Chapter 6
Ross
I wake before dawn, instincts pulling me alert before my alarm has a chance.
Ashley is curled on her side beside me, hair spilling across the pillow, breathing slow and even. In sleep, the tension she carries eases, and the sight of it settles something deep in my chest.
I don't regret last night. Not for a second.
I ease out of bed carefully and check my phone. There's a text from an officer at the station.
Guy came back asking about Ms. Clark. Wouldn't leave his name. Thought you should know.
My jaw tightens.
I pull on my pants and step into the bathroom, closing the door quietly before I call the station.
"Description?" I ask when dispatch picks up.
"White male, thirties, ball cap, driving a dark sedan. Clerk said he got aggressive when she wouldn't give out room numbers."
"I'm at the motel now," I say. "I'll handle it."
When I hang up, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. This isn't hypothetical anymore.
I pull on my uniform shirt and badge, then step back into the room. Ashley stirs as I move.
"Ross?" she murmurs.
"I'm here." I sit on the edge of the bed. "Your ex came by again. Asked for you at the desk."
The color drains from her face.
"He didn't get near you," I say quickly. "But I need you to get dressed. We're leaving together."
She nods and pushes herself up, pulling the sheet around her. "He found me."
"And now I know he's here," I say. "Get ready. I'll be right outside."
She moves quickly, pulling on jeans and a sweater while I step into the hallway to scan the parking lot through the window.
That's when I see him.
A man in a ball cap stands beside Ashley's car, hands cupped around his eyes as he peers through the driver's side window.
"Ashley," I call back into the room, keeping my voice level. "Stay inside. Lock the door."
I don't wait for her response. I'm already moving down the hallway.
The morning air is cold and sharp when I step outside. The man hears the door and turns.
He’s in his mid-thirties, clean-cut under the cap, wearing an expensive jacket that doesn't belong in a mountain motel parking lot at dawn. His eyes flick to my uniform, then narrow.
"Can I help you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.
"I'm looking for someone," he says. "Ashley Clark. This is her car."
"And you are?"
"Brandon Mitchell." He straightens, like the name should mean something to me. "I'm her fiancé."
"Ex-fiancé," I correct.
His expression hardens. "She tell you that?"
"She did."
"Then she's lying." He takes a step toward me. "We had a fight. She's confused. I just need to talk to her."
I don't move. "Ms. Clark doesn't want to talk to you."
"You don't know what she wants." His voice sharpens. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Officer Ross Kavanaugh. And I’m ordering you to leave."
Brandon's jaw works. "This is a public parking lot."
"You've been asked to leave by motel staff twice. That makes you a trespasser."
"I'm not trespassing. I'm looking for my—"
"Your ex-fiancée," I interrupt. "Who doesn't want contact with you. Which means if you keep showing up, you're harassing her."
His hands curl into fists at his sides. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I take a step forward, closing the distance between us.
"Here's what I know," I say, voice dropping lower. "Ashley Clark is under my protection. If you contact her, approach her, or show up anywhere near her again, I will arrest you. Do you understand?"
Brandon's eyes flash. "You can't do that."
"I can. And I will." I hold his gaze, letting him see I'm not bluffing. "There's a restraining order being filed today. You'll be served within forty-eight hours. Until then, you stay away."
"She's mine," he says, and there's something ugly in his voice now. Something that makes my hands itch.
"No," I say flatly. "She's not."
For a long moment, we stand there. The mountain is silent around us except for the wind.
Then Brandon steps back. "This isn't over."
"Yes," I say. "It is."
He stares at me for another beat, then turns and walks to a dark sedan parked at the edge of the lot. He gets in, slams the door, and pulls out fast enough to spray gravel.
I watch until his taillights disappear down the mountain road, then pull out my phone and snap a photo of the tire tracks and the direction he went.
When I turn back toward the motel, Ashley is standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself.
I cross to her. "He's gone."
"I saw him," she says quietly. Her voice shakes. “He thinks I belong to him, doesn’t he?”
I cup her face gently. "He's wrong. And he's not coming back."
"You don't know that."
"I do." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "Because I'm filing that order today, and if he violates it, he goes to jail. He knows that now."
She searches my face, looking for certainty.
I give it to her. "You're safe, Ashley. I promise."
She nods, and some of the fear in her eyes eases.
"Come on," I say. "Let's get you out of here."
I help her pack the last of her things, then load them into my cruiser instead of her car. We'll deal with her vehicle later.
When we pull out of the motel parking lot, I reach over and take her hand.
She holds on tight.