

“Is there somewhere around here I could hit a heavy bag tonight?”

Lawson was quiet for a moment. “I’m taking that as a no. Everything isn’t okay.”

“Just need a bag, Law.”

“Go to the station. We had a gym installed in the back. I’ll tell the officer on duty you’re approved to use it.”

“Thanks, man.”

He was silent again. “I’m here if you ever do want to talk about it.”

I swallowed the urge to snap at him. “Thanks.”

I hit end on the call before he could get another word in. I didn’t trust myself to hold it together any longer. Jogging up to the B&B, I prayed that Janice had already called it a night. I couldn’t be responsible for my actions if she started nosing around right now.

The reception area was blissfully silent as I moved through and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. My hand trembled slightly as I moved to unlock the door to my room. I only gripped the key harder. A second later, I was inside.

I grabbed shorts, a tee, and some sneakers from my suitcase and quickly changed. Moments later, I was jogging down the block toward the police station. The door was locked, but as soon as the woman behind the desk saw me, she pressed a button, and I heard a buzz.

Pulling the door open, I stepped inside. “I’m Holt. My brother, Lawson, should have called about me using the gym.”

The woman swallowed, her jaw working. “I remember you. I’m Amber Raymond.”

A flash of memory lanced through me. A sea of black after a week of black. Her brother’s funeral had been the last one. And we’d all been so damn tired of grieving.

Five funerals. Six people in the hospital. Two assailants in jail. The possibility of a third never identified, leaving the town to question everyone around them. It was more than we could take. But I knew it was the worst for people like Amber—those left behind.

“Of course. Good to see you.”

“You, too. Gym’s down that hall.” She pointed.

“Thanks.” I was already moving, taking my opening to escape additional ghosts.

The room was dark when I stepped inside. I tried the lights one by one until I illuminated the heavy bag and nothing else. As I strode toward it, I pulled the hand wraps from my pocket and began weaving them through my fingers in a familiar rhythm.

It didn’t take long to get them in place. I pressed a fist to the bag, testing the weight and the feel. Even if a bag was an exact duplicate of the one you typically used, it was never the same. The people who laid into it each and every day shaped it. How many? Were they short or tall? How hard did they hit?

Each testing jab was an introduction to the bag—a get-to-know-you between leather and fist.

I shifted my weight to my toes and picked up my pace. With speed came force. Wren’s face flashed in my mind. The expression that said I was nothing to her.

My hook slammed into the leather, making my bones rattle.

Flecks of emerald, the ones that blazed when I kissed her, teased and taunted.

My fists flew, each one hitting harder than the last. The sound had me hurtling back in time before I could do anything to stop it.

I slammed my truck’s door and jogged around the front, heading for the walkway. Wren would give me hell for this. I adjusted my grip on the flowers, hoping they would buy me a little goodwill—the peonies were hard as hell to find in Cedar Ridge. I’d had to beg the florist to order them special.

The sound of tires screeching had me glancing down the road. I caught sight of a dark SUV taking off like a bat out of hell. Idiots. I swore I heard sirens in the distance. Maybe someone would pull the assholes over and ruin their joyride.

I turned back to the house, picking up my pace. My steps faltered as I reached the door. It stood ajar, just a few inches.

“Cricket?”

I pushed it open with two fingers. “You in here?”

No answer. I turned around, wondering if she’d headed outside for some reason, but I didn’t see any sign of her anywhere.

The scent of garlic roasted chicken filled the space as I stepped inside. I couldn’t help my chuckle. I hoped like hell we didn’t get food poisoning. My girl had mastered many things, but cooking wasn’t at the top of the list.

I caught sight of the dining table and stilled. It looked like it should’ve been in one of those home décor magazines: tablecloth without a single wrinkle, greenery woven around candles and flowers, the good china—the kind Wren’s mom only used for special occasions.

A grin pulled at my lips. She’d told me that she wanted tonight to be special. I shook my head as I climbed the stairs. Didn’t Wren know by now that she made every damn moment special just by breathing? My favorite moments were just her and me in the bed of my truck, staring up at the stars.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I listened for the shower, thinking that must’ve been why I hadn’t heard her. But there was nothing but silence.

I jogged toward her bedroom and stopped dead. It looked as if a hurricane had torn through the space. Pictures were smashed, the bedding was all askew, and feathers from her pillows lay scattered everywhere.

“Wren,” I called louder, panic digging in its claws.

There was no answer.

I swallowed, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Her house was one of the lucky ones that got cell service around here, and I was damn glad for it right then. I hit the first contact in my favorites. Cricket flashed on the screen, along with my favorite photo of her.

Wren’s head was tipped back as she took in the tail end of the sunset, a look of bliss on her face at knowing that her favorite time of day was coming—the twilight hour. She’d had no idea I’d snapped the photo, but that just made it sweeter.

A ringing started, first through my speaker and then down the hall. But the sound from down the hall was off somehow. Garbled.

Blood roared in my ears as I started toward the sound, a million brutal what-ifs playing in my mind. I looked in the guest room, but as soon as I stepped in, the sound got farther away. Hurrying out of there, I skidded to a stop outside the hall bath. As I stepped inside, everything in me froze.

My brain couldn’t compute the sight in front of me. It was something out of a horror movie, not real life.

Wren’s body lay crumpled at an unnatural angle, her torso twisted as if she’d been trying to protect herself. And the blood…so much of it. I swore it was everywhere. Too much for someone to still be breathing.

That thought jerked me into action. I sank to my knees, the bones hitting the tile with a crack.

“Wren. Can you hear me?”

The first-aid class I’d taken to go on search and rescue calls with my dad came back to me in fits and starts. I pressed my fingers to her neck as I leaned down.

No breath tickled my face. How often had I felt Wren’s soft exhales against my skin as she cuddled close? All I wanted was one of those right now. But there was nothing.

I strained to feel the flutter of movement against my fingertips. I felt a staggered, faint beat, each too far apart for anything good.

Sirens sounded as I rolled Wren to her back, but they weren’t close enough. I prayed I was making the right call. I had no idea what damage had been done to her chest. A bullet? A stab wound? I could make it worse with CPR, but she wouldn’t make it either way if she wasn’t breathing.

I tipped her head back and gave two quick rescue breaths before positioning my hands over her chest and plunging down. She wasn’t short, but Wren had always seemed delicate, her wrists so tiny her bones seemed easily breakable. I could hurt her. And that was the last thing I ever wanted to do. Still, I forced myself to press on.

As I continued the rhythm, I stared down at her, my heart outside my body. I searched for any signs of life, but I didn’t see a damn one.

My fist slammed into the bag at an angle that had pain searing through me. I stumbled backward, falling to the floor, my body shaking in violent waves. The memories were too raw and real to escape.

An anguished sound tore free from my throat. I could still feel her heart beneath my hands, willing it to beat again. I would’ve made a deal with the devil for Wren to live. And I guessed I had in a way.

Because Wren had gotten her miracle. And when she healed and was whole, I did the only thing I could, the only right thing. I walked away so she could find someone worthy of her.