Chapter 2
JAKE
I 'd spotted her from fifty feet away, standing on tiptoes despite being nearly six feet tall in those impractical heels,scanning the pickup area with an aura that made her stand out from the crowd.
Her curly black hair was up in a puff, leaving soft shoulders and voluminous cleavage on display.
Curves that her business casual outfit couldn't quite downplay.
A woman who takes up space unapologetically.
Now, three hours into our drive, I'm acutely aware of every inch of that space beside me in the truck.
"So, Jake," she breaks the companionable silence that's fallen between us since crossing the border into upstate New York."What takes you all the way to Nevada?"
"Business," I reply, keeping it simple.The truth is significantly more complicated, involving security protocols for a high-profile wedding that happens to be the same one she's racing toward.But she doesn't need to know that yet.
"Wow, fascinating. Tell me less," she mutters, rolling her eyes.
A smile threatens at the corner of my mouth.She's quick. I like that despite myself.
"What kind of business are you in, Trish?" I redirect, though I already know the answer from my background check.
"Marketing consultant. I help businesses rebrand and expand their digital presence.
" She watches me for a reaction, but I maintain my neutral expression.
"Currently working with a luxury wellness retreat in British Columbia.
Or I was, until my flight got canceled and I jumped into a stranger's truck like the beginning of a cautionary tale. "
The wellness retreat. That would be Noah Kane's place in Crimson Hollow.Another connection I'm not supposed to know about yet.
"Smart move," I say dryly.
"Says the man who picked up a random woman at the airport."
"Not random," I correct her. "I checked your profile before accepting.Trish Walker, 32, marketing consultant with verified employment at Walker Digital.Five-star rating as a passenger.Previous ride share to Muskoka last summer."
She blinks, clearly surprised."You researched me?"
"I don't let just anyone into my truck." The words come out more possessive than intended.
I check the GPS. We're making good time despite the minor traffic outside Buffalo.
If we maintain this pace, we should reach our first overnight stop in Heartstone, Missouri, by early evening tomorrow.
I've already made reservations at the Nighty Night Bed and Breakfast, the most secure lodging option in that small town, according to my research.
"And what would your profile say, Jake Winters?" she asks, still studying me."Besides your apparent control issues and preference for silence?"
"38. Business owner. Perfect five-star rating as a driver.Never been late for a pickup." I keep my response as vague as my RoadRunner bio.
"That tells me absolutely nothing about you as a person," she challenges.
"You don't need to know me as a person," I say simply."You need a ride to Nevada. I'm providing one."
She crosses her arms, her chin lifting in a way that signals I've annoyed her."And why exactly are you on a ride share app if you're so reluctant to interact with your passengers?"
I consider how much to reveal."It's a good way to cover gas for trips I'd be taking anyway.And occasionally, the company isn't terrible."
"Sounds like you love your job," she snorts."Let me guess, you're one of those mysterious loner types who think having basic social skills is beneath them?"
For the first time, I actually laugh, a short, deep sound that seems to catch her off guard."No, I'm one of those boring types who prefer quiet after spending my days talking to people."
"And what people would those be, Mr. Vague?Other mysterious men in black t-shirts with control issues?"
I glance at her, raising an eyebrow."You've been noticing my t-shirt?"
A faint flush colors her cheeks, but she recovers quickly."Hard not to notice when it's the only item in your wardrobe, apparently."
"I have six identical black t-shirts," I admit."Makes mornings simpler."
"Of course, you do," she sighs, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Let me guess what else about you.You work out at exactly the same time every day.
You eat the same high-protein, low-carb meal with perfectly calculated macronutrients.
Your idea of spontaneity is taking a slightly different route on your morning run. "
The accuracy of her assessment is irritating."Not every day."
"Oh my God, you totally do!" She laughs, the sound filling the truck cab."I'm a marketer, remember? Reading people is literally my job."
As the afternoon wears on, I relax into her presence more than I expected.Trish has a way of filling silences without making them uncomfortable, telling me about her friend's wedding, her marketing projects, her cat back in Toronto who'll be watched by a neighbor.
"My turn for questions," she announces as we pull into a service station for our first scheduled break."Why Route 14 specifically? Won't the interstates be faster?"
