Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Rhett
The second we pull up to Nora’s rental cabin, I know something’s wrong.
The porch light is off.
It wasn’t off earlier.
I kill the engine anyway, my eyes already scanning the tree line, the road, the dark stretch of woods surrounding the property.
The storm moved in fast over the last thirty minutes rain pelting my windshield, thick clouds swallowing the mountain whole, and now the wind’s starting to bite hard enough to turn dangerous before midnight.
Nora reaches for the door handle beside me. “I can explain the auction thing later, by the way. In case you’re under the impression I enjoyed being publicly purchased like livestock.”
“Stay in the truck.”
Her head snaps toward me instantly. “Excuse me?”
I’m already opening my door. “Lock it behind me.”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
I shut the truck door and circle around anyway, my boots crunching over the gravel. The cabin sits too still in the dark, every instinct I’ve got pulling tight.
Wrong.
The front door hangs open barely half an inch.
Not enough for most people to notice.
Enough for me.
Nora sees it the second she climbs out of the truck behind me.
“Oh my God.”
Her voice goes quieter.
Tighter.
I move toward the porch slowly, every muscle already locked and alert, my hand settling automatically near the knife strapped beneath my jacket.
“Nora.” My voice stays low. Controlled. “Get back in the truck.”
“What if someone’s still inside?”
“They won’t be for long.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
She glares at me but doesn’t move, following two steps behind anyway while I push the door open fully.
The cabin’s destroyed.
Drawers dumped across the floor.
Couch cushions slashed open.
Kitchen cabinets hanging wide.
Her camera equipment scattered everywhere like someone searched every inch of the place looking for something specific.
Or trying to scare her.
Judging by the sharp inhale behind me, they succeeded.
“Oh my God.”
I sweep the room quickly, checking corners, windows, blind spots.
Empty.
But fresh.
The place still smells like cold air and wet dirt.
Someone was here recently.
Nora steps carefully inside, staring at the mess while her breathing turns uneven. “They went through everything.”
“Yeah.”
“My laptop…”
I spot it overturned near the couch.
Screen shattered.
“Damn it.” She rushes forward, dropping beside it. “Damn it.”
I crouch near the busted front lock instead, studying the splintered wood around the frame.
Forced entry.
Clean.
Quick.
Not random.
“Rhett.”
I glance back.
She’s standing now, pale and furious all at once, holding a photograph in trembling fingers.
Me.
Taken tonight at the auction.
Watching her.
Someone printed it and left it on her bed.
My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
“He was here,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“He knew I wasn’t home.”
“Yeah.”
The panic starts settling into her expression now, fighting with anger and pride and the stubborn refusal to show weakness she’s been carrying since she stepped into town.
I recognize it because I’ve worn it myself.
She looks around the destroyed cabin again. “This is insane.”
“Pack a bag.”
Her gaze snaps to mine immediately. “What?”
“You’re not staying here.”
“No.”
I straighten slowly. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Her chin lifts instantly. Defensive. Sharp. “You don’t get to order me around because some creep broke into my cabin.”
“I do when somebody’s obviously threatening you.”
“I can call the police.”
“You can,” I agree calmly. “They won’t make it up the mountain tonight.”
“I can stay at the motel.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone in town knows where it is.”
Her eyes narrow. “You really enjoy being controlling, don’t you?”
I step closer.
Not rushed.
Deliberate.
Close enough to make her hold still.
“You know what I enjoy?” I ask quietly. “Women staying alive.”
Her breath catches slightly.
Good.
Because she should understand exactly how serious this is.
Outside, the wind slams against the cabin hard enough to rattle the windows.
The storm’s here now.
I glance toward the darkening road outside. “Rain’s getting worse.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
I close the remaining distance between us slowly, stopping close enough to feel the heat coming off her despite the cold.
“You wanna know what your problem is?” I ask.
Her brows lift. “This should be interesting.”
