Chapter 7
Nash couldn’t tell which was making his heart pound harder—the fact that they were finally on the verge of having an honest conversation about everything, or the way Sadie’s green eyes seemed to catch every flicker of light from the lamp beside them.
He’d always been a sucker for those eyes, even back in high school when he’d tried to play it cool.
The remains of their dinner sat forgotten on the kitchen counter.
He’d texted Brooks while making coffee, giving him a quick update without mentioning that Sadie was staying at his place.
That detail felt too personal somehow, like sharing it would diminish what was happening between them.
Besides, his brothers would never let him hear the end of it if they found out he had a woman staying at his house after knowing her for all of two days—even if that woman was someone he’d been hung up on for eight years.
“So,” he began, shifting slightly to look directly at her, “let’s start with the stuff Brooks found. He thinks the Ferrante crime family might be involved.”
“What did you say?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Nash straightened, instantly alert. “What is it?”
Sadie’s hands were trembling now, and she pressed them together to stop the shaking. “The Ferrantes,” she repeated, her voice hollow. “That’s … that’s the family my father was going to testify against. That’s who we were running from.”
The revelation hit Nash like a physical blow.
This wasn’t just a coincidence—this was a direct connection between Sadie’s past and the gold they were hunting. The pieces were starting to fall into place, and the picture they formed made his stomach churn.
“You’re sure?” he asked, even though her reaction had already confirmed it.
She nodded, her eyes unfocused, staring at some point in the middle distance. “Yes, his name was Vincent Ferrante. My father worked in shipping. One night, at the dock, he witnessed Vincent … killing someone.” Her eyes refocused, meeting his with sudden intensity.
“Oh gosh. Tell me everything,” Nash said, shifting into what his brothers called his lawyer mode. “How did your father get involved with them?”
Sadie took a deep breath, steadying herself. “My father was brilliant with logistics. He could look at shipping manifests and spot patterns no one else saw. The company he worked for was contracted by Ferrante Imports to handle their international shipping. At first, everything seemed legitimate.”
“But it wasn’t,” Nash supplied.
“My father noticed discrepancies in the cargo weight versus what was declared. Small things at first, then bigger inconsistencies. He started keeping records, documenting everything.”
“Smart man,” Nash murmured.
“One night, he went to the docks to check a manifest and … saw the murder.” She shook her head.
“After that, he gathered evidence for nearly a year before he went to the FBI. They built a case, preparing him to testify.” Her expression darkened.
“But somehow, the Ferrantes found out. We had to leave Boston in the middle of the night. New identities, new backstories, new lives in Cross Creek.”
“So you were in Cross Creek for a year, then prom happened and you left,” Nash said quietly.
Something flickered in her eyes, “And then prom happened.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how they found us.”
She looked so vulnerable, so afraid, that Nash couldn’t help himself. He moved closer and pulled her into his arms.
She stiffened for a moment before melting against him, her face pressed against his chest, her body trembling slightly. “I can’t help but think Bill’s death is my fault. They probably found me, then tracked me, found Bill … I don’t know.”
“Hey,” he said softly, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. You were a child caught in the middle of something.”
She sucked in a long breath, then pulled back. “Do you think it’s all linked together?”
“I don’t know.” Nash pulled her back against him.
She nuzzled into him.
Nash normally wasn’t a hugger but holding Sadie felt as natural as breathing. He could feel her heart racing, the warmth of her breath through his shirt, the subtle scent of her shampoo making him lightheaded.
They stayed that way for a long time, neither speaking, just holding each other as the realization of what they were facing settled around them like a heavy cloak.
“I’ve spent eight years looking over my shoulder,” she murmured against his chest. “I thought I was safe here. I thought I’d finally outrun them. And then Bill …”
Nash’s protective instincts flared. “You are safe,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She pulled back enough to look up at him, a sad smile playing at her lips. “I’m sorry if I find that hard to believe because my father said those same words and it didn’t really work out.”
The words hit him hard. He understood what she was saying—that her father had tried and failed to protect her, that promises of safety could be empty. But something inside Nash rebelled against the comparison.
“I’m not saying this lightly,” he told her, his voice low and intense. “My brothers and I—we’ve faced down people who were after this gold. Dangerous people. We’re still standing. And the Stone family? They’ve been dealing with this even longer. We have resources, connections.”
“FBI connections,” Sadie added with a small nod.
“Exactly.” Nash reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. “Brooks is already looking into the Ferrantes. And now that we know the connection to your father’s case, he can dig deeper.”
She looked unconvinced, but some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders.
“Plus,” Nash added with a cocky grin, “I’m pretty handy in a fight. Just ask any of my brothers.”
That earned him a tiny smile. “I’ll bet you are.”
His fingers lingered near her cheek, the simple contact sending electricity through him. He’d meant to lighten the mood, but somehow they’d circled back to this intense connection between them.
Finally, Nash broke the silence, his voice low. “So what is your real name?”
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “What?”
“Your real name,” he repeated. “It’s not Amanda, and it’s not Sadie.”
She shrugged, a small, defeated gesture. “Does it matter? That life is gone.”
“It matters to me,” Nash said, surprised by how much he meant it. “I want to know who you really are.”
She hesitated, studying his face as if weighing what his reaction might be.
The silence stretched between them, filled with the soft strains of some old George Strait song playing from his speakers.
Nash wanted to kiss her. The urge was so powerful it nearly took his breath away.
Her lips were inches from his, her eyes wide and vulnerable, her body still pressed close from their embrace.
But thinking about everything she’d been through, all the trauma and fear—it didn’t seem right to add to her confusion.
