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“I’ve got a Ford Escort with expired tags on Winchester.”

“Some hotshot in a Porsche just ran the light in Pinecrest. He’s mine.”

“Incoming. We’ve got a Ford pickup speeding on Belvedere. Virginia plates. Interesting. That’s V as in Victor, B as in Bravo, H as in Hotel⁠—"

Hang on.

I shot to my feet, my pulse skyrocketing. “I have to⁠—”

Layla smiled. “Go get him, Chief.”

I jumped into my patrol SUV and fishtailed out of the mill parking lot toward Belvedere. For half a second, I wondered if I had it wrong. The weather was perfect, tourists were beginning to arrive in droves, and there were plenty of out-of-state plates on the road. Even ones from Virginia.

V as in Victor, B as in Bravo, H as in Hotel.

No, I knew that one. That was Waylon.

What was he doing here? Did it matter? This was my shot.

I spotted the truck stopped at the light near Ketel Lane. I made a U-turn and got directly behind him, blue lights flashing. Waylon checked his rearview mirror and grinned. And everything in me just…stopped.

It was a déjà vu moment. We’d been here on this road, in this exact position nearly a year ago. So much had changed. How could I ever have thought I’d be okay without him?

Tap tap

Waylon rolled his window down and lowered his sunglasses. “Is there a problem, Chief?”

I drank in the sight of him—his inked biceps, his longish hair curled at his nape, and that wicked smile. Mine.

“You were going forty-five in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone, and I believe you’ve been warned.”

Waylon smirked. “I remember…sir. But I was at a red light. I don’t see how you can get me for speeding.”

“Out of the vehicle, please.”

He held my stare as he unfastened his seat belt, and oh-so slowly opened his door and stood. “Hands up? Or behind my back? If you’re gonna arrest me, I think you’re supposed to read me my rights and⁠—”

I grabbed Waylon’s collar and crashed my mouth over his.

The blue lights created a halo around us. I had a fleeting feeling that I should have turned them off, but his soft lips and the scratch of his beard felt so damn perfect.

“God, I missed you.”

Waylon sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I missed you, too. I would have called, but I⁠—”

“I love you,” I blurted.

His eyes popped comically. “That’s what I⁠—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I intercepted. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m obviously happy to see you. I was going to hop a flight to Virginia tonight and track you down. Layla made it sound like that might be difficult, but I have connections…and a badge. It sounds desperate now, doesn’t it? Don’t answer. Just…listen.”

“I’m listening.”

I swallowed hard and continued. “I know you have your own plan, and it doesn’t include me. You have a job and a family, and I’m not asking for anything that takes away from them, but I really want you in my life. And I think we can make it work. Every other weekend, holidays, I don’t know. I’m spit-balling here, and I’m probably incoherent and⁠—”

Waylon moved into my space. “I love you, too.”

I let out a laugh or sob or both. “Yeah?”