Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lovell silenced his phone, another unknown number, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He could hear Daphne rummaging around in her room, no doubt getting ready for bed. Intentionally, he turned his attention to the fire crackling in the hearth. No need to think about Daphne undressing.
Shopping wasn’t high on his list of ways to spend his time, and today hadn’t changed his opinion.
At least he’d had Daphne to hold his attention.
Playing the role of her personal protection had its benefits: He could watch her all he wanted and chalk it up to his job.
No need to acknowledge that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Not even if he wanted to.
Dinner had been the reprieve both he and Philly had needed from the hours of what felt like aimless wandering around town. Good food, excellent wine, and even better company. All capped off by Daphne having more to drink than she planned, so he’d driven the Bentley.
He grinned at the memory. He hadn’t pushed or tested it, not on the ice-slick roads, but he had enjoyed the power of the engine, the smoothness of the ride, and the responsive handling.
Definitely an experience he’d never forget.
Cars weren’t everyone’s thing, but he remembered, as a kid, feeling awed when a sleek ride slid through his neighborhood, like a shark gliding through the ocean.
He remembered how people responded to it, to the power and wealth it symbolized.
As relative as those were growing up where he had.
The men, and it was always men, driving them weren’t good people.
They weren’t people he wanted to emulate or be anything like, but the allure of power, of the ability to move through their part of town without fear, stuck with him.
Now, at thirty-five, he’d accepted that his love of luxury cars didn’t stem from a healthy place, but it wasn’t a terrible thing either.
He worked hard, didn’t have a lot of other expenses, helped people, donated to charities he cared about.
If his biggest hang-up from childhood was a weird obsession with luxury cars, he was doing pretty damn good.
The door opened behind him, and he craned his head to look over his shoulder as Daphne emerged from her room dressed in a silk pajama set—long pants and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, both a deep green—covered with a thick moss-green cardigan.
She wore the same woolly socks he’d pulled on her feet the day before, half slippers, half socks.
“Everything okay?” he asked. She couldn’t see all of him from where she stood, but her eyes skimmed over him. He’d changed into a hoodie and his sweats. Her gaze lingered on his feet still propped up, warming by the fire.
“Fine,” she said with a little shake of her head. “Just wanted some water before bed.”
He tracked her across the room to the kitchen.
The entire cabin was essentially a rectangle.
At one end was the garage with a door into the main room that was informally broken into two parts, an eat-in kitchen and a living room.
The bedroom, bathroom, and a storage room took up the third part of the rectangle.
The safe room was belowground, occupying the same space as the communal area above it.
He’d scoped out the two access points—the first a set of stairs from the bedroom closet, the second a ladder underneath a small door in the floor by the fireplace—when they’d first arrived.
Once belowground, the room required a code and a palm imprint to access.
How Daphne’s biometrics were introduced to the system, he didn’t know, but he’d made her test it the night before, and everything worked as it should.
“What are you up to?” she asked, pulling a glass from the cabinet.
“Mail, staring at the fire,” he said, lifting a pile he’d picked up from his apartment the day before.
“Want me to shut this off?” she asked, gesturing to the kitchen light.
“Sure, I won’t be up much longer.”
She flicked the light off, leaving only the table lamp and flames lighting the room. The muscles in his stomach tightened as the shadows danced across her face and figure.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, a dangerous question to ask at eleven at night when a fire dances in the fireplace and the snow is glistening under a full moon.”
The left side of his mouth lifted. “I was wondering how many men have fallen at your feet.”
She blinked. He shouldn’t have said that. It was the truth, and he wondered more than once if the feelings she elicited from him were any different from those felt by any number of men who passed through her life. But he shouldn’t have said it.
“More than I can count,” she answered. He hadn’t expected her to really respond, let alone so bluntly.
“I can imagine,” he replied, shoving his fascination with her deep down into a little box inside him.
“It’s meaningless, though,” she said before taking a sip of her drink.
“When I was younger, I made the mistake of confusing ‘coveting’ for attraction. A lot of men wanted this.” She gestured to her body and face.
