Chapter 3
WINTER
Winter couldn’t sleep. The storm had passed, but the silence it left behind was worse somehow.
It was too still, and much too quiet. She could hear every creak in the cabin, every soft crack settling the wood under the heavy, wet snow.
The fire had burned down to a low orange glow, and Jace stood by the window, a dark shape outlined by the faint moonlight spilling across the snow and into the cabin.
He hadn’t said much since his call with Bolt earlier that morning.
Whatever he’d heard, it had only made the weight in his shoulders heavier.
She worried that she was asking too much of him.
She knew that asking him to take her home to have the baby might not work out, but she still had to ask.
Now, she worried that Jace had been making promises that he might not be able to keep to her.
Winter sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
“You should try to rest,” she murmured. Since she got to the cabin, she noticed two things about Jace—he hadn’t slept much, and he hadn’t made a move to make her his again.
She was his once—even though it was just for one night.
Sleeping in the same bed as him was nice.
It even gave her hope that he’d want the same things she did between them, but besides holding and touching her to give her comfort.
Maybe he didn’t find her attractive anymore since she was now huge with the pregnancy.
She couldn’t blame him if that were the case, but a part of her still wondered if he’d always feel that way about her.
Jace didn’t turn around. “Can’t sleep.” He was lying. She was sure of it. If he just lay down and closed his eyes for a second, she was sure that sleep would find him. But he was stubborn and refused to even allow himself to rest, and Winter was starting to worry about him.
“Because of them?” she asked. “Do you really think that they’ll find us up here?”
He shrugged. “No clue, but I don’t like what I can’t see.
” His tone was quiet but edged, like a blade dulled by exhaustion.
She pushed herself off the couch and crossed to him, the cold seeping through the floorboards on her bare feet.
Outside, the snow reflected the faint shimmer of moonlight, a world painted in silver and shadow.
“Bolt said we’re safe,” she reminded him gently.
He barked out his laugh. “Bolt’s a good man, but he’s not here. I am. And I know what it feels like when eyes are on me. I know that someone is out there watching, Winter, I just don’t know who.”
Winter’s stomach tightened. She followed his gaze out the window. The forest beyond the clearing was silent and unmoving. If someone was watching them, she couldn’t see any sign of them. “Could be an animal,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Could be,” he agreed, but his hand went to the pistol on the counter.
“Or it could be someone who got curious enough to check if ghosts can bleed.” She watched him move slowly, deliberately, using all of his training.
It still startled her how easily he slipped into that mindset.
He was so quiet and almost shy around her, but then, he’d show her this side of himself—the FBI agent, and she remembered how capable he really was.
“Jace,” she said softly, touching his arm. “Don’t go out there.”
He hesitated. The muscles in his jaw ticked as he looked from her hand to her face. “If someone’s out there and they get to you, I’ll never forgive myself,” he said. “And what if it’s someone who needs help? You know, like someone who got trapped in the storm as you did.”
“Then let them freeze,” she interrupted. “We’ve got locks. We’ve got heat. You going out there just puts you in their sightline and puts all of us in danger.” She rubbed her belly, using the baby to get what she wanted was a low move, but one she was willing to make.
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re right.” She exhaled, relief washing through her, but it didn’t last. Jace stepped back from the window, shutting off the single lamp near the couch. The cabin fell into near-darkness, lit only by the weak glow of embers.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, not sure that she wanted to know his reasoning.
“Better they don’t see the light,” he said. “If someone is out there watching us, I don’t want to make things easy for them.”
Winter wrapped her arms around herself, her skin prickling despite the warmth of the fire. “Do you really think they’d come all the way out here? In this weather?”
“I think the Dead Rabbits don’t care about the weather,” he said quietly. “If they think I’m alive, they’ll look until they’re sure I’m not.” The baby kicked then, sharp enough that she gasped. Jace turned toward her immediately, pulling her into his arms.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she breathed, pressing her hand to her stomach. “He’s just awake, and I think he’s playing soccer in there.” Jace’s expression softened, and his hand rested beside hers on her belly. The baby kicked again, and this time, the ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“He’s got good timing,” he murmured.
