Chapter 7
MARA
Iwake to warmth and the weight of Gabe's arm draped across my waist.
The room is still dark, but I can see the first hints of light around the edges of the curtains.
We fell asleep sometime after midnight, exhausted and tangled together, the fire burning down to embers as we talked in quiet voices about everything and nothing.
At some point, Gabe got up to add more wood to the fire, then came back to bed and pulled me close.
I remember the comfort of his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his hand traced lazy patterns on my back until sleep pulled me under.
Now, in the pre-dawn stillness, I just lie here listening to his breathing, feeling the solid presence of him against my back. The fire has burned down again, but the bed is warm, and outside the window, shades of gray and pink begin to paint the sky.
Yesterday feels like it happened to someone else—the attack, the contractors, the threats barely veiled behind professional courtesy. But the ache in my muscles and the scratch marks on Gabe's shoulders are proof that at least part of yesterday was very real.
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me. Not awake, just instinctive. Even in sleep, he's aware of where I am, keeping me close. I should probably be worried—sleeping with a man who doesn't even remember his own past. But I'm not. I feel safe.
"You're thinking too loud," Gabe murmurs against my neck, his voice rough with sleep.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't really asleep." His hand splays across my stomach, warm and possessive. "Just... existing. Being here with you."
I turn in his arms so I can see his face. In the early morning light, the bruises look worse—purple and yellow blooming across his cheekbone, the cut on his temple angry red against his skin. But his eyes are clear, focused on me with an intensity that takes my breath away.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Like I got hit by a truck." His smile is crooked, careful of his split lip. "But also like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. It's confusing."
"Welcome to my world." I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, gentle around the bruising. "I've been confused since the moment I found you in the snow."
"Any regrets?"
The question is light, but I can see the vulnerability underneath it. He's asking about more than just last night. He's asking about all of it—bringing him here, defending him to Zeke and Zara, standing with him yesterday when professional killers came calling.
"No," I say, and mean it. "No regrets."
He kisses me then, slow and thorough, making me forget about everything waiting outside. When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and warm and acutely aware that we should probably get up and face the day, but I don't want to move.
"We should...” I start.
A knock at the front door interrupts whatever I was going to say. We both freeze, and I feel Gabe's body tense against mine, ready for a threat.
"It's probably just Zeke," I say, though my heart is pounding. "He said he'd come back today. And if it were the bad guys, they wouldn't be knocking politely."
"Probably." But Gabe is already sliding out of bed, reaching for his borrowed jeans. "Stay here while I check."
"Gabe...”
"Please." He's pulling on his shirt, wincing as the movement pulls at his ribs. "Just... let me make sure it's safe first."
I want to argue, to remind him this is my house and I don't need protecting. But the memory of yesterday—the tranquilizer darts, the tactical team, the gray-haired man's cold assessment—stops me. So I nod and watch him slip out of my room, moving with that silent grace that's becoming familiar.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. I hear Gabe's footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening. Male voices, low and cautious. I can't make out words, but the tone doesn't sound threatening.
I dress quickly in jeans and a sweater, then make my way to the front room. Gabe is standing in the doorway, and beyond him I can see Finn—the supply driver who brings goods to Glacier Hollow once a week. He's holding a clipboard and looking uncomfortable.
"Mara," Finn says when he sees me, relief evident in his voice. "Sorry to bother you so early. I've got your regular delivery, but I wanted to check in. Word's going around town about what happened yesterday."
"Of course it is," I mutter. Glacier Hollow is small enough that everyone knows everyone's business within hours. "It's fine, Finn. We're fine."
"That's good. That's real good." He shifts his weight, glancing between Gabe and me.
"Sheriff MacAllister asked me to mention something, though.
Said there've been unfamiliar vehicles spotted near town.
Black SUVs, like the ones that were here yesterday.
Wanted you to know they might still be hanging around. "
The news settles into my stomach like a stone. "How many vehicles?"
"He said two, maybe three. Parked up near the old logging road." Finn looks apologetic. "Could be nothing. Could be hunters or tourists. But Zeke figured you'd want to know."
"Thanks, Finn." I force a smile. "I appreciate you coming to tell us."
"No problem." He hands me the clipboard. "Sign here for the delivery, and I'll get it unloaded."
While I deal with the paperwork, Gabe helps Finn unload supplies from the truck.
I watch them through the window—Gabe moving carefully but efficiently, Finn making awkward small talk that Gabe responds to with monosyllables.
When they're done, Finn lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something else.
"Listen," he says finally, addressing both of us.
"I don't know what you've got yourself mixed up in, but.
.. people in town are worried. Not about you," he adds quickly, seeing my expression.
"For you. Whatever's going on, you're not alone in this.
Zeke's organizing people, making sure someone's always keeping an eye on the road. We take care of our own."
The words hit me harder than they should. We take care of our own. I've lived in Glacier Hollow for three years, running my bed and breakfast, serving on the town council, showing up to community events. I've been part of this town whether I always realized it or not.
"Thank you," I manage. "That means a lot."
After Finn leaves, I stand in the kitchen staring at the supplies he brought—flour and sugar and coffee, mundane things that feel surreal after yesterday's violence. Gabe comes up behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders.
"You okay?" he asks.
"People in town are organizing watch rotations because of me. Because I brought you here."
"Because someone attacked you on your property," he corrects gently. "That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" I turn to face him. "Those men came here for you. Whatever danger you're in, I'm in it now too. And so is everyone who tries to help us."
"I should leave." The words are quiet, careful. "If I left, they'd follow me. You'd be safe."
The suggestion makes my chest tight with panic and anger in equal measure. "Don't. Don't you dare suggest that again."
