Chapter 24 · Flatline

The searchlight cut through the frosted glass and turned our bed into an operating table.

Boots on the iron stairs. Two men. Maybe three. Not harbor patrol's lazy shuffle, either. A counted climb. Step by step, so nobody heard them coming.

Garrett’s palm slammed over my mouth before I even had my elbows under me.

"Don't," he breathed against my ear. Diesel and salt on his skin. "Don't answer. Don't touch the light."

I yanked his wrist down. "They know we're here. The whole ceiling's lit up like high noon."

"That's the only reason we're still breathing." He was already off the mattress, yanking jeans over lean hips. The beam caught the thick scars mapped across his back, and I still looked. God help me, after seven years of lies, I still looked. "They'll hit the front. Walsh knocks like a gentleman. He'll apologize while he kicks it in."

"Deputy Walsh."

"Deputy Walsh." He threw my boots at my chest. One hit the sheet; the other clipped my ankle. "Twelve seconds. Count them."

I counted. The knock hit at nine.

Three polite raps.