Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,81

was unavoidable. No way would I let anyone take a step near my writing process. And although research was the more practical part of the process, I enjoyed it. I liked finding out the gruesome details of crimes. Finding out that almost every early civilization believed human sacrifice appeased the gods. Exchanging emails with some of the biggest devil worshipping cults in the country. And we stayed in touch. They were fans. Obviously.

So yes, I knew the basics of what happened when you killed someone in self-defense. The interviews, the forensics, the red tape, both figurative and literal. I’d already emailed my lawyer, in case I needed her. She’d emailed back at five this morning, saying she’d purchased two flights leaving today and tomorrow, if I needed her. Had drafted the NDAs for anyone who might feel like talking and breaking the news. She had me sorted for the best-case scenario and the worst. Which was why she cost so much.

I found myself irritated with the reality of it all. I hadn’t made the choice to walk into his house and kill him. None of this was my fault—unless you wanted to blame the fact I wrote books that invited crazies to do such things—and yet my time was being wasted, my resources. Just when I was hitting my stride with this book. Especially since the gruesome events of last night only further fueled me. I had my laptop inside somewhere, my fingers already itching to brush over the keys.

But not yet.

I needed the cold. The quiet. The coffee. Nature staring at me in all its beauty and power. I hadn’t quite realized how much I liked the wilderness until now. The mere thought of returning to New York in three months for an appearance had me feeling ill. Hadn’t I been so sure the filth, the chaos, the angry people, and the general life of the city was necessary to my survival? That wasn’t long ago. Now I couldn’t imagine living there again. Couldn’t imagine leaving here.

It was troubling, the roots springing from my feet and curling themselves into the cold earth without my permission.

Though nothing about this new life had really happened with my permission, including this…relationship with Saint.

As if on cue, the door opened and closed.

“This is happening,” he said.

I didn’t turn around. Instead, I cradled the coffee in my hands, hunching around the warmth.

“You’ve got an interesting way of saying good morning,” I said in response.

His heat hit my back, and on instinct, my body curled to the more efficient heat source.

“We’re happening, Magnolia.”

Despite how warm he was, my body froze.

He caught that. Of course he caught that. That was who he was.

“I’ve fought for a lot in my life,” he said. “Not much good. In fact, nothing good. I’m not even sure if what we’ve got here is good. But it’s the right kind of bad for me. So, I’m gonna fight for us. Gonna fight for you. Against you, since I know you’re gonna battle against this. That’s just who you are. But I’m strong, baby. Maybe not strong in the same ways than you, but strong enough.”

I itched to fight this. To go against it all, maybe just to be contrary. To be something different to Emily. She hadn’t said no to Saint. But I did none of that. I said nothing. Which Saint knew meant everything.

The chief did call me later in the day. I knew he got my number off Margot because Margot called me before him, sounding like she was holding on to her trademark calm with a death grip.

There was almost panic.

And then there were muffins.

Delivered personally, just after I got off the phone with the chief, who let me know the investigation would be ongoing but everything lined up with my story. They’d be checking in on me a few more times, once they got the identity of this man and contacted his family. Hopefully, he hadn’t already murdered them.

They weren’t going to be charging me with anything.

My lawyer seemed almost disappointed at this.

I told Margot all of this over coffees and muffins I didn’t even pretend I wasn’t going to eat. I was sure Margot put crack in them, which was fine with me. Some crack might be welcome.

She didn’t seem at all surprised to see me in nothing but Saint’s tee—though it was longer than most of my dresses—long socks, and without makeup.

This was not by choice. I couldn’t take any possible “evidence” last night, so