Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Brooks went still. “No. She wasn’t.”
“I’ve spent nineteen years being careful. Keeping people at arm’s length.” She met his eyes. “Working with you has changed that.”
“It’s been different for me too.” His voice was quiet. “I’m not used to partners I can’t predict.”
“I’m not used to partners at all.”
“I’m a detective, Vivienne. I already carry other people’s grief and trauma. It’s what we do.”
“This is different. You’ve felt it now—the connection between us. It’s not going away. If anything, it’s going to get stronger. You’ll sense when I’m in danger, when I’m overwhelmed, when the voices get too loud. Are you prepared for that?”
Brooks was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was steady. “Three weeks ago, I would have said no. I would have run from anything that couldn’t be explained or controlled. But you’ve changed how I see the world. Shown me that some things are worth believing in even when they don’t make sense.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes. I’m prepared for it.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “I’m not running anymore, Vivienne. From you, from this, from whatever comes next. We’ll figure it out together.”
The tightness in her chest eased. “Together.”
“But we’re doing this carefully. Taking time. Not rushing into anything just because we survived a near-death experience.” Brooks’s expression turned serious. “You’re vulnerable right now, and so am I. We need to heal first, process what happened.”
“Slow.”
“Very slow.” But he smiled slightly.
A different knock. Dawn entered carrying a bag from Mrs. Mayer’s bakery and a thermos of tea.
“You’re awake. Good.” She set the bag on the bedside table. “I brought scones and that herbal blend you use after heavy spiritual work. Drink all of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Vivienne accepted the tea. The familiar blend of chamomile, lavender, and blessed thistle would help restore her depleted energy.
“The shop’s fine. I’ve handled the morning customers and closed for the afternoon.” Dawn pulled up the chair Porter had vacated. “Martha Morgan called. She wants to see you when you’re feeling better.”
“Tell her I’ll visit as soon as the doctor releases me.”
“I will.” Dawn looked between Vivienne and Brooks. “So. You two.”
“We’re figuring it out,” Brooks said.
“Good.” Dawn’s expression softened. “I’m glad you’re okay, Viv. Both of you. When I got the call last night saying Winston had taken you—” Her voice caught.
“I’m fine.” Vivienne reached for her cousin’s hand. “I promise.”
Dawn stood. “I should get back to the shop.”
After she left, Brooks helped Vivienne drink more tea. The herbal blend worked quickly, warmth spreading through her chest. The raw feeling in her abilities began to ease.
“What happens now? After I’m released?”
“We close the case officially. Process the evidence. Prepare for trials.” Brooks ticked off items on his fingers. “You recover. Get your strength back. Maybe take some time off from doing readings.”
“The spirits don’t take time off.”
“Then you learn to tell them to wait.” His expression turned stern. “What you did last night nearly killed you. You were shaking so hard in the ambulance I thought you were going into shock.”
“I was exhausted, not dying.”
“The line between those is thinner than you think.”
He had a point. Vivienne had been running on adrenaline and desperation for days, pushing her gift harder than she had in years.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I need to rest. Properly rest.”
“How long does that take?”
“Depends. A few days, maybe a week. Complete rest. No readings, no spirit contact, no using the gift at all.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do.” Brooks’s tone left no room for argument. “After the doctor releases you, you go home and rest. Dawn can handle the shop. I’ll handle the FBI. You focus on healing.”
The doctor arrived for her examination—standard concussion protocols, checking her injuries, asking about pain levels. Everything looked good for a discharge later that afternoon.
After the doctor left, Vivienne leaned back against the pillows, exhausted again.
“Sleep,” Brooks said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“You need to sleep too.”
“I will. Later.” He settled back in the chair. “Right now I’m keeping watch.”
Vivienne wanted to argue, but her eyes were already closing. The herbal tea, the pain medication, and the exhaustion combined to pull her under.
Just before sleep claimed her, she felt Brooks’s hand still holding hers. Felt that connection between them humming, reassuring. He was there. He’d be there when she woke.
For the first time in nineteen years, she wasn’t facing her gift alone.
One week later, Vivienne stood at the back of St. Catherine’s Church and watched the town fill every pew.
Martha Morgan sat in the front row, flanked by friends who’d supported her through twenty-five years of not knowing. The casket—closed, mercifully closed—held what remained of Lily Morgan. Seventeen years old forever. A girl who’d died seeking truth.
Vivienne’s ribs still ached when she breathed deeply. The cut on her lip had scabbed over. But she’d insisted on being here, on speaking about Lily’s courage even though Dawn had argued she needed more rest.