Chapter 5
MARA
The stranger's smile makes my skin crawl.
He hasn’t moved from beside his SUV, but something about his stillness feels dangerous. Like he's enjoying watching us squirm. Gabe's body is rigid in front of me, every muscle ready for violence, and I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
"Gabriel," the man calls out again, his voice carrying easily across the snowy yard. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. We just want to talk."
"Then talk," Gabe responds, his tone flat and dangerous in a way I haven't heard before. "From right there."
The stranger's laugh is sharp. "Not the kind of conversation we should have in front of civilians."
Civilians. The word hits me wrong, clinical and dismissive. This man sees me as collateral damage, something to be managed or removed. I want to punch him in the face.
"She stays," Gabe says, and there's no room for argument in his voice.
"Gabriel...”
"My name is Gabe." The correction is as hard as winter stone. "And whatever you want to discuss, you can say it from right there."
For a long moment, the stranger just stares at us. Then he shrugs, a casual movement that doesn't fool anyone. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."
He reaches into his jacket, and Gabe moves.
I've never seen anyone move that fast. One second he's standing in front of me, the next he's tackled me to the ground behind the woodpile, his body covering mine as something whistles through the air where my head was moments before.
A tranquilizer dart embeds itself in the lodge's wooden siding with a solid thunk.
"Stay down," Gabe breathes against my ear, his weight pressing me into the snow. "Don't move until I tell you."
My heart pounds as I hear footsteps moving through the snow, getting closer. The stranger isn't alone—there are at least two sets of footsteps, maybe three. Gabe's breathing is controlled, measured, like he's done this before. Many times.
"Gabriel!" The stranger's voice is closer now, maybe thirty feet away. "This doesn't have to go badly. Just come with us and the girl won't get hurt."
Gabe's body tenses against mine. When he speaks, his voice is deadly quiet. "Touch her and I'll kill you."
The words should scare me. Instead, something warm and fierce spirals through my chest. He's ready to die for me. The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.
"Move toward the lodge," he whispers, his lips barely moving. "When I say run, get inside and lock the doors. Call Zeke."
"I'm not leaving you...”
"Mara." His eyes find mine, and what I see there stops my protest cold. This isn't the confused, vulnerable man I've been caring for. This is someone else entirely—focused, lethal, completely in control. "Trust me."
Before I can respond, he's rolling away from me in a fluid motion that ends with him behind a different pile of firewood. "Now," he hisses.
I scramble toward the lodge, keeping low, snow soaking through my jeans. Behind me, I hear scuffling, the sound of bodies hitting the ground, a muffled curse. But there's something else—the sounds aren't chaotic like I expected. They're controlled, rhythmic. Purposeful.
I steal a glance over my shoulder as I reach the porch steps. Gabe isn't running or hiding. He's hunting.
The man with the tranquilizer gun is trying to reload when Gabe appears beside him like a shadow.
I've never seen anyone move that fast—one moment Gabe is behind the woodpile, the next he's disarming the attacker with movements so smooth they look choreographed.
The gun flies through the air and lands in a snowbank twenty feet away.
The attacker swings a fist at Gabe's head. Gabe ducks under it and drives his elbow up into the man's solar plexus. The attacker doubles over, gasping, and Gabe brings his knee up to meet the man's descending face. The crack echoes across the yard like a gunshot.
My hands shake as I fumble with the door lock. This isn't the confused, injured man I've been caring for. This is someone else entirely. Someone lethal.
A second attacker emerges from behind the SUV, moving fast toward Gabe's blind spot.
I want to shout a warning, but my throat feels frozen.
Gabe doesn't need it. Without even looking, he spins and catches the charging man's wrist, using the attacker's own momentum to flip him over his shoulder.
The man hits the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
By the time I reach the back door, my worldview has shifted completely. Gabe isn't the victim here. He never was.
Inside, I grab my phone and dial Zeke's number with trembling fingers. It goes straight to voicemail.
"Zeke, it's Mara. Armed men at the lodge. They're after Gabe. We need help. Now."
Through the kitchen window, I can see the fight continuing. A third man has appeared—bigger than the other two, moving with the confidence of someone who's never lost a fight. He and Gabe circle each other while the other two attackers struggle to get back on their feet.
The big man pulls out what looks like a taser.
Gabe doesn't back away. Instead, he steps closer, getting inside the weapon's range.
When the man lunges forward to use it, Gabe grabs his wrist and twists.
I hear the man scream even through the glass.
The taser drops, and Gabe kicks it away before driving his fist into the man's kidney.
I press my face against the cold window, transfixed. Every movement Gabe makes is exact, efficient. He's not just defending himself—he's dismantling them systematically, like someone who's done this a hundred times before.
The first attacker, the one who'd been circling the SUV, tries to crawl away through the snow.
Gabe lets him go for a moment, focused on the bigger threat, but when the man reaches for something in his jacket, Gabe is on him in two strides.
Whatever the man was reaching for goes flying, and he doesn't get up again.
This is what Gabe was before he lost his memory.
Not just military—something more specialized.
More dangerous. The realization should terrify me.
Instead, it makes me want to protect him even more fiercely.
