Guarding What’s Mine (Men of Maddox Security #3)

Chapter 18

Aubree

Sunlight filters through the thin curtains, casting a hazy glow across the hotel room’s worn carpet. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the morning light, and slowly become aware of the steady low rumble of Boone’s voice. He’s standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his posture stiff and alert. A chill creeps across my arms when I remember why we’re here.

My body feels heavy, like I haven’t slept in a year. I push myself upright against the headboard, noticing Boone is fully dressed: jeans, boots, and that dark T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. He’s speaking quietly, but I catch words like “safe house,” “security detail,” and “timeline.” It’s the kind of conversation that, just a week ago, would’ve felt like something out of a movie. Now, it’s my reality.

I run a hand through my tangled hair, wishing I’d had the energy to shower last night. Everything happened so fast—one moment we were alone at that cabin, dangerously close to something I’ve never experienced before, and the next, we were bolting out of there because of a potential threat outside.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance around for my phone. My first instinct is to check Slice Slice Baby’s social media, or my texts from Stuart, but my phone isn’t on the bedside table where I usually keep it. I slide out of bed, rummage through my duffel bag, and remember Boone took it.

My gaze drifts back to Boone. His voice is low and firm, the kind of tone that brooks no argument. He’s pacing a little now, hand on his hip, brow furrowed in concentration.

I let out a sigh and decide to get ready. My clothes from yesterday feel stale, and I grab my duffel looking for a new outfit. I grab the toiletry bag from my duffel as well, and head into the bathroom. The yellowish light flickers for a second before turning on, revealing the speckled counter and a chipped mirror that’s seen better days.

The water runs warm, which is a small mercy. I splash my face a few times and brush my teeth, taking a moment to stare at my reflection. My eyes have dark smudges beneath them—no surprise there. I can practically hear my mother’s voice chiding me for not getting enough rest, though under the circumstances, who can blame me?

I think about Boone’s kiss, how I melted into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. A flush creeps up my neck. It’s beyond crazy—I’ve only known him for a few days. He’s my bodyguard, for crying out loud. But every time I even glance his way, it’s like my brain short-circuits. And the memory of how his mouth felt on mine… yeah, that’s impossible to erase.

I towel my face dry and change into some new clothes. I re-enter the room to see Boone ending his call. He slips the phone into his back pocket, exhaling sharply. There’s a tension in his features, but when his gaze flicks toward me, something in his expression softens.

“Morning,” he says quietly, eyes flicking over me as if assessing whether I slept okay.

“Morning,” I reply, my voice still scratchy from sleep. I look away, not wanting him to see all the mixed-up feelings etched on my face. This man has seen me at my most vulnerable, and I can’t decide if that terrifies me or comforts me.

Anxious energy buzzes under my skin. I spot a small pad of paper and a pen on the table near the coffee maker. It’s one of those free hotel stationery sets with the logo stamped at the top. On impulse, I grab them and drop into the chair. “I need to figure out who’s behind all this,” I say, more to myself than to Boone. “I can’t just sit around and wait to be attacked again.”

Boone crosses the room, leaning against the wall opposite me. “What’re you doing?”

I start scribbling names: Stuart, Earl, Mitch—an older employee who left last month to move closer to his grandkids. Next, I add Vicki, my part-time employee who’s sweet as pie, and Hayley, a high school junior who works a few days a week after school. The pen scratches across the paper with each name, and a lump forms in my throat as I realize how bizarre this is—drawing up a suspect list of people I actually know.

“I’m making a list.” I glance up at him. “Just… people I can think of who might have a motive. Or who might just seem a little off. I don’t know,” I admit, sighing. “I’m not a detective. But it’s a start.”

Boone steps closer, surveying the names. “That’s smart,” he murmurs. “Getting it all down where we can see it.”

I chew on my lip, tapping the pen against the pad. “It might be someone I never even considered, you know? We get all kinds of customers, but the ones I see regularly—like Earl, or even that new guy, Harvey—” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Should I write every single customer’s name?”

His gaze flicks up to mine. “We’ll work through your list systematically. Then we’ll see if Maddox Security can cross-reference names with any known troublemakers or suspects in the area. Don’t forget to add Hank on there.”

“Right.” My shoulders slump slightly. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I just… I feel so helpless.”

He sets a warm hand on my shoulder, making me jump slightly. The contact is brief but comforting. “You’re not helpless, Aubree,” he says, voice soft. “You’re just dealing with a situation that most people never have to face.”

I meet his eyes, swallowing hard. “What about your phone call? You mentioned a safe house?”

“Yeah,” he replies, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I was checking in with my contacts, seeing if there’s a closer location we can move to. Our last spot was compromised, obviously. Now we need somewhere more secure.”

I nod, hugging the notepad to my chest. “So, any luck?”

“Possibly,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s a property about two hours north of here—friend of a friend who’s out of the country. It’s not official Maddox property, but it’s off the grid enough that no one would suspect we’re there.”

“Two hours north.” I bite my lip, thinking about my shop. “I guess there’s no point in heading back to Slice Slice Baby yet, right?”

His eyes darken. “Not unless you want to walk into a situation where we’re unprepared. Whoever’s harassing you is getting bolder.”

I nod, grimacing as I glance down at the list of names I’ve jotted on the paper. It looks so short—Stuart, Earl, Mitch, Hank, Vicki, Hayley, plus a few other past employees whose names I’m not even sure I can remember. Hard to imagine any of them wanting to harm me, but I can’t afford to overlook anyone.

“There’s no telling who might’ve hired someone else to do their dirty work,” Boone continues. “Maddox Security has resources to dig deeper, but I’m gonna need your cooperation. That means you telling me everything, even the smallest detail, that might seem suspicious or out of place.”

I swallow. “I can do that.” I force a smile, though it wobbles at the corners of my mouth. “I’m just… not sure what else I’m missing. I mean, who hates pizza enough to break a window and send threats?”

Boone’s lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile but can’t quite manage it. “Not exactly about hating pizza, I’d guess. But we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I need you to trust me.”

His words linger in the air, and I think about how I trusted him the other night—how I let him get so close. My cheeks flush at the memory, but I push it aside. There’s something else swirling in my mind: a realization that maybe I do trust him, more than I should after only a few days. More than I’ve trusted most people in a long time.

“All right,” I say, tapping the pen absently on the corner of the notepad. “I’ll trust you. Just… promise you won’t let me down.”

His gaze locks onto mine, and for a second I feel that heat again, the magnetism that drew us together the other night. “I promise,” he replies, voice low and certain.

I exhale slowly, smoothing out the page of names with my hand. It’s not a solution, not yet, but it’s a start. Between Boone’s connections and my local knowledge of who might have a grudge against me, maybe we’ll unravel this mystery before anyone else gets hurt—or before I have to abandon my life for good.

And as I sit there, pen in hand, mind racing with questions, I can’t stop thinking about him. About how safe I felt when he was near me, how his kiss made the whole world fade away for just a moment. It scares me as much as the threats do—because if I let myself feel that way again, what happens if he can’t protect me next time?

I push that thought aside. One crisis at a time. Right now, we need to regroup, find a better hiding spot, and keep me alive. Everything else—my growing feelings for the man who’s supposed to keep me safe—will have to wait.