Page 4 of Vision of Justice

His gut tightened. Routine was an assailant’s favorite word. Easier to stalk prey, to catch it, if it was always in the same spot at the same time. He’d bring it up, tell her to be cautious, but not yet. The way she was trying to conceal her trembling let him know she was nearing a breaking point in their conversation.

“Is it typical for you to deviate from the trail?” he asked, packing up the first-aid kit then zipping it closed.

“No. I rarely do.” She pulled her knees up, encircling them tightly with her arms.

If the woman sitting in front of him had done one thing differently today, Melissa Fletcher would still be buried beneath the ground, or worse, dead.

Chapter Three

Sasha sat on her living room couch adjacent to the rugged detective who had treated her wound with tender hands. The outline of hard, sculpted muscle was apparent beneath a fitted collared shirt. Broad shoulders, a wide chest, and biceps that bunched with every movement must take extreme dedication to maintain. Whether his powerful build was the luck of genetics, or hours of sweaty work honing his strength, it was hard not to sit up and take notice. Everything about his face was hard and tough, from the defined jaw set in a frown to the bump on the bridge of his nose, indicating it might’ve been broken once or twice. The most striking feature, though, were eyes just a bit too pretty for his hulking exterior.

Maybe it was the shocking events of the evening, but she swore she could still feel her skin tingling where he’d touched her. She wasn’t even going to start to analyze how she felt when he draped the throw blanket around her shoulders, or how the gesture made her feel safe and protected for the first time since she heard the cry in the woods.

“You mentioned work. What do you do for a living, Miss Frost?” He sat tall and sturdy in the accent chair, feet planted wide as he questioned her.

“I’m an artist. Oil paintings mostly.” She laced her fingers together, then released them. Nerves were a fidgeting, tingling thing spiraling to life inside her. She didn’t want to talk about the horror of her discovery today.

He nodded slowly and looked around the room. “Those yours?” His gaze swept over the framed canvases hanging on the living room walls.

“Yes.” She nodded as he continued to stare at the largest that hung above her fireplace. It was the forest behind her home. Soft emerald moss dwelled at the base of the trees, and just a few feet away, a clear stream tumbled over a stony creek. The oil painting had given her a whimsical feeling, so she kept it. Now it just made goosebumps pop up on her skin.

“Reminds me of the place my sister and I built a treehouse in the woods as kids. It’s peaceful.” His eyes remained locked on the painting for one heartbeat, then two before he settled his gaze back on her. She couldn’t deny the way his features had softened at her work gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. There was something about him that made her crave his approval, when she’d never needed it from anyone before. Maybe because he was a protector, and at least for a moment, was standing between her and the monster that had lingered in those woods. She wanted to be worthy of that security.

He cleared his throat. “What happened once you ran off the trail?” His deep baritone resonated through the room. She was exhausted, but she didn’t mind answering a few questions if it meant having the detective stay at her house for a little while longer until she could get her bearings. The sky had grown dark, and she couldn’t escape the lingering fear of opening the metal door—even before she knew what she’d find. The dank hole, the terrorized child, the eerie whistle still amplified in her ears. She was suddenly having a hard time catching her breath, and she gulped for air. Detective Lambert was at her side in an instant.

“Breathe with me.” He sat on the couch beside her, the weight of his hand pressing down on her back. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it.”

She had no idea how long they sat like that, breathing together. Her heart finally slowed, and she didn’t feel like she was drowning in an ice-cold pool, but the chill remained. She was scared, and she hated it.

“What’s going through your head?” He rested his elbows on his knees, head angled toward her.

She shook her head, cheeks flushed with anger. “I’m pissed. What kind of creep would lock a child up in the middle of the woods? I can’t stop thinking about her, what she went through, how brave she was. And then here I am, having such selfish thoughts like—” She puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. This cop was probably wondering how he drew the short straw to have to take her statement.

“Like?” His gaze honed in on her, and she struggled not to squirm under his intense focus. It threw her that she’d been so forthcoming about her feelings. She was a private person. Either he was highly skilled at getting people to open up, or she was more shaken than she’d even realized. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“It’s not important.” She finally couldn’t take the intensity of his hazel eyes, and focused on a pulled thread in the blanket. “Let’s just go through what happened.”

He sat up straighter and angled his body toward her. “There’s nothing wrong with wishing this hadn’t fallen on your shoulders. A discovery like this, so close to your property, shatters your peace. Makes you wonder if the place you think is the safest really is.”

Tears stung her eyes. He understood, so she didn’t have to stumble to explain these conflicting feelings “That’s it exactly. And it makes me feel horrible. I wasn’t the one abducted and caged in a hole. And then when I think what could’ve happened if I hadn’t run that way, it makes me sick.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, refusing to let the threatening tears fall. One moment passed, then another before she was ready to pick up where she left off. The detective was incredibly patient with her as the minutes ticked by on the clock.

“About a quarter-mile down the trail, I got this uneasy feeling. I stopped, was about to start running again, and I heard a cry.” She went through the rest of the details, right up to the point that made her heart freeze in her chest.

She absently put a hand to her neck, and her pulse pounded against her fingertips. “Melissa heard him coming,”

His brows knit together. “Was there anything in particular that led her to believe it was her abductor and not a hiker?”

Suddenly, it seemed way too dark in the dimly lit living room. She half expected to look out the glass sliding door to see someone standing there, watching. The thought made her stomach harden with fear. “He was whistling. I don’t think I’ll stop hearing that sound anytime soon. Instinct kind of took over, and we ran back and called the police.”

“Melissa was able to run?” He tilted his head to the side, wide eyes fringed with thick brown lashes. She rarely painted people, but the kaleidoscope of colors swirling through his irises called her to pull out her oils. The mossy green color, flecked with silvery blue and gold were warm and soft, a stark contrast to his heavily muscled body and the chiseled lines of his face. Focusing on his eyes kept her grounded enough to tell him the facts without panicking again.

“No. I did the best I could to carry her over my shoulder. She was a champ, the movements must’ve hurt like hell.” And the teen’s whimpers had nearly broken her heart, but she hadn’t complained once.

“She’s not the only champ in this today. You saved her life.” Sincerity rolled through his voice, made her eyes sting. She looked down and picked at an ivory thread on the blanket.

“I hope you’re able to catch whoever did this.” Her voice had dropped an octave. Once the detective left, she was on her own.

“We will, but in the meantime, steer clear of running on that trail.” He shifted on the couch but didn’t stand. “Stick to main roads, switch up your routine.”