“You think independence means refusing help until things get dangerous enough to kill you.”
Anger flashes across her face instantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know somebody broke into your cabin while you were at the auction.” My voice lowers. “I know he’s following you closer every day. I know he’s getting comfortable.” I glance toward the photograph still clenched in her hand. “And I know he wants you scared.”
Something flickers in her expression then.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Because she knows I’m right.
“I hate this,” she mutters.
“Good.”
Her eyes flash. “Good?”
“Means you’re finally taking it seriously.”
“I was already taking it seriously.”
“No,” I say flatly. “You were hoping it would go away.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Sharp.
The truth usually is.
She looks away first, scanning the wrecked cabin again before dragging a frustrated hand through her hair. “I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah.”
“And somehow that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
That catches her off guard.
I see it immediately.
“You’re not even trying to sound trustworthy,” she says.
“I’m trying to keep you breathing. Different priorities.”
A laugh almost escapes her before she catches it, which surprises both of us.
“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” she mutters.
“Probably.”
Snow slams harder against the windows.
The lights flicker once overhead.
Nora notices too.
Her shoulders tighten slightly.
“You really think I should go with you.”
“I know you should.”
“And if I say no?”
I hold her gaze.
“Then I stay here anyway.”
Her lips part.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’d just… stay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s insane.”
“So is staying alone in a broken cabin while somebody stalks you through the woods.”
She exhales sharply through her nose, frustrated and cornered and very aware that I’m not backing down.
Good.
Because I’m not.
“Temporary,” she says finally.
“For now.”
Her eyes narrow instantly. “That sounded suspicious.”
“I’m a suspicious guy.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like unbelievable asshole before crouching beside an overturned duffel bag.
I watch her pack.
Not because I don’t trust her.
Because I do.
That’s the problem.
Every second I spend around this woman, something settles deeper under my skin. Instinct. Possession. Responsibility.
Mine to protect.
The realization should bother me more than it does.
Nora shoves clothes angrily into the bag before looking up suddenly. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah.”
“You always this intense?”
“Only when it matters.”
That shuts her up for a second.
She looks away first.
Again.
Interesting.
I move through the cabin while she packs, checking windows, footprints outside, anything useful. Near the back porch, I spot fresh boot prints leading toward the woods.
Large.
Male.
Purposeful.
Not hiding them.
That tells me everything I need to know.
He wants her frightened.
My jaw tightens.
Bad idea.
“You find something?” Nora asks quietly behind me.
I glance back at her. “Yeah.”
Her face pales slightly. “What?”
“He’s getting cocky.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”
“It should.”
“How?”
“Cocky people make mistakes.”
Her eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary.
“You really believe you can stop him.”
It’s not a question.
I step closer again, stopping directly in front of her while rain and wind hammer the cabin outside.
“Yeah,” I say simply.
“Why?”
“Because he’s hunting somebody on my mountain.” My gaze drops briefly to her mouth before lifting again. “And I don’t lose.”
The air changes between us after that.
Sharpens.
Her breathing shifts slightly, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
Attraction.
Awareness.
Dangerous combination.
“You really need to stop looking at me like that,” she murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Like you already decided something.”
Maybe I have.
I take the bag from her hand before she can argue again and sling it over my shoulder.
“We need to move.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She follows me outside reluctantly, locking the damaged cabin behind us even though we both know the lock’s useless now.
Rain falls harder by the second.
Nora stops beside the truck and stares up toward the barely visible ridgeline above us.
“You live up there?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course you do.”
I open her door.
She eyes it suspiciously. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when someone keeps ignoring good advice.”
“I barely know you.”
“You keep saying that like it matters.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Then she climbs into the truck anyway.
Good choice.
I shut the door behind her and circle back toward the driver’s side, already scanning the tree line again automatically.
Watching.
Waiting.
Because whoever broke into that cabin made one mistake tonight.
He pushed too hard.
And now?
Now I’m involved.