Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
MARA
The man drives like he plans military operations. Precise. Controlled. Every turn executed with the kind of calculated efficiency that should be boring but instead has me gripping my steering wheel and trying not to think about how those hands would feel on other things.
Down, girl.
I've been following Boone Garrett's black truck for twelve minutes, and I've spent approximately eleven of those minutes replaying the way he looked at me on that mountain road. Like I was a problem to be solved. Like I was a threat to be neutralized.
Like he wanted to pin me against my car and show me exactly what happens to women who don't follow protocols.
My thighs press together. Not helpful.
The compound appears through the trees, and I ease off the accelerator to take it in.
A main lodge built from massive timber and stone, smoke curling from a river rock chimney.
Several smaller structures scattered across the property, connected by cleared paths.
Training grounds visible to the east, obstacle courses and shooting ranges and what looks like a rappelling tower.
Mountains rising on all sides, protective and isolating.
My father sent me to prison. A very expensive, very scenic prison.
Boone's truck pulls into a gravel lot near the main lodge, and I slide into the space beside him. He's out of his vehicle before I've even cut the engine, moving around to my door with those long, purposeful strides.
He opens it for me.
I blink up at him. "Chivalry from the man who blocked my car with his truck?"
"Situational awareness." His ice blue eyes scan the tree line, the buildings, the shadows between them. "You're in an unfamiliar environment. I control your entry and exit points until you're oriented."
"That's a very tactical way of saying you opened my door."
"I don't do anything that isn't tactical, Ms. Plummer."
I step out, and the cold mountain air rushes into my lungs. Sharp. Clean. Nothing like the recycled office air I've been breathing for the past six months. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the silence settle around me.
No phones ringing. No assistants knocking. No board members demanding meetings about quarterly projections.
Just pine trees and snow and a mountain man who smells like cedar and gun oil.
"The main lodge is headquarters." Boone gestures toward the timber building. "You'll be briefed there before I show you to your cabin."
"My cabin?" I fall into step beside him, which requires moving faster than I'd like because his legs are approximately twice the length of mine. "I assumed I'd be staying in the lodge."
"Guest cabins are more secure. Easier to monitor, harder to approach without detection." He holds the lodge door open for me, and I duck under his arm. The brush of his chest against my shoulder sends heat racing down my spine. "You'll have your own space. Privacy within established parameters."
"Established parameters." I stop in the lodge's entry, taking in the interior.
High ceilings, exposed beams, a wall of windows overlooking the mountains.
Maps and tactical boards on one wall, comfortable seating arranged around a massive fireplace on another.
A kitchen visible through an archway, and a hallway leading to what I assume are offices and meeting rooms. "Is everything you say going to sound like a military briefing? "
Boone moves past me, close enough that I catch another wave of his scent. "Would you prefer I speak in quantum encryption terminology?"
I actually laugh. "Did you just make a joke, Mr. Garrett?"
His expression doesn't change, but there's a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Situational adaptation. I've been told I need to work on my interpersonal communication."
"Told by whom?"
"Everyone." He gestures toward a seating area near the fireplace. "Sit. The team will be here shortly for introductions."
I don't sit. Instead, I wander toward the wall of maps, studying the terrain markers and patrol routes pinned across the topographical display. "You have the entire mountain range mapped."
"Within a thirty mile radius." He comes to stand beside me, and I'm acutely aware of the heat radiating off his body. "Every trail, every access road, every potential approach vector."
"That's..." I search for the word. "Thorough."
"That's the job."
I turn to face him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. He's close. Too close for professional distance, not close enough for what I'm thinking. "You really believe someone's trying to kill me."
"I know someone's trying to kill you." His voice drops, rough and certain. "Two credible sources confirmed a contract. Corporate origin, professional execution. You're worth more dead to your competitors than you are alive to your shareholders."
My brain is clearly broken as instead of being terrified, I find myself studying the hard line of his jaw, the silver threading through his auburn beard, the way his shoulders fill out his tactical jacket.
My father sent me to the one place I can't run from, guarded by the one man I can't charm my way around.
