8. Darkest Before The Dawn （Micah）

8

DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN (MICAH)

I really need to see you.

I frown down at that message on my phone, propping my elbow up on the wheel of my patrol car and raking a hand through my hair.

I really need to see you.

That shit worries me a hell of a lot more than it should.

Talia's a grown woman.

She's leaving the big house, clearly safe and under her own willpower. Still, my mind whipsaws with a hundred dark scenarios.

Talia, backed into a corner in Xavier Arrendell's office.

Talia, trying to fight him off while he rips at her clothes.

Talia, with her long red hair tangled in his brutish fingers, innocent prey being dragged into his spiderhole—

Fucking stop. Answer her .

Are you safe? I send back. How urgent? I'm on patrol for a few more hours.

While I wait for an answer, I gaze over the street.

I'm parked down one of the cobblestone lanes of the shopping district that branches off the central square like spokes from a wheel.

It's quiet this time of day.

The morning rush has come and gone. Everyone's got their kids bundled up and off to school. The stay-at-home moms are already back home doing the morning cleaning and won't be out running errands until afternoon, squeezing them in between Pilates and grabbing their rug rats. Their working spouses are in their offices and workshops, busy hands filling the hours until they can come home.

Redhaven has a predictable rhythm, patterns people always follow.

Anything that breaks that rhythm always catches my eye.

This morning, though, the only thing out of sync is me.

I shouldn't be this worried over Talia Grey when she's talking to me. If she was truly in danger, she'd come out and say it.

You'd almost think I'm obsessed.

Or worse, growing a conscience. Thankfully, no crows yet today.

But I look down instantly as my phone vibrates with a new text.

Talia: I'm safe. He didn't do anything but leer at me. I didn't get much intel out of him, but I might have another lead you can follow. And I took some photos for the project, if you want to look through them for anything interesting. But it can wait until you're off shift! 3

Intel . I almost smile.

Isn't she picking up the lingo fast.

Red Grounds at 4:30? I send back.

Talia: Your treat?

You think I'd dream of asking my informant to pay for herself? Get over yourself, Shortcake.

She just sends back a laughing emoji and a bubbling cluster of hearts.

Goddamn.

I can almost see the way she smiles—shyly at first, then slow, before it spreads big and bright while laughter glitters in her eyes and she ducks her head, tucking her fiery hair behind one ear.

I really need to stop that shit and focus on the job.

Not that there's much to focus on.

The afternoon passes normally enough. I recognize every face that passes, pushing a stroller or lugging a reusable tote bag.

There's Ophelia Faircross, stepping out for lunch on the arm of our captain, Grant. I almost never see the captain smile, but he's got this slow, content grin shining out of his thick beard as he offers her his arm.

Past the closing door of the Sanderson family shop, Nobody's Bees-ness, I can just glimpse her sister Rosalind behind the counter. She's looking much healthier after her stint in rehab to shake the bad habits Aleksander Arrendell encouraged.

Was Xavier the family supplier, too? I really wonder.

Fuck, everyone in this town looks happy.

I watch as Grant and Ophelia stroll down the sidewalk, completely absorbed in each other on their way to the little deli on the corner.

What must that feel like?

To be so content.

To have your life sorted, feeling like you're free to build something rather than dedicating everything you have to tearing shit down.

I don't like these thoughts.

For me, they're not normal.

On any other day, I'd have stolen one of Lucas Graves' cheesy paperbacks and skimmed a few chapters to pass the time. Now, I don't even pick up the one sitting on my dash.

I'm so fucking restless it hurts. Every minute crawls by like a drunken snail.

What's Talia's lead?

And why do I care less about that than seeing her again and making sure she's truly safe?

My mind spins in circles as the minutes and hours tick by.

At 4:19 p.m., I step out of my cruiser, leaving it parked on the curb—it'll be fine there—and lock up before I make my way down the street toward the coffee shop.

I'm expecting to arrive early and wait for her.

When I get there, she's already there waiting for me.

Looking pretty as a picture in a pair of close-fit jeans, cute heeled sandals, and a loose, breezy blouse that threatens to be translucent but flirts enough to suggest pure sin.

Her hair ripples in red waves tumbling everywhere, fire and copper all burnt together into shiny gloss, bringing out the pink in her cheeks, her lips, her skin.

She's so goddamned beautiful I forget to breathe.

Knowing Xavier Arrendell saw her that way makes me taste blood.

I shove it away.

I don't fucking own her.

