CHAPTER 20 #2
For once, nothing clever came up, so I just nodded once and mouthed, Okay.
Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?
The road climbed higher. The car slipped through a bend, then another, headlights sweeping over old stone walls and dark pines. No one followed close enough for me to see. No lights appeared behind us and stayed there. No engine growled up through the rain.
I checked the mirror, the road behind us, the road ahead, then the tree line, like I had any idea what I was doing.
The dark shoulder where a car could sit with its lights off.
Halfway through the motion, I froze.
Jameson noticed too.
The corner of his mouth almost moved.
He didn’t look smug. Worse, he looked pleased.
“Don’t look proud of yourself,” I muttered.
“I’m not,” he said.
“You are internally insufferable.”
“I’m internally reassured,” he said.
That pulled my attention back to him.
He kept driving. “You’re learning.”
I hated the small, ridiculous steadiness that gave me.
“Sounds worse.”
“It probably is,” he said.
I huffed out a breath, but the edge of panic had dulled a little.
By the time the car turned off the main road, the trees had closed around us fully. The tires crunched over gravel. The headlights caught a narrow drive, slick with rain, climbing toward a dark shape tucked into the slope.
I sat forward like two extra inches closer to the windshield could bully the dark and rain into letting me see more clearly.
A cabin appeared gradually. No lights glowed in the windows. No neighboring houses broke through the trees. There wasn’t a single decorative touch, not even a welcome mat.
The car stopped.
He killed the engine but didn’t immediately get out.
Neither did I.
The sudden silence pressed into my ears.
He looked at the mirrors, then out the windshield, then toward the tree line.
I watched him watching.
The patience in it made my stomach dip.
“Are we waiting for something?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
He got out then.
The cold hit when I opened my door. It slid under my coat and raised goose bumps along my arms. The air smelled like rain, pine, and damp earth. Gravel shifted under my sneakers as I climbed out, clutching my laptop bag and camera to my chest.
Jameson rounded the car and took my duffel before I could object.
“I can carry that.”
“I know,” he said.
“Then why are you carrying it?”
“Because I wanted to,” he said.
He approached the house with the same measured caution he’d used on the road, like every step had already been weighed against three worse possibilities.
I followed several steps behind him because the alternative was standing alone in the dark while someone may or may not pop out of the trees.
The lock clicked open beneath his hand.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Absolutely not.”
His head turned slightly, studying me, then he nodded.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
I followed close enough to feel the heat from his back.
The house smelled stale, like he hadn’t been here in quite some time, with something colder underneath it.
Dust, shut-off heat, old metal. One large main room opened beneath high ceilings, with a fireplace built into the far wall and a minimalist kitchen that looked untouched except for the alarm panel mounted beside it.
The windows were huge, because apparently safe houses could still have terrible security decisions if they came with dramatic views.
A hallway branched from the main space.
He set my duffel down beside the door and lifted one hand.
I stopped.
He moved through the house without turning on the main lights. He swept the cabin.
I stood in the entryway, still holding my bag like an emotional support animal.
He returned to the main room and went straight to the windows.
I watched him angle his body, not directly in front of the glass, but to the side. He looked at the reflection, then beyond it. Then he moved to the next one and did the same thing.
“Just checking we’re still alone,” he said.
He crossed to a small panel near the kitchen that I hadn’t noticed before.
It looked absurdly out of place in the cabin, all black glass and clean lines against aged wood and stone.
He entered a code without hesitation. The system answered with a clipped little chirp, too modern, too sterile, and a low hum threaded through the walls as the alarm armed around us.
He moved down the hallway and opened the bedroom doors. One on the left. One on the right.
“Take the left room,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He turned. “It has the interior wall and only one window. Easier to secure.”
“Not what I meant.”
His brows drew together slightly.
I set my items down with more force than necessary. “You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what?” he asked.
“This.” I gestured at all of him, because that was easier than listing every problem individually.
“Break into my apartment, shove a gun into my nightstand next to my very private personal property, drag me out under sniper fire, drive me into the mountains, and then assign me a bedroom like we’re at the world’s least romantic bed-and-breakfast.”
He stared at me. “I didn’t shove a gun into your nightstand. I placed it.”
“Oh my God.”
“Carefully,” he added.
I pointed at him. “Don’t make this worse.”
His mouth flattened, but his eyes warmed for one second. Like the humor had reached for him before he knew what to do with it. Like some part of him wanted to meet me there, but the instinct had gone foreign in his own body.
That warmth hit harder than it should have.
Because it reminded me of the hotel.
The man under all this.
The one who had looked at me like wanting me had caught him off guard.
I took a step closer. “Who are you?”
His brow furrowed. “We covered that already.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I know your name. I know Matt was looking for you. I know what he was looking into meant enough to get him killed, or close enough that I’m not willing to call it coincidence. And I know you said you came here looking for Threadbare.”
My stomach tightened.
“So is this about my forum post? Is that how you found me?”
His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes focused.
I took another step. “Who are you really?”
He stared at me.
“Or maybe the better question is, what are you?”
“I’m someone trying to keep you alive,” he said.
“That’s still not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight,” he said.
My jaw tightened. “That’s not good enough for me.”
“I know,” he said.
“Take the left bedroom,” he said again, quieter this time. “Lock the door if it makes you feel better. It won’t stop me if there’s a threat, but it may help you sleep. If the alarm sounds, stay low. I’ll come get you.”
“Charming.”
He stopped at the hallway and looked back. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
I folded my arms. “Promise?”
His gaze held mine.
The silence stretched, and for once, he didn’t look away from the thing between us.
“Yes,” he said, and disappeared into the opposite bedroom.
I stood there for several seconds, listening to the quiet settle around me and trying not to remember how his voice had sounded in the car when he said he should have gotten to me sooner.
Then I picked up my bags and went left.