I kill the engine, turning slightly to face her."Route 14 passes through smaller towns, less traffic, more predictable patterns.And after the recent storms, many of the major highways still have sections under repair."
"Always the practical answer," she notes."Fine, keep your mystique, Jake Winters.I'll figure you out eventually."
The certainty in her voice sends an unexpected current down my spine.Something about this woman makes me want to both maintain my distance and draw her closer, a contradiction that's becoming increasingly difficult to manage.
"Twenty minutes," I say, nodding toward the service station."Bathroom, food, whatever you need."
"Only twenty minutes? What if I want to enjoy the fine cuisine this place has to offer?" There's that teasing lilt in her voice again.
"You want to sit down for a meal at a highway service station?" I raise an eyebrow.
"God no," she laughs, the sound surprisingly musical."But I do need more than twenty minutes to feel human again after sitting in traffic."
I check my watch. We're actually ahead of schedule.
"Thirty minutes," I concede. "Not a minute more."
"So generous," she replies, rolling her eyes as she opens her door.
I watch her walk toward the entrance, her stride confident despite those ridiculous heels.
I normally maintain strict professional distance with clients, but something about Trish Walker makes it difficult to remember why those boundaries exist.The way she challenges me, sees through my carefully constructed facade, and notices details most people overlook.
It's refreshing. And dangerous.
When she returns, I'm waiting with two cups of coffee.
"Black, one sugar," I say, offering her one."Saw you drinking it in the terminal while you were waiting."
She takes the cup, surprise flickering across her face."You were watching me before I approached your truck?"
"Force of habit," I shrug, not elaborating.
"Of course, it is," she murmurs, but there's amusement in her voice rather than annoyance.She takes a sip, nodding appreciatively."Good coffee. You have good taste, at least."
As we get back on the road, I grow increasingly aware of her presence beside me, the way she tucks one leg under herself, the faint scent of her perfume,the casual way she gestures with her hands when making a point.
It's been a long time since anyone's captured my attention this way, and even longer since I've allowed it.
"So where exactly is our first overnight stop?" she asks as the sun begins to set, painting the horizon in fiery oranges andgolds.
"A small town called Heartstone in Missouri," I reply, changing lanes to pass a slow-movingtruck."I've booked rooms at a place called the Nighty Night Bed andBreakfast."
"Rooms? Plural?" She turns to face me, eyebrowraised."I thought the rule was I sleep when you sleep, like we're joined at the hip orsomething."
"Adjacent rooms," I clarify. "I'll be able to hear if there's any trouble, but you'll have yourprivacy."
"So thoughtful," she says with mocksweetness."And here I thought you were going to handcuff me to the bed to make sure I didn't run off in thenight."
The image her words conjure sends a jolt of heat through me that I immediatelysuppress."Don't temptme."
Her eyes widen slightly, and I realize how the wordssounded.
"That was a joke," I add, though the expression on her face suggests she's not entirelyconvinced.
"Was it, though?" she challenges, her voice droppingslightly."Because you strike me as someone who likes being in control,Jake.Maybe a little toomuch."
The directness of her observation catches me offguard.Most people dance around it, intimidated by my size ordemeanor.Not Trish. She sees it and calls it out withouthesitation.
"Control keeps people safe," I sayfinally."Especially in unfamiliarsituations."
"And is that what I am toyou?An unfamiliar situation that needscontrolling?"
I glance at her, finding her dark eyes fixed on me. My grip tighten on the steeringwheel."You're certainlyunfamiliar."
"But not unpleasant?" There's a hint of vulnerability beneath herboldness.
"No," I admit. "Not unpleasant atall."
A small smile plays at the corner of hermouth."Good to know, CaptainControl.Good toknow."
As darkness falls completely, we settle into a comfortable rhythm of conversation andsilence.
She tells me more about her friend's wedding, about growing up in Toronto, and about herwork.
I share carefully edited stories from my security background, nothing classified or identifying, just enough to satisfy hercuriosity.
And all the while, I'm acutely aware of a tension building between us that has everything to do with the way she challengesme. It makes me want to push back, just to see how sheresponds.
It's going to be a long drive toNevada.