“But they weren’t really attracted to me.
” She paused. “Although, in those early days, I didn’t really know who I was, so there probably wasn’t much of me to be attracted to.
” Her gaze swept over him. “I imagine you’ve had some of the same experiences. ”
He frowned. He hadn’t really thought of it that way, but he had.
While part of Special Forces, there were always women who wanted his body, or a night to brag to friends about, or a data point in their growing collection of one-night stands.
In his younger years, he’d been happy to oblige more often than not.
He hadn’t thought of it in Daphne’s terms—the women coveting him rather than being attracted to him—because it hadn’t really mattered.
A shallow, but honest, truth. That dynamic hadn’t lasted long, though.
By the time he discharged, he’d wanted something more meaningful.
“A few, yeah,” he said.
A quiet laugh filled the room. “Only a few?” she teased. Her eyes held his as she took another swallow, then lowered her glass. He had no idea what was going on behind those dark eyes, but he didn’t want to look away and miss a clue.
A beat later, she lowered her lashes, then looked away. Disappointment coursed through him.
“I’m heading to bed now,” she said quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning. An easy day for you, since Callie and I will be hanging out at their place all day.”
He nodded, then watched her walk to her room. She paused at the door where he could no longer see her. He stilled, waiting for whatever move she’d make next. Twelve beats of his heart passed before he heard the door shut softly behind her.
His gaze, though not his attention, dropped to the pile of mail sitting on his lap. On an exhale, he reached over and flicked the table lamp off, casting the room into a warm orange flickering glow.
He’d nearly drifted off to sleep when the alarm on his phone sounded, a muted version of a tsunami siren. He was already on the move before silencing it. Someone, or something, had breached the property line.
Pulling up the cameras on the app he’d installed, he tugged on his socks as he cycled through the angles. There, on the southeast edge of the property, was a figure moving through the woods.
“Lovell?” Daphne said, her voice clouded with sleepy confusion as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
“There’s someone on the property. You need to get down to the safe room,” he said, glancing at his boots. “Let’s go.” He’d pull them on later.
“We need to get to the safe room,” Daphne corrected, spinning back to her room.
She was tugging her cardigan on when he entered.
“HICC has been alerted and are on their way,” she replied, holding up her phone to show him a text message.
He’d hoped she’d stay groggy for a little longer, but no such luck.
“Let’s go,” he said again. He had no interest in fighting with her now.
He’d wait until they were downstairs. In truth, they weren’t in any imminent danger.
The line their trespasser had crossed was three-quarters of a mile away.
In snow and without a trail, it would take him a while to reach them.
And then there were the other defensive systems in place along the way, including floodlights and speakers.
Lovell could use those to warn the trespasser to leave.
He didn’t want the man to leave, though. He wanted him caught.
Opening the closet, he pressed on the spring-loaded door. A slab of wood at the back popped open, revealing the steep staircase. Stepping aside, he gestured for her to take the lead. Thankfully, she didn’t argue and started down.
Halfway to the safe room, she paused and read a text. “Tucker and Ryder are eight minutes out,” she said, referring to two HICC operatives.
He didn’t bother responding as they navigated the rest of the way. He waited not so patiently as she plugged in the code, then set her palm on the machine. Two seconds later, the reinforced door swung open.
“Go on in and shut the door. I need to grab my boots,” he said. She stepped in, then turned and eyed him suspiciously.
“You’re coming back, right?”
“I’m coming back,” he replied. At some point. Not when she thought he’d be back, but he’d be back. As soon as he caught the fucker on their land.
She took a wary step into the room, eyeing him with suspicion. “You’ll be right back,” she said.
“I’ll be back. Stop wasting time,” he said.
He’d pay for this later, but if it meant he could catch the person—likely Weeks—and end this whole thing, he’d take the hit.
At least he’d have Philly in the doghouse with him, since Callie hadn’t quite forgiven him yet for the stunt he’d pulled the day before.