Well played, Dad.
"And you think you can stop them?" I ask.
"I don't think." His eyes hold mine, steady and absolutely certain. "I know."
The lodge door opens behind us, and Boone steps back so smoothly I almost don't register the loss of his proximity. Almost.
A man enters, tall and broad shouldered with dark hair going silver at the temples and a beard that makes Boone's look conservative.
A woman walks beside him, dark haired and visibly pregnant, one hand resting on her belly.
Behind them, another couple, a massive sandy haired man with gentle eyes and a smaller woman with light brown hair and a shy smile.
"Ms. Plummer." The first man extends his hand. "Decker Cross. Welcome to Guardian Peak."
I shake his hand, cataloging details the way I do in every business meeting.
Strong grip, calloused palms, wedding ring that he touches absently when he glances at the pregnant woman.
"You're Deck. My father's mentioned you.
Something about Fallujah and a very creative use of a humvee engine block. "
Deck's mouth curves. "Richard always did like to embellish."
"I've seen the commendation letter. I don't think he embellished at all."
The pregnant woman steps forward, dark eyes warm and assessing. "Vivian Cross. I'm not security. I'm just married to the security." She rests a hand on her belly. "And currently incubating the next generation of security."
I find myself smiling despite the weirdness of this situation. "When are you due?"
"Three weeks. Which is why I'm sitting this one out, much to my husband's relief." She shoots Deck a look that's equal parts affection and exasperation. "He's already planned seven different emergency delivery scenarios."
"Eight," Deck corrects. "I added a helicopter option this morning."
"Of course you did."
The large sandy haired man steps forward, and something about his presence makes me feel immediately calmer. "Cade Marshall. I'm the team medic. This is my everything, Natalie."
Natalie gives a small wave, her smile genuine. "I'm also not security. I write children's books." She gestures around the lodge. "This whole place seemed very intimidating when I first arrived too. It gets better."
"When you first arrived?" I glance between her and Cade. "Were you a client?"
Natalie and Cade exchange a look that carries a whole conversation I'm not privy to. "Something like that," Natalie says softly.
"Several of our team members met their partners through protection details." Deck's voice is carefully neutral, but his eyes cut briefly to Boone. "Guardian Peak has become something of a family compound."
"How romantic." I keep my voice dry, but I can't help the way my attention drifts back to Boone. He's standing slightly apart from the group, arms crossed, that controlled expression firmly in place.
Our eyes meet.
My pulse jumps.
He looks away first.
Interesting.
"Boone will be your primary protection detail," Deck continues. "He'll show you to your cabin, brief you on protocols, and handle your day to day security. The rest of the team rotates perimeter duty, but Boone is your main point of contact."
"Lucky me."
Boone's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I'll get her settled. We can do full introductions at dinner."
"Dinner is at six," Vivian adds. "Family style, in the lodge. It's the one time everyone gathers, so you'll meet the rest of the team then. Tonight is Cade's shepherd's pie, which you don't want to miss."
I nod, still processing the domestic warmth of these people who are simultaneously hardened military operatives and... a family. It's disorienting. Like walking into a special forces reunion that doubles as a potluck.
Boone moves toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow.
I don't.
"One question first." I address Deck, but my attention stays on Boone. "The wilderness executive training my father mentioned. What exactly does that entail?"
Another exchanged glance between Deck and Boone. This one tenser.
"Basic survival skills," Deck says carefully. "Orienteering, emergency protocols, self defense fundamentals. Standard executive protection package."
"Standard." I cross my arms. "So the fact that I'm here because someone wants me dead, that's just a bonus feature?"
Silence.
Vivian lets out a small sigh. "I told you she'd figure it out," she murmurs to Deck.
"Ms. Plummer..." Deck begins.
"My father thinks I'm here for insurance compliance training.
" I keep my voice steady, even though anger is starting to burn beneath my ribs.
"But you just told me there's a confirmed contract on my life.
Those two things don't match. So either my father lied to me, or you're lying to me now. Which is it?"
Boone steps forward. "Your father made a judgment call about how much information you could handle."