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

Chapter 27

Boone

I’m standing on the cabin’s porch in the early morning light, sipping from a mug of coffee that’s already gone lukewarm. A thin veil of fog stretches over the lake, and the first tentative rays of sunlight touch the treetops. Normally, I’d find the sight peaceful—the kind of moment that makes you take a deep breath and appreciate the stillness.

But my mind isn’t on the scenery today. I’m thinking about Aubree, tucked inside the cabin, still asleep. Last night we lingered on the couch long after sunset, half-dozing in each other’s arms. It was a good kind of quiet, a peacefulness I haven’t felt in ages. Yet I can’t shake the tension coursing through me, waiting for Dean to call, hoping for a breakthrough that’ll let me get her life back on track.

That’s when my phone buzzes on the small wooden table next to me. I snatch it up in one swift motion, heart pounding the second I see Dean’s name flash on the screen.

I press the phone to my ear, not bothering with a greeting. “Dean?”

“Boone, got some news.” His voice is clipped, the kind of tone he uses when he’s got a lot to say and not enough time to say it.

I swallow, setting my coffee down. “I’m listening.”

He exhales sharply. “We made a move on Charles—Aubree’s stepfather. Finally pinned him. We’d been monitoring his accounts, and last night he made another large transaction. We traced it to a company that basically ‘rents’ out mercenaries or ‘fixers’ for a fee. You pay, they do whatever you want, no questions asked.”

My jaw tightens. I have to take a second to calm the surge of anger that bubbles up. “So he was paying them to attack Aubree?”

“Looks that way,” Dean confirms. “He also hired them to track her down. That’s how they knew about the cabin. Remember that incident at your old place, the one by the Tennessee border? We pulled that attacker’s prints from the site—got a match for a guy on the payroll of this shady company. Charles used information from Aubree’s mother to find you two. Your location was compromised the second she told him Aubree was holed up somewhere in that region.”

I rake a hand over my hair, feeling a grim satisfaction in finally having answers—and fury at the same time. “So that’s how they found us,” I say. “Damn it. So it was never a random guess. He knew.”

“Exactly,” Dean replies. “But here’s the good news: we’ve got enough to bury him legally. We also confronted him with the evidence. Bravo Team cornered him at his office. He folded when we showed him the receipts and the testimonies from that company’s contact. He’s in custody. Aubree’s mother wants nothing more to do with him.”

A strange blend of relief and lingering tension floods me. “So… Aubree’s safe,” I say quietly, not quite believing we’re finally here.

“She is,” Dean confirms. “The cops are involved now. They’ve got Charles locked up, and it’s looking like they’ll press multiple charges—conspiracy, attempted assault, who knows what else they’ll tack on. He won’t see the light of day for a long time, if at all.”

I close my eyes for a moment, soaking up the words. Charles is caught. The threat is over. Aubree’s life can go back to normal. Part of me is still on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Dean sounds certain. “That’s… amazing news,” I manage, my throat tight. “Does Aubree’s mom know everything?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean says. “She left him. I just got off the phone with her. She’s furious, wants Charles prosecuted to the fullest extent. By the way, she’s waiting back at Aubree’s place right now, if you two want to head back into town.”

“Of course.” I take a moment to tamp down the fierce protectiveness that’s so much a part of me. “Guess we’re done here, then.”

Dean lets out a breath, relief evident in his tone. “Yeah, partner, I guess we are. I hate that it went this far, but I’m glad it’s resolved. You can bring Aubree home.”

“Thanks, Dean. For everything.”

He grunts. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got to break the news to her. And hey”—his voice lightens—“maybe I’ll see you around here soon, without guns blazing.”

“Count on it,” I say, cracking a wry grin.

Dean ends the call, and I let my hand drop to my side. My gaze drifts back to the lake, but I can hardly see it now through the adrenaline pumping in my veins. Charles is done—he can’t harm Aubree anymore. She can go home. It’s everything I’ve wanted for her since I first took on this job.

Yet beneath the relief, there’s another emotion twisting in my gut: what happens next for us?

I find Aubree in the kitchen, her hair bundled in a messy bun, rummaging for breakfast. She turns the second she sees me, her eyes scanning my face. “You look… tense,” she says, stopping with a carton of eggs in hand.

“It’s good tense,” I say, stepping forward. I rest a palm on her shoulder, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. “Dean just called.”

Her eyes go wide. “Oh God, what happened?”

I squeeze her shoulder gently. “He’s got proof—solid proof—that your stepfather orchestrated this whole thing. They confronted Charles. He’s in custody. He confessed.”

