Chapter 2
Knox
Gray’s voice is still in my ear when I see her.
Not in a soft way. In a this-is-the-asset, stay sharp, get her out kind of way.
But my body doesn’t give a damn about boundaries.
Because Sierra Hayes Quinn is standing just inside the doorway, half-hidden behind her neighbor’s shoulder, pale and shaking like she’s holding herself together by sheer stubbornness. Her hand is locked on the strap of her bag, knuckles white, like letting go would make her fall apart.
Curvy. Blonde. Dark blue eyes so deep they don’t look real.
Too young. Too soft. Probably not even twenty-five.
I don’t need a birth certificate to know it. It’s in the shape of her face, the way she tries to make herself smaller, the way her gaze keeps searching for exits like she’s counting the steps it would take to run.
Like somebody taught her that existing is something she has to apologize for.
My jaw tightens.
The comms crackle in my ear. Gray checks in.
“I’ve got her,” I answer under my breath.
Her neighbor is bold in that way older women get when they’ve survived enough to stop being polite. She watches me like she’s weighing whether I’m the kind of man who protects or the kind who takes.
Good.
I prefer people who aren’t afraid to bite.
Sierra’s eyes track me when I step closer. Not just my face. My arm, the ink, the scars she can see. The way I move.
For a split second I can tell she’s clocking what I am.
Not law enforcement.
Not some college boyfriend with soft hands and excuses.
Something built for the ugly parts.
I keep my expression neutral. I’ve trained myself to do it. Learned how to look calm while everything inside me goes razor-edged.
Because if I look shocked by her, if I look hungry, if I look like anything other than control, she’ll bolt or break.
And I can’t afford either.
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s fear there, yes, but there’s also fight. A stubborn spark she’s trying to hide under grief and exhaustion.
That spark hits me harder than it should.
I want to do something stupid, like touch her cheek, like tell her she’s safe now.
Instead I do the only thing I’m here to do.
I get her moving.
“Grab what you need,” I say. “We’re moving.”
She swallows hard. “I already have it.”
Her bag strap is white-knuckled in her fist.
That tells me everything.
I don’t have her full story yet. Gray didn’t waste time feeding me details, just the essentials: location, identity, possible intrusion.
Asset: Sierra Hayes Quinn.
He didn’t need to say more.
He sent me because he knows what the name attached to hers means to me.
Because six years ago, overseas, on a job that went sideways fast, Marcus Quinn pulled me out of a kill zone with rounds snapping the dirt around us.
He hauled me behind cover, slapped a tourniquet on my leg with hands that didn’t shake, and kept talking to me like I was going to live until my body believed him.
I owe him.
And he’s been dead for a month, so that debt shifts to his next of kin. His daughter.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I’ll burn down the world if I have to.
That’s enough for me.
The rest can wait until she’s out of here alive.
The older woman steps forward like she’s going to hug Sierra, then thinks better of it and settles for smoothing her hair back like she’s five years old.
“You call me if you need anything,” she tells her. “You hear me?”
Sierra’s eyes shine. “I will.”
The woman looks up at me. The flirt drains out of her face, replaced by something sharp.
“You keep her safe,” she says.
It’s not a request.
It’s a warning.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, and I mean it.
Sierra’s mouth quirks like she’s surprised by the “ma’am.” Like she’s surprised I can be polite.
I move first, because hesitation gets people hurt.
“Stay close,” I tell Sierra. “Do exactly what I say.”
She gives a tight nod.
We step into the hallway.
The building smells like old carpet and somebody’s laundry detergent. The walls are thin, the lighting dim, the kind of place where you can hear a neighbor sneeze and tell which direction it came from.
I scan the corridor, quick and practiced. Corners. Stairwell. Elevator.
Nothing obvious.
But obvious isn’t the problem. The problem is the thing you don’t see until it’s too late.
“Gray,” I say quietly.
“I’m here,” Gray says. “I’ve got traffic cams. Front is clear. No one lingering by your truck. Move.”
“Copy.”
Sierra walks like she’s trying to be silent, like sound alone might get her caught. Her shoulder brushes mine for half a second and she jerks like she didn’t mean to.
God.
She is pretty. That’s not the right word for her. Pretty is gentle. Pretty is safe.
She’s… stunning in a way that makes a man forget his own name.
And she looks like she hasn’t exhaled in weeks.
That sparks something ugly in me.
I don’t want ugly.
I want calm. I want control.
I want her out of this building.
We reach the first flight of stairs.
Sierra’s breathing is shallow, quick. She’s trying to keep it quiet.
Then voices drift up from below.
Male. Two of them. Low, irritated.
My hand lifts without thinking, stopping her.
She freezes instantly, eyes wide, pupils blown.
Good girl. Smart girl.
The voices get closer.
Footsteps. Heavy. Not resident footsteps. Not lazy.
Searching.
I lean in until my mouth is close to Sierra’s ear. “Listen to me.”
She nods once.
“You’re gonna laugh,” I whisper. “Like I just said something funny.”
Her eyes flick to mine, panicked.
