Page 16 of Fury

“She’s shaken by the news, of course, but otherwise fine.” He lifted his gaze and visually trailed her across the room. “So, Cooper—what’s the next step here?”

“I can come to the house and go over the necessary details with her. The Reinhardts were specific on how they wanted the funeral handled, so there isn’t much for Hollyn to worry about. Are you staying with her?”

He eyed Hollyn. Hadn’t planned to stay, but he couldn’t imagine leaving her like this. Debated his answer for a minute. “For now.” He rubbed his neck. Tried to stretch the muscles leading to his bum shoulder. It was time for more pain meds. He turned to check on Hollyn, but she wasn’t in the room anymore. Neither was Fury.

Great.

Davis punched to his feet. Started searching the apartment.

“Good, good. I’ll come by tomorrow morning around ten, if that suits?”

“That’s fine.” He ended the call without waiting for a response as he hunted for her. Bedrooms were empty. Hollyn and Fury weren’t on the staircase either. He took the steps two at a time to the first level of the main house. Back down the hallway, clearing more bedrooms as he went. Nothing.

His pulse ticked up. If Hollyn accidentally made the wrong move?—

Davis whistled. “Fury, here!” he called.

They weren’t in the living room or kitchen. He stalked around the massive island.

Where the blazes had they gone?

Soft sobs drew him up short in front of another doorway.

A bedroom—Ansel and Lydia’s? It was definitely the primary suite. Much larger than the others.

Hollyn sat on the end of the bed, crying as she clung to a dress shirt with one hand. The other . . . ran mindlessly over the four-legged hero’s thick sable neck.

Holy fluff . . . she had no idea how close she was to danger, to losing a digit or two.

Fury had posted himself at her side. Leaning against the comforter, his muzzle rested on her leg.

The RMWD watched Davis but didn’t move. Looked relaxed. That didn’t do anything for the tension radiating through Davis’s body, though. It only took a split second for things to go wrong with a working dog. And Fury wasn’t that stable to begin with these days.

He needed to get control of the GSD. Slid the leash out of his pocket and stepped forward. He’d rather be dropped into a war zone than try to navigate a crying woman. Of course this was where he’d find himself: trying to keep Hollyn calm while securing the shepherd who was capable of inflicting more pain than she could imagine.

* * *

“Hollyn.” Davis’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She kept running her hand down the dog’s warm neck. His fur was both coarse and smooth, if that was even possible. She wasn’t really a dog person, but something about his presence was comforting. The weight of his head on her leg grounded her in this painful, agonizing moment. Somehow made it more bearable.

“Don’t make any sudden moves.” Davis’s voice was closer.

She barely registered his words.

“Good boy.” His hand broke the plane of her lowered gaze as he casually clipped a lead onto the dog’s collar. “I told you—Fury’s not a pet.”

Fury. What kind of name was that for such a sweet animal?

Hollyn sniffed repeatedly. Wiped at her puffy eyes as her stomach continued its irritated churning from before. Her headache still lingered but had dulled to a mild throb. A photograph of her with her parents a few years ago sat on the dresser across from where she sat. Tears pooled on top of each other. She needed a tissue. Or ten.

How could they be gone? How could she be on her own . . . again?

Another wave of sadness washed over her. Pressed in hard and tumultuous. She wrapped her arms around Dad’s shirt. The fabric was soft. The scent of his cologne still lingered within the threads. Crumbling into another round of sobs, she squeezed her eyes closed.

Why them? Why had God taken away the family she’d prayed for and finally found? Just when she’d dropped her guard and felt like she was whole again. Like the scars of the past couldn’t touch her.

She should’ve known.