She sets the eggs down abruptly, covering her mouth with both hands. “He— so he’s caught?”

I nod, watching as her emotions flit across her face—shock, relief, anger, sadness. “It’s over. You’re safe. You can go home.”

Her eyes brim with tears, but this time, they’re tears of relief. She exhales a shaky breath, stepping into me. I envelop her in my arms, letting her press her face to my chest. We stand there for a long moment, and I hear the soft hitch of her breath as she processes it all.

Eventually, she leans back, swiping at her cheeks with a watery smile. “I can’t believe it. This nightmare is… done?”

“Done,” I confirm. “Your mother’s waiting for you at the shop, I think. Or your house. Dean said she left Charles—completely.”

Fresh tears prick Aubree’s eyes, but she nods fiercely. “Good. She deserves better. He— I can’t believe he was behind it all. Hiring people to scare me, to— to harm me, just for money?”

I rub my hand up and down her back. “He wanted to control your mom’s inheritance. Maybe he thought scaring you off would give him more leverage. We’ll probably never understand all the details, but the important thing is he can’t do anything else. The police have him, and Maddox Security has more than enough evidence to keep him locked up.”

She drops her head onto my shoulder. “Thank God,” she whispers.

We pack quickly. It’s surreal, folding clothes and stashing them in duffel bags, knowing this time we’re not fleeing to another safe house—we’re heading home. Aubree’s quiet, occasionally stopping to stare at something in the cabin—a throw blanket, the bed we’ve shared, the windows that overlooked the lake. There’s a bittersweet undercurrent to it all. This place has been our sanctuary, our prison, and our weird little nest all at once.

After a final sweep, we load up the truck. I notice her lingering by the doorway, taking one last look at the cabin. I touch her elbow gently. “You okay?”

She lets out a breath, glancing at me. “Yeah. Just… a lot of memories here.”

I don’t say anything, just slip my hand into hers. We walk out together, and I lock up behind us. Then we climb into the truck, the engine rumbling to life. Aubree watches out the window as I steer us down the dirt road leading back to the main highway.

The drive feels longer than it should, maybe because we’re both anxious about what waits for us. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt, glancing at me every so often with a mix of excitement and nervousness. I reach over, resting a comforting hand on her knee whenever the traffic slows enough that I can spare a hand from the wheel.

“Do you think… my shop’s okay?” she asks at one point, voice trembling with the question.

I nod. “Dean said the cops were investigating, and they’ll have it secured. It might need some repairs, but it’s still yours. Nothing can change that.”

She exhales, a ghost of a smile forming. “I really just want to walk inside, see it with my own eyes.”

“You will,” I promise.

We cross the city limits of Nashville by late afternoon, the once-familiar skyline greeting us with its mix of old and new buildings. I feel a pulse of adrenaline. It’s strange to be back, knowing how much has changed since we left. Finally, I navigate the streets leading to Aubree’s neighborhood.

We park outside her home—a modest one-story, white siding, with a small front porch. My hand hovers over the ignition, and I glance at her. “Ready?”

She swallows. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

I kill the engine, and we step out. Almost immediately, the front door bursts open, and Aubree’s mother—tall, poised despite the stress—is hurrying down the porch steps. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she’s clutching a tissue. The second she sees Aubree, she breaks into a sob.

Aubree rushes forward, and they collide in a tangle of arms, tears streaming freely. I hang back by the truck, giving them space, watching as the mother clings to her daughter, stroking her hair, murmuring apologies and relief. After a moment, I discreetly shift my gaze to the street, making sure no one’s lurking. Old habits die hard.

Eventually, Aubree’s mother beckons me over with a shaky smile. “You must be Boone,” she says, voice watery. She reaches out to shake my hand. “Thank you. Thank you for protecting her.”

I dip my head politely. “Just doing my job, ma’am. But… she’s a strong woman. She did most of the protecting herself.”

Aubree’s mother exhales, her lips trembling. “I’m Lisa,” she says. “And please—let’s go inside. I have a lot to tell both of you.”

Inside, the house is warm, cluttered with pictures and knick-knacks that give it a cozy, lived-in feel. Lisa leads us to the small living room, where we settle on a couch that’s a bit worn but looks inviting. She sits in an armchair opposite us, tissues in hand.

She inhales, composing herself. “I’ve left Charles,” she announces, though we already know. “After I found out everything, I… I couldn’t stay with a man who’d harm my daughter. I’m pressing charges. He’s in custody now, and I’ll be cooperating fully with the police.”

