Turned out, she hadn’t been safe at all.
He glanced over at her again, noting that her shaking was starting to subside. She was still silent, her eyes closed, her shiny black hair spilling over her shoulders and onto the reclined seat.
For a moment, he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.
“Why are you here?”
The blunt question caught him off guard, but it was Triss’s way.
“I heard—”
“I mean—”
They both spoke at the same time, and Hunter stopped, waiting.
“I mean, you usually work day shift,” Triss explained. “Shouldn’t you still be there?”
“I heard Luke talking with Roman yesterday about the funeral. I thought you could use a friend.”
Triss’s brother Luke had been friends with their boss, Roman, for years, but beyond the daily prayer meeting they held each morning, the two rarely had personal conversations on the job—which was why Hunter had taken note of yesterday’s conversation, even though he knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping.
In fact, he’d almost talked himself out of going to the cemetery today. He didn’t know the man who had died, and he hadn’t even seen Triss in weeks. But he’d wanted to be there for her. As far as he could tell, she didn’t have many good friends—if any—and he knew what it was like to navigate death alone. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Especially Triss, who he had long suspected had already endured her fair share of sorrow.
She looked away, and he wondered what she was thinking. Triss was a difficult person to read, even more difficult to get to know. Normally, he would steer clear of someone with her personality. But the day she’d offered to watch his kids when their nanny was sick had changed everything. He’d come home to peals of laughter, walking into a mess in the kitchen that resembled the aftermath of an indoor blizzard. Powdered sugar and flour covered nearly every surface, the kids and Triss included. His kids were rolling with giggles, and Triss was leaning against the counter, helpless against the laughter.
Until that moment, he wasn’t sure Triss even knew how to laugh, how to really smile. And since then, he’d made it a mission to hear that laugh and see that smile as often as he could. Which hadn’t been often since August.
He turned fully to her, but she didn’t look at him, her profile tilted toward the window.
“Must have been a quick funeral at the church,” Hunter said. “I barely made it to the cemetery before you were flying out of the parking lot.” She was teased mercilessly at Shield for her lead foot. Usually, she laughed it off. Now, she adjusted her position in the seat, turning toward her mangled car.
“Yes. The service was short and sweet.” She stared out the rear window, then finally looked at Hunter. “So, you followed me out?”
He read the question in her gaze, but didn’t think she’d appreciate that he’d seen her crying and had worried about her. “Thought I’d catch you at Harmony, see how you were doing.” That was the truth, minus a few details.
“It’s a good thing you followed me.” Tears brimmed under her eyes, her voice thick. “Five more seconds and...”
She would have been dead. No way around it. They both knew it.
A fire truck swerved onto the shoulder, firefighters rushing toward her car with retardant, the sirens cutting off. Triss watched silently, emotionless. He couldn’t figure her out. Every time she let him see a piece of her heart, she quickly hid behind a mask of indifference. It was that habit that had finally convinced him to let her keep the distance she was forever trying to expand between them. His kids had been confused and hurt when she’d disappeared from their lives months ago, and Hunter wouldn’t put them through that disappointment again.
He was glad he’d come today, glad he’d been there at the right time. But it was time to get going. He figured he should call Luke in to take over.
A police officer approached the truck, and Hunter opened the door, stepping out. He immediately recognized the officer as a friend of Roman’s they’d worked with in the past.
“Officer Goodson,” Hunter said, offering a hand to the seasoned cop, noting his impeccable uniform and alert expression.
“Hunter.” They shook hands, and Hunter motioned to Triss inside the cab.
“The Mustang is hers.”
“Was,” she muttered, leaning her head toward them to greet the officer.
“Doesn’t look like you should have made it out of that alive,” the officer commented. “Are you injured?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“We’ve got paramedics on the scene. I’d encourage you to take a ride and get checked out at the hospital, anyway, after we speak.”
“I’ll see my doctor tomorrow if I need to,” she said. “But I appreciate it.”
“You should let them check you out at the hospital,” Hunter suggested. “It was a pretty bad wreck.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You could have internal—”
“Hunter.”
She’d made her decision, and there was nothing he could say to change her mind. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together. He knew the look when he saw it.
The officer ducked his head slightly so he could see her. “Tell me what happened.”
Hunter listened with interest as she described hearing a distinct pop before she smelled smoke. He hadn’t seen anything but the smoke, and he wondered what could have caused the pop. The interview was brief, and the officer handed her his card. Once again, he advised her to get checked out and to rest up, and then he returned to the scene.
“That was a sweet ride,” Hunter said. “Looks like there’s no saving it.”
“No. But I’ll have it towed to my mechanic, anyway. Hopefully, he can figure out what happened. I can’t afford not to get anything from insurance.”
The moments before the wreck played through Hunter’s mind, the sudden smoke billowing at the rear of the car. “Wonder what could have caused that fire.”
She was quiet for a moment too long, and then she shifted in her seat, pulling off his jacket and handing it to him before raising her seat straight. She was clearly ignoring his comment. “Would you mind driving me to Harmony after I get the car situation settled?”
“Hold on a minute,” he said, searching her eyes for what he was missing.
She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “What?”
“You’re not telling me something.”
She glanced away for a fraction of a second, and he knew he was right.
“What is it?” he persisted when she didn’t respond.
She shook her head. “Probably nothing.”
“Well, if that isn’t the most overused and usually inaccurate phrase we hear in our line of work, I don’t