Winter let out a shaky laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Just like his father.” For a few quiet moments, the tension eased.
The world outside stayed still, and she let herself believe maybe it had been an animal that Jace had sensed.
Maybe everything really was fine. But when Jace rose to check the window one last time, she saw the way his eyes narrowed, sharp and alert, and Winter lost all hope that any of that was true.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. Then he finally whispered, “Could be nothing.” But she heard the lie in his voice. He moved toward the fire, grabbed a thick piece of wood, and used it to bank the coals low. Then he checked the locks again, silent and methodical.
When he finally came back to her, he brushed his hand over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go lie down. I’ll keep watch for a bit.”
“Jace,” she started to argue, but he covered her mouth with his big hand.
“Just for a bit,” he promised. “You and the baby need rest.”
She wanted to argue, but exhaustion tugged at her, heavy and unrelenting as it had been since the beginning of her pregnancy.
She nodded, retreating to the couch. As she lay down, she kept her eyes on him—on the man standing by the window, his outline framed against the silver-blue snow.
Even in the quiet, she could feel the world holding its breath.
Something was out there. Jace felt it, and now, she could too.
Winter woke to the sound of the fire crackling low and the faint scent of coffee.
For a heartbeat, everything felt almost normal again.
It was quiet, calm, and the cabin was cocooned in soft light from the new snow outside.
She sat up and stretched, noting that the chair that Jace usually occupied beside the couch was empty.
“Jace?” she said, quickly looking around the cabin. Her voice was still rough with sleep. She stood slowly, pushing the blanket aside as she did. The ache in her lower back reminded her that the baby was growing fast, claiming more of her strength every day.
“I’m in the kitchen,” he said. When she looked over to the kitchen, Jace was standing by the counter, coffee mug in one hand, the other resting on his hip. He was already dressed, boots on, gun holstered. His eyes weren’t on her—they were fixed on the window.
Winter’s pulse stumbled. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t want to.” She was starting to worry about Jace’s lack of sleep. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d end up doing something stupid that might end up getting them both killed.
She crossed the room to him, her hand finding the edge of the counter for balance. “What happened?”
Jace set the mug down and motioned toward the back door.
“Take a look.” Her stomach dropped at the tone in his voice—low, controlled, but laced with something darker.
She followed him to the door and peered through the frosted glass.
At first, she didn’t see it. Just snow, untouched and glittering in the sunlight.
But then, her gaze drifted toward the edge of the clearing to where the tree line began, and her breath caught when she saw the footprints.
They definitely weren’t animal footprints, and they weren’t random. They were human, and she knew that Jace was right—someone had found them. A clear trail led from the woods halfway to the porch before stopping short.
Winter pressed her hand to her chest as though trying to calm her speeding heartbeat. “Someone was here.”
“Yeah.” His voice was clipped, sounding professional again.
His old FBI edge was cutting through. “Came sometime between two and four a.m., I’d guess.
Tracks are fresh, maybe six hours old. They didn’t get too close, though.
Either they were scoping us out, or they were testing to see if anyone would come out. ”
Her mind reeled. “You saw them?”
“No. I just noticed movement out there. It could’ve been just one person, or it could’ve been more than one.
Either way, they were smart enough not to light a cigarette or use a flashlight to draw attention to themselves.
” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Honestly, they were too damn smart for my comfort.”
Winter stared out the window, her throat tight. “You think it was them? The Dead Rabbits?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Could just be hunters who lost their way, but it feels off. They were too quiet, and there were no sled tracks; they had no gear, nothing. Just left the boot prints.”
She turned toward him. “What do we do?”
Jace’s eyes flicked to her belly, then back to her face. “We stay put. Keep the fire low, stay quiet. If it was them, they now know that someone’s here. I bet they’ll come back—maybe tonight. But I’ll be ready.”