Aubree nods, still clinging to her mother’s hand. “Mom, I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”

Lisa shakes her head fiercely. “Don’t apologize. This is on him. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

I watch them exchange a look that’s thick with emotion—relief, grief, and a deep bond that not even Charles’s betrayal could break. My chest tightens at the sight, a mix of protectiveness and a strange sense of pride that Aubree is returning to the life she deserves.

They talk for a while—Lisa explains how the police grilled her about Charles’s finances, how they gathered proof of his intent to drive Aubree away for monetary gain. She’s furious at him, and she’s furious at herself for not seeing the signs sooner. Aubree keeps insisting her mother’s not at fault, and I silently agree. Con men can be terrifyingly good at deception.

Eventually, Lisa pats Aubree’s hand. “I hate to say this, but… I know you’re dying to see your shop, right?”

Aubree’s eyes sparkle with tears, and a small smile forms. “More than anything,” she admits.

Lisa smiles back, rising from the armchair. “Then let’s go.”

Slice Slice Baby looks strangely untouched from the outside—same red-and-gray sign, same big display window that’s finally been fixed. But as we step inside, I notice the faint lines of a new frame around the front door, where it must’ve been repaired after the recent break-in. My stomach clenches, imagining the damage that might be hidden behind the scenes.

Aubree takes a trembling step forward, running her hand along the counter where countless customers have ordered slices. “Oh my God,” she whispers, eyes watering again. “It’s… still standing.”

I follow, hovering protectively at her side, scanning the interior. The floor is swept clean. I see a few spots on the walls where paint has been touched up, presumably covering whatever damage occurred. There’s a faint smell of cleaning supplies mingling with the lingering scent of tomato sauce and dough.

Lisa steps up to us, pointing toward the back. “The police had it cleaned up, dusted for fingerprints. Nothing major was stolen. No big vandalism.” She searches Aubree’s face. “They’re still looking for the guy who broke in, but it doesn’t look like it’s connected to Charles. Might’ve been a random burglary after all.”

Aubree nods, tears filling her eyes again. “I can’t believe it. I thought everything would be ruined.”

“But it’s not,” I remind her softly. “You still have your place.”

She turns to me, eyes shining with gratitude and relief. Then she throws her arms around my neck, hugging me fiercely. I freeze for a split second, not used to public displays like this, but then I wrap my arms around her, letting her trembling sigh wash over me.

Lisa clears her throat gently. “I’ll… I’ll give you two a moment,” she says, slipping behind the counter, presumably to check on something.

Aubree pulls back and stares up at me, her hands still resting on my shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

I brush a loose strand of hair from her face. “I told you, it’s my job,” I reply, my voice rough with emotion. “But… it was more than that. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

She smiles, leaning her forehead against mine. “So now what?” she whispers. “You go back to Maddox Security, pick up another job? And I just… run my shop?” There’s a hint of fear in her eyes, like she’s worried this is where we part ways.

My breath catches. I haven’t entirely sorted out the answer for that question yet. Dean hasn’t assigned me a new job. Technically, I’m free to do whatever I want, so long as the danger to Aubree is resolved. And it is, isn’t it?

“We’ll figure it out,” I say quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss to her temple.

We stand here a moment longer, in the center of her shop, holding each other. The smell of fresh dough and tomato sauce seems to wrap around us like a promise of normalcy returning. Just a few days ago, we were hiding in a remote cabin, wondering if Charles would succeed in scaring her off for good. Now, with him behind bars and the shop still standing, the future feels open again.

Aubree clears her throat and lets go of me, though her hand slips down to entwine with mine. “So,” she says, voice still slightly shaky, “let’s start by making some pizza. I owe you a proper Slice Slice Baby pie, right?”

I chuckle, feeling a knot of tension unwind in my gut. “Damn right you do.”

She grins, leading me behind the counter, where her mother waits with a relieved smile. As we pass the row of ingredient bins, Aubree stares at them like she’s greeting old friends—pepperoni, olives, mushrooms. The dough mixer in the corner is silent for now, but I can already picture it whirring back to life under her skilled hands.

For the first time in weeks, I see her face light up with genuine excitement.

“Pizza?” she asks, meeting my gaze.

“Pizza,” I confirm.

Her mother lets out a small laugh, rolling up her sleeves. “Then let’s make the best damn pie this town has ever seen.”

It’s a fresh start—one she’s more than earned. And as I watch Aubree grab a ball of dough, a bright new confidence in her eyes, I know that whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out. Together. Because this time, there’s nothing left to run from.