“Trust me,” I murmur. “Do it.”
She swallows, then lets out a small, breathy laugh that sounds forced but not enough to draw attention. She’s trying. That matters.
The footsteps hit the landing below.
I don’t have time to drag her back upstairs.
I don’t have time to hide.
I have time for one move that makes us invisible.
People see what they expect to see.
A couple in a stairwell doesn’t register. A scared girl and a man shielding her does.
I turn her, press her back against the wall, and cover her with my body.
Her breath hitches.
“Knox,” she whispers, shock and question wrapped together.
“Stay with me, darlin',” I breathe, and then I do the thing I told myself I wouldn’t do.
I kiss her.
At first she goes still, a split second of resistance, the instinct to pull away.
Then she understands.
I feel it in the way her shoulders drop, in the way her hand curls into my shirt like she needs something solid to hold on to.
I keep my stance wide, blocking her from view. My forearm braces beside her head. My body is a shield.
The kiss is supposed to be cover.
That’s it.
Except the second her mouth softens under mine, control becomes something I have to fight for.
She tastes like coffee and nerves and something sweet I can’t name. Her lips are warm, plush, and for one dangerous heartbeat my brain forgets the stairwell, forgets the threat, forgets everything except the way she responds when I deepen the kiss just slightly.
Her breath catches, and then she kisses me back.
Not timid.
Not shy.
Like she’s been starving for something she didn’t know she was allowed to want.
My hand slides to her waist, steadying her, and the curve of her body fits against mine like it was designed to make me lose my mind.
Too young, Sutton.
Not the time.
Not the place.
Footsteps reach our level.
I shift my body, angling so the men coming up get nothing but my back and her hair and the shape of a couple caught in a moment.
One of them snorts.
“Get a room,” a man mutters as they pass, voice full of annoyance.
They keep moving.
Upward.
Past us.
And they never see her face.
They never see the way she’s trembling under my hands.
I don’t move until their footsteps fade, until the voices disappear above us.
Then I break the kiss.
Slowly.
Because if I pull away too fast, it looks wrong.
And because my body doesn’t want to stop.
Sierra blinks up at me, dazed. Her lips are flushed. Her breathing uneven.
Her eyes look darker now, blue turned stormy.
She swallows hard, and her throat moves under my gaze.
I force myself to step back. Not far. Just enough to give her space.
“Breathe,” I tell her.
She sucks in air like she forgot she had lungs.
I keep my voice low. “You did good.”
Her cheeks go pink, and I don’t know if it’s fear or the kiss, but it punches something hot through my chest anyway.
We don’t talk about it in the stairwell. Not yet. We move.
Down the stairs, quiet, quick. I keep my body between her and any open space. I keep my hand hovering close to her back, not touching unless I have to.
The front door of the building is in sight when Gray’s voice cuts in again.
“Gray,” I murmur, “front exit clear?”
“Clear,” he says. “No one posted outside. Move.”
We exit into the Austin heat.
It hits like a slap. Humid and loud, traffic noise and distant music and the normal world continuing like nothing is happening.
My truck is parked where I can see it from the door. Old habit. Always park for the escape, not the arrival.
I guide Sierra to the passenger side, open the door, and watch her climb in.
She moves like her legs aren’t fully hers yet.
I shut the door, circle the hood, and get in.
Only when the locks click and the cab seals around us do I let myself look at her properly.
Sierra is staring straight ahead, hands clenched in her lap. Her bag is wedged against her thigh like she’s afraid it might vanish. Her chest rises and falls too fast.
I see it all in her face. The grief. The shock. The sheer effort it’s taking not to fall apart.
And I see something else too.
Confusion.
Because she’s trying to act like that kiss didn’t happen. Like it was just a tactic. Like she didn’t feel it.
She felt it.
So did I.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
I clear my throat. “I had to do that.”
Her head turns a fraction, and her eyes meet mine.
Too blue.
Too honest.
“People ignore couples,” I say. “They don’t look too hard when they think they’re interrupting something. It was cover.”
She nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yes. Of course. I know.”
But her voice isn’t as steady as she wants it to be.
I watch her swallow. Watch her try to pull herself back together.
Something in my chest shifts.
Guilt, maybe. Anger. A protective instinct that is already wrapping too tight around her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and the words scrape out of me like they don’t get used often. “I should’ve warned you better.”
She huffs a tiny breath that could be a laugh if she had any air left for it. “You told me to laugh.”
“That wasn’t the warning part,” I say.
Her eyes flick down to my mouth, just for a second, then back up.
Damn.
I start the truck.
“We’re going to Valor Springs,” I tell her. “Lone Star Security. The Ranch.”
Her shoulders go rigid. “How far?”
“Far enough,” I say. “But you’re safe with me.” I keep my eyes on the road, because if I look at her too long, I’ll do something stupid. “Just follow my lead.”
She nods, a little slower this time.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I pull away from the curb, merging into traffic.
And I tell myself the kiss was just a move.
Just cover.
Just a tactic.
But my mouth still remembers hers.
And that’s a problem I don’t have time for.