Because if he's this skilled, this lethal, what kind of people are hunting him?
What did they do to him that left him beaten and broken in the snow?
The big man tries one last desperate attack, charging at Gabe with his good arm. Gabe sidesteps so smoothly it's like watching a dancer, then strikes the man's neck with the edge of his hand. The attacker drops like his strings have been cut.
Suddenly, the yard is silent except for the sound of Gabe's controlled breathing and the wind through the trees. I watch him scan the area, checking for additional threats, his posture still coiled and ready despite having just taken down three trained operatives.
When he turns and sees me in the window, his expression shifts from deadly focus to concern in an instant. The transformation is jarring—like watching a wolf turn back into a man.
I should stay inside. Lock the doors, wait for help, let him handle whatever this is. That would be the smart thing to do.
Instead, I grab the shotgun from the cabinet beside the back door.
My grandmother always said the best defense was making sure the other guy knew you weren't helpless. The gun is loaded—I keep it that way during the off-season when I'm alone—and I know how to use it. Derek made sure of that, though not in the way he intended.
I slip back outside, using the lodge's bulk to shield me from the yard. The cold air burns my lungs as I work my way around toward the front. When I reach the corner of the building, I can see everything.
"Mara…"
"Are there more of them?" I keep the gun trained on the men on the ground, though none of them look like they're getting up anytime soon.
"I don't think so." Gabe wipes blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "But we should…"
The sound of a siren cuts through the mountain air, growing closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and called it in, or maybe Zeke got my message. Either way, help is coming.
"We need to get our stories straight," Gabe says, his voice urgent. "Before they get here."
"Our stories?" I lower the shotgun but don't put it down. "What story? Armed men attacked us on my property."
"It's not that simple." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in dark spikes. "These guys... they're not random criminals. They came here specifically for me."
"I figured that out when he called you by name." I gesture toward the unconscious stranger with the barrel of the shotgun. "Who are they?"
"I don't know." The frustration in his voice is palpable. "But they know me. They know things about my past that I can't remember."
The siren is getting louder. In just moments, Zeke will be here, and I'll have to explain why there are three men scattered around my property like broken toys. But right now, all I can focus on is the way Gabe is looking at me—like he's seeing me clearly for the first time.
"You came outside," he says. "With a gun."
"They were trying to hurt you."
"You could have been killed."
"So could you." I meet his eyes steadily. "I don't abandon people I care about."
His face changes, goes softer somehow. "Mara...”
Zeke's SUV rounds the bend, lights flashing, and the moment breaks.
Whatever Gabe was going to say gets swallowed by the arrival of Sheriff MacAllister.
Nate Barrett climbs out of the passenger side, and I can see Caleb in the back seat.
Zeke has his weapon drawn but lowers it when he takes in the scene.
"Mara, what the hell happened here?" he calls out.
"Three men attacked us," I respond, setting the shotgun down carefully. "They tried to take Gabe."
Zeke's gaze sweeps the scene—the downed attackers, Gabe standing over them with blood on his face, the shotgun I've set down nearby. His expression suggests he's rethinking everything he thought he knew about the quiet woman who runs the bed and breakfast.
"Anyone hurt?" he asks, holstering his weapon as Nate and Caleb begin checking on the downed men.
"Just bruises," Gabe answers, though the cut on his cheek looks deeper than he's letting on.
"Good." Zeke approaches the nearest attacker and starts going through his pockets. "We were at Nate's place when I got your voicemail. Lucky thing, or I'd have been handling this alone." He pulls out a wallet, flips it open, and his expression hardens. "Federal IDs. These guys are government."
My blood runs cold. "Government?"
"Defense contractors, looks like." Zeke shows me the ID—official-looking, with seals I don't recognize. "Which means Gabe's situation just got a whole lot more complicated."
I look at Gabe, who's gone very still. His face is pale beneath the bruising, and I can see him processing the implications. If the government is after him, it means his past isn't just dangerous—it could be classified.
"Zeke," I say carefully, "what does that mean for him?"
The sheriff looks between us, and I can see him weighing his words. "It means we're all in over our heads. And it means Gabe's going to have to start remembering things real fast, because whatever he's forgotten, people with serious resources want him back."
The sound of more vehicles approaching echoes through the mountains. More contractors, probably, coming to clean up whatever mess this has become. In a few minutes, my quiet bed and breakfast will be overrun with whoever these men work for, all of them asking questions I don't have answers to.
But as I watch Gabe stand there, bloody but unbroken, facing down whatever storm is coming with that quiet determination I'm starting to recognize, I realize something important: I don't care who these people are or what they want. Gabe chose to protect me, and I'm going to do the same for him.
The approaching vehicles grow louder, and I reach for Gabe's hand. His fingers are warm despite the cold, and when he squeezes back, I feel something settle into place between us. I care about him. More than I should, probably, but I don't regret it.
"Ready?" I ask quietly.
He looks at me, and for the first time since I found him in the snow, he smiles. It's small and a little sad, but it's real. "Yeah."
The convoy rounds the final bend, and I squeeze Gabe's hand tighter. I know what it's like to face the worst alone. He won't have to.