Reluctantly, he moved back a little, creating some space between them. “Look, you don’t have to tell me.”
She cleared her throat. “Amy.”
“What?” Nash wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“My real name is Amy Emma Roberts.” Her gaze was steady now, the familiar stubbornness he’d seen yesterday returning to her expression.
“Amy,” he repeated, testing the name. It suited her somehow—something softer and more innocent than the protective shell she’d built around herself. “Amy,” he said again, just because he could.
She smiled shyly, the expression transforming her face in a way that made his chest tighten. “Yes, but you still can’t use it, because technically I am still in witness protection.”
Nash nodded. “True.”
“It’s been so long since anyone called me by my real name,” she admitted. “Sometimes I have to remind myself who I actually am.”
“I can’t imagine,” Nash said, trying to understand what it would be like to lose not just your home and family, but your very identity. “Did you ever think about just … disappearing again? Starting fresh somewhere else?”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “After my mother died, I considered it. The Marshals Service offered to relocate me again—standard procedure after a significant life change that might compromise security.” She tucked her legs beneath her on the couch.
“But I’d just started my master’s program, and I was tired of running. Tired of being afraid.”
“So you stayed.”
“I stayed. And then I found Porter Rockwell, and the gold, and eventually Bill …” She trailed off. “Maybe I should have left.”
“And then we wouldn’t have found each other again,” Nash pointed out softly.
Their eyes met and held.
In that moment, it felt like all the years between them—the disappearance, the questions, the separate lives they’d built—compressed and vanished. It was just them, just this connection that had somehow endured everything fate had thrown at it.
She let out a light laugh, breaking the spell. “This is crazy.”
“What are you talking about?” Nash asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.
“I guess all of these years, I thought—you know—that I must not remember things right. I must have just been a teenager, but there was something between us.”
So many feelings rushed through Nash. Relief that he wasn’t the only one who’d felt it, back then and now. Fear of what it might mean. Hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d been given a second chance.
“Never mind,” she said, looking embarrassed.
He took her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. “I feel it too.”
Their eyes held for another intense moment, and Nash found himself leaning forward slightly before catching himself.
This wasn’t the time.
They were in danger, she was injured, and they had a mystery to solve. Moving too fast would only complicate an already complex situation.
“Do you remember that night we went stargazing?” he asked suddenly, surprising himself with the question. “After the debate tournament in Billings?”
A smile touched her lips. “The team bus broke down, and we all had to wait for the replacement. You convinced me to climb that hill behind the school.”
“You were worried we’d miss the bus,” he recalled, grinning.
“I was worried we’d get caught by Mrs. Henderson. She already thought we were distracted by each other.”
Nash laughed. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“No,” Sadie—Amy—agreed softly. “She wasn’t.”
Nash remembered that night with perfect clarity—the way she’d shivered in the cool Montana air, how he’d given her his jacket, how they’d lain side by side on the grass looking up at a sky spattered with stars.
They hadn’t kissed, though he’d wanted to.
Instead, they’d talked for hours about everything and nothing—their dreams, their fears, their families.
It was the night he’d realized he was falling in love with her.
“You told me you were afraid of the dark,” he said. “And I told you—”
“That the stars were like God’s nightlights,” she finished, eyes widening. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you,” Nash admitted, the words escaping before he could check them.
The confession hung in the air between them, too honest to take back. Amy’s eyes searched his, perhaps looking for any sign that he was exaggerating or being flippant.
He suddenly stood, breaking the tension. “Let’s get to bed. And we’ll drive up to Olympus tomorrow.”
“Okay. Hopefully I can walk.”
He looked down at her injured ankle. “Even if I have to carry you everywhere.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged.
“Try me, Amy,” he said, purposely using her real name, watching as her eyes widened slightly. “I’ve carried half-grown calves farther than I’d have to carry you up that mountain.”
“Are you comparing me to a cow?” She raised an eyebrow, but he could see the smile she was trying to hide.
“Nope.” Nash grinned. “Cows are much more cooperative.”
The pillow she threw hit him square in the chest, and Nash laughed, feeling lighter than he had in years despite the danger surrounding them.
“The guest room is down the hall on the right,” he said, gesturing. “There are towels in the bathroom closet, and I put some of Cheyenne’s clothes she left here on the bed. They might be a little big, but they’ll work for pajamas.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, starting to push herself up from the couch.
Nash stepped forward automatically to help her.
She waved him off. “I can manage. It’s feeling a little better.” She took a tentative step, wincing slightly but not collapsing. Progress. She made it halfway to the hallway before turning back. “Nash?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything. I know this wasn’t how you planned to spend your time.”
He could hear the vulnerability in her voice, see it in the way she held herself—slightly defensive, as if preparing for rejection. It made something in his chest ache.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he answered honestly.
She studied him for a moment, then nodded, smiling softly at him. “Good night, Nash.”
“Good night, Amy.”
He watched her disappear down the hallway, then moved to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. As he loaded the dishwasher, his phone buzzed with a text from Brooks.
Found something interesting about Olympus Foundation. Call me first thing tomorrow.
Nash typed back a quick acknowledgment, mind already racing with possibilities. Tomorrow they would head up the mountain, injured ankle or not. They were getting closer—he could feel it.
He secured the house, checking locks and setting the alarm system before heading to his own bedroom.
As he changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he couldn’t help glancing down the hall toward the guest room.
A thin line of light shone under the door.
Was she still awake? Was she thinking about him the way he was thinking about her?
Tomorrow they would face whatever was waiting on Mount Olympus, but tonight … tonight they had found something they’d both thought was lost forever. And Nash wasn’t about to let it slip away again.