It's not my business how she dresses or who looks at her. It's only my business that she's not distressed.

I just don't like it.

Don't like the idea that the slimiest motherfucker in town probably made her feel disgusting, all because she looks damnably sexy today.

I'm glad she doesn't look traumatized—and as I make my way up the street, she turns her head, sees me, and brightens. She raises her hand in a shy wave, smiling. I answer her with a brief nod as I draw into earshot.

"Miss Grey."

" Talia . I'll even settle for that ‘shortcake' business," she says playfully. My lips twitch. I'll admit I said it just so she'd give me crap. "Sorry I'm early. I finished the sketches I was doing at the shop and I was bored."

"Nothing to apologize for." I ease past her and catch the door of the café, pulling it open. "After you."

She flashes me a grateful smile and slips inside.

We're quick to the counter. I order my usual black coffee, no sugar, Irish crème and a sugary mocha slushy thing for her.

I offer to buy her something to eat from the pastry case, but she declines, shaking her head and wrapping her soft pink mouth provocatively around the bright green straw, her lips pursed happily as she takes a sip.

"I ate at home," she says. "Grandpa was baking and I can never turn down his muffins. He loves to try out new recipes from the bakery next door."

"Your grandfather likes to bake?" I ask as we make our way to a secluded corner booth. The café is mostly empty by now, just a few people with their laptops, and it's easy to stake out a spot where we can talk privately.

We settle into the leather seats across from each other under the string lights above.

"I'm not sure if he likes it so much as he got used to it when he was stuck with me. Cooking in general, I mean," she says wryly. "He just turned out to be pretty good at it. We mostly take turns, unless it's crunch time on an important order, and then we live off takeout and frozen pizzas."

"The life of the creative." I lean back in my seat, loosening the neck of my uniform shirt and watching her. "You care about him more than anything, don't you?"

She starts, then smiles and ducks her head. "Is it that obvious? He's always been there for me. He taught me everything I know about the woodworking trade…"

"No wonder you're willing to do anything for him."

That's enough to wipe the smile off her face.

"…am I doing anything, though?" Her brows wrinkle together. "I didn't find anything, Micah. He didn't say anything strange, except when he was being weird at me and thinking I was, like, interested in him. I'm sorry I'm useless."

"You're not useless," I growl. "This is a long game, Talia. You have to have patience. He won't let anything slip in front of you, not immediately, but give it time and—"

"How would I know, though?" she asks firmly. "For all I know, something he said today was important, and I'm just too clueless to follow the trail."

"Trust your instincts. You start to get a feel for things. If you have doubts, tell me."

"I guess." Her straw whistles softly as she pokes it in and out of the lid of her drink, her eyes downcast. "Today was mostly business. He gave me a tour of the house and talked about what he wants. He said the mansion feels like a human display case, and he wants it to feel more like a home. He wants it to feel smaller . Whatever else is going on, I think he's struggling with his brothers being gone."

"People are complex creatures." I sip my coffee, turning my thoughts over, then continue. "The worst person on earth can fall in love. Save a life. Change the world. The biggest saints can be vile. Selfish as hell. Give them the wrong crusade and they'll destroy thousands. They may have the best intentions, but who they are or what they stand for doesn't matter. All that matters is the end result."

"And the end result for Xavier is that he kills people… even while he's killing himself," she whispers.

"Exactly." I can't stand that look on her face, the quiet realization of the ugly harshness of life, so I divert. "You mentioned a lead? And pictures?"

"Oh! Um, maybe. Just someone who might be sympathetic." Talia brightens a bit and takes another sip of her drink before she fishes out her phone. She swipes to the photo album and passes it over without hesitation. "Joseph Peters. He's a valet at the house. He just seemed worried about me being alone with Xavier, and he was nice about getting me out of there fast when I got uncomfortable and left. The servants see everything, I'm sure. Especially when we're talking rich people who treat the hired help like they're invisible."

"Yeah." I rub my chin, looking down and swiping through the photos. Just interior shots, nothing jumping out at me. I scroll through them quickly. "I think I remember who you're talking about. I interviewed him after the maid's death—Cora Lafayette—after all the bullshit with Aleksander and the truth came out."

Her face falls. "Oh, yeah. I thought about that. But I dunno. I don't think money would keep everyone loyal or their lips sealed. But I guess you have to be careful, because if I'm wrong, then Mr. Peters might screw us over."