"Mara...”
"We talked about this yesterday. I chose to stand with you, and I'm not changing my mind just because it's gotten complicated." I grab the front of his shirt, holding him in place. "You don't get to make decisions about my safety without me. We're in this together."
His face changes—relief mixed with gratitude. "Okay."
"Okay." I pull him down for a kiss, hard and quick. "Now help me make breakfast. If people are watching the road, we should probably feed them."
We work in comfortable silence, falling into an easy rhythm. Gabe sets the table while I cook eggs and bacon, brew coffee and toast bread. It feels normal, which is strange considering everything that happened yesterday.
Zara arrives as we're finishing breakfast, letting herself in through the back door like she always does.
She stops short when she sees Gabe sitting at my kitchen table.
Her gaze flicks from his damp hair to the fact that he's wearing yesterday's clothes to the way we're moving around each other without getting in each other's way.
"So," she says, dropping her bag on the counter. "That happened."
"Zara...”
"It's fine." She holds up a hand. "You're an adult. You can make your own decisions. Even if those decisions involve sleeping with a guy who had professional killers trying to kidnap him yesterday."
Before I can respond, there's another knock at the door. Gabe tenses, but through the window I can see Nate Barrett's truck. A moment later, Nate and Zeke come in together, both looking serious.
"Morning," Zeke says, though his expression suggests this isn't a social call. "Heard you already got Finn's message about the vehicles."
"Yeah." I pour them both coffee. "What's really going on?"
Zeke and Nate exchange a look, and something passes between them—some kind of silent communication that makes my stomach tighten. Finally, Zeke pulls out his phone and shows me a photo. Three black SUVs parked in a clearing off the old logging road, barely visible through the trees.
"Caleb took this about an hour ago," Zeke says. "He was checking the northern trails and spotted them. Got close enough for photos before they noticed him."
"Did they see him?" Gabe asks, his voice sharp.
"Saw him leave, but he was on his sled and knows those trails better than anyone." Nate takes the coffee I offer with a nod of thanks. "They didn't follow. But they know we're watching them now."
"Good," Gabe says, which surprises me until I see the calculation in his eyes. "Let them know they can't move without being seen. Makes them think twice about another approach."
Nate's expression shifts, becomes appraising. He settles at the table across from Gabe, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. I've seen that look before—he's a former Navy SEAL, and he recognizes something in Gabe that the rest of us can't quite name.
"You've done this before," Nate says. It's not a question.
"I don't remember doing it," Gabe replies carefully. "But yeah. My body knows."
"Navy?" Nate asks.
Gabe touches his dog tags through his shirt. "That's what these say. But I don't remember serving."
"Your body does." Nate leans back in his chair, still watching Gabe with that professional assessment. "The way you moved yesterday before we pulled up. That wasn't basic training. That was advanced hand-to-hand, the kind they teach for wet work."
The term hangs in the air, heavy with implications. Wet work. Covert operations. The kind of missions that don't make it into official records.
"Which brings us to the real question," Zeke says, pulling out his notebook. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“I told you, I don’t know…”
“And I believe that, but we need to talk about what happened yesterday. Specifically, about the men who came for you and what they want because when I called that number, all I got was static and a bunch of clicks and blips."
Gabe meets his gaze steadily. "I don't have answers. I wish I did."
"Then tell us what you do know," Nate says, his tone not unkind but firm. "Starting with why professional contractors with military training would risk exposing themselves to grab one guy who doesn't even remember his own past."
It's a good question. One I've been trying not to think about too hard, because every answer I come up with is worse than the last.
Gabe is quiet for a long moment, staring at his coffee cup.
"I don't know what I did before I lost my memory.
But based on what I can do, what my body remembers.
.." He looks up at Nate, and his eyes are bleak.
"I was someone dangerous. Someone highly trained.
And whatever I was involved in, it's bad enough that they're willing to risk everything to either get me back or silence me permanently. "
"Which is it?" Nate asks. "Are they trying to retrieve you or eliminate you?"
"I don't know."
"Guess."
"Recruit," I say, before Gabe can answer. Everyone looks at me, and I shrug. "If they wanted him dead, they had opportunities yesterday. The tranquilizer darts, the way they tried to talk before they fought—they want him alive."
Nate nods slowly. "That tracks with what I saw. The approach was extraction, not elimination." He turns to Zeke. "Which means whatever he knows, whatever he can do, they need it."
"Or they need to ensure he doesn't remember it and tell anyone else," Zeke adds grimly. He looks at Gabe. "You might be a witness to something they can't afford to have exposed. Or you might have skills they can't replace. Either way, you're valuable to them."
"That's not reassuring," I say.
"No," Zeke agrees. "It's not. Which is why we're setting up a proper security rotation. Nate's coordinating with some of the other guys who have tactical experience. We'll have eyes on all the approaches to your property, twenty-four seven."
"You don't have to do that," Gabe says quietly.
"Yeah, we do." Nate's voice is firm. "You're one of us now. And we protect our own."
There's that phrase again. We protect our own. It's starting to feel less like a platitude and more like a promise.
Zara has been quiet through all of this, but now she speaks up. "So what do we do?"
"We wait," Gabe says. "And we prepare. Because they're not done with me yet."
He's right. I can feel it—the gray-haired man's promise that they'd be in touch, the vehicles spotted near town, the sense of being watched even when we're alone. This isn't over.
I reach for Gabe's hand under the table. His fingers lace through mine and squeeze once. Outside, a truck rumbles past on the road—one of the watch rotations Zeke organized. At least a dozen people in this town are keeping an eye out now, looking for trouble before it arrives.