"Leave that part to me. I'm used to handling investigations delicately." I pause to find a gentle smile for her, even if I can't hold it very long. "Like I said, you're far from useless. You've already found something on the first day."

"Yay?" Talia glances away, then laughs. "I tried to convince myself this morning that I was a sexy superspy. But I think I'm more Velma than Kim Possible."

I snort loudly. "No clue who Kim is, but Velma was sexy enough. Short skirt, cute glasses, plus that repressed look that said she was probably a frigging demon in the sheets."

Talia freezes mid-reach for her drink, watching me with wide eyes. Her cheeks flush and I realize what I just said.

Fuck.

Now she knows I might have a thing for repressed girls who go wild when you tease them out of their shell.

Clearing my throat sharply, I avoid eye contact, focusing on my cooling mug of coffee and her phone—though I'm not really seeing the pictures now, other than a subconscious alertness for anything out of the ordinary.

"When are you meeting Xavier again?"

"I haven't set a date yet. I kind of ran out of there and promised to email him once I had more comps ready."

Sobering, I shoot her a frown. "He made you that uncomfortable?"

"It was kind of a lot." Wincing, she frets her straw up and down, a grating squeaky noise. "He set up a private lunch in the garden. He kept staring at me. Asking if I want to know more about him and the way he said it…"

She winces and I grind my teeth together.

If he touched her, he's dead.

"You don't have to keep doing this," I growl, the words tumbling out without thinking. "I can work with the staff angle. If he's being that big of a prick, you don't have to keep exposing yourself. Especially if he makes you feel unsafe."

"I'm not sure I have a choice. Not because of you!" she says quickly. Her hands wrap around her plastic cup, squeezing until it crinkles while she looks anywhere but at me. "So, did I tell you why my grandfather and I need the Arrendell cash?"

"No," I answer—then stop as my swiping moves past the photos of the Arrendell mansion and lands on a shot of an older man with Talia's blue eyes. He's bowed over a thick cedar log, shaving away, intensely focused and lost in something that looks like love. I linger on it, wondering if she looks the same way when she's working. I pass her phone back to her. "You were fairly evasive when the subject came up before."

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

She goes silent, glancing back over her shoulder to see if anyone's eavesdropping. She ignores the phone sitting between us.

"He's losing himself," she says, her voice low with hurt. "Who he really is, I mean. He's got rheumatoid arthritis and it's destroying his hands. Of course, our crappy insurance won't cover surgery. But it's not just that, he…" Her lips curl up in a pained wince, trembling. "He's suffering from early-onset dementia. There's an experimental treatment, but it's expensive , and we don't have the funds. So I've decided I'll deal with Xavier Arrendell being a creep if it means I can use that money to help my grandfather."

Fuck me .

I'm a louse.

This means so much to her.

And I'm going to destroy everything this girl loves to have my revenge.

"Miss Grey," I say slowly. "You know that if I arrest Xavier—"

" I know ," she says quickly, her voice thick. There's a wet gleam in her eyes and a strange smile on her lips and she won't quite look at me. "But that won't happen for a while, right? Going after his money?"

"Right," I say flatly.

"And he'll pay something up front." Her fingers knot together against the table, going still. She stares at her hands. "It'll be enough. It has to be enough."

"Talia." Shit. Fuck. I can't do this. "Listen, I'll find another way. I won't—"

" No ." A sharp look whips toward me, almost a glare, and I understand it more than I wish I really did.

She doesn't want my pity.

She doesn't want me to go easy on her or on Xavier.

"We started this, so we'll finish it," she whispers. "I trust you to make sure everything turns out okay."

"You shouldn't," I snarl, and her smile strengthens, melancholy yet so sweet.

"I think I'm going to anyway."

"Why?"

I don't like the way those blue eyes watch me, beaming back an innocence I shouldn't risk for anything.

"Maybe," she murmurs, "I think you're a better man than you give yourself credit for."

Everything in me wants to shut down.

Shove her away.

Close off so she won't depend on me, won't expect shit from me. I couldn't protect my brother and I couldn't protect myself.

How the hell can I ever protect her?

I tear my gaze away, staring across the café instead.

"That makes one of us," I mutter tightly.

"Fine," she answers with absolute conviction, picking up her phone, and when she swipes the screen and smiles down at it softly, I know exactly what picture she's looking at. "I'll just have to believe in you hard enough for both of us, Micah."

Fine is fucking right.

Let her believe whatever she wants.

Nothing Talia Grey does will make me a better man than the twisted creature I truly am.