Chapter 26 #3
If I lift her now, she’ll wake. And she needs this sleep like she needs air.
So I stay exactly where I am—back sinking into the couch, arm wrapped around her, hand splayed over her upper arm. Keeping her close. Keeping watch.
It hits me then—quiet, undeniable.
I’m in trouble.
Because holding her like this feels… right. Like something I’ve been missing without knowing it.
And I don’t know what happens next. Don’t know how to protect her from everything clawing at her life. Don’t know how to keep myself from falling deeper than I already have.
But I know one thing with absolute clarity:
I’m not leaving her tonight.
Not now.
Not ever, if she’ll let me.
She breathes softly against my chest, and I rest my chin lightly on her hair, closing my eyes as her heartbeat syncs with mine.
She finally sleeps.
And I finally let myself feel the weight of what she means to me.
A knock, low and controlled, pulls me from sleep.
I blink, disoriented for a second—until I feel the warm weight curled against me. Lucky, soft, and tucked under my arm, breathing steadily into my chest. Finally resting.
I check the clock on the mantle, it’s three a.m.
Carefully—carefully—I ease myself out from under her. She stirs once, palm sliding across my stomach as if searching for me, and I pause, breath held.
She settles again.
I pull the blanket higher over her shoulders, making sure she’s covered, safe, and hidden from the early morning chill creeping through the house.
Another knock—barely audible.
I check the door cam. Sam’s leaning casually against the frame, smirk in place. I don’t respond. Not yet.
A quick glance back at Lucky, and I pull on a pair of jeans, zipping them up as I step onto the porch. Sam watches, amusement clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. I don’t offer an explanation and shut the door behind me.
“So it’s official, you and her,” he observes, but I know he’s only teasing.
I don’t rise to it. “Not offering commentary.”
He snorts but doesn’t push. “Didn’t plan on asking. Couldn’t resist noticing.”
“Good,” I mutter. “Now drop it.”
His smirk says he won’t—but at least he won’t say it out loud.
The night air is cold, fog lifting off the lake in lazy streams. He adjusts the strap on his pack, scanning my cabin, then Lucky’s, then the tree line like he’s already cataloguing vulnerable angles.
“Before anything else,” I tell him quietly, “She stays invisible,” I say flatly. “You stay invisible too. Understood?”
Sam’s face shifts—humor gone, all business. “Perimeter first. I’ll trace it, see if our subject’s moving, see if he’s trying to circle back before he even knows we’re awake.”
“I’ve got a file. Bureau intel on our target, a bulk of it is redacted,” I say, lowering my voice.
Sam looks over. “Why? That’s unusual.”
“Very,” I mutter. “Makes me wonder what—or who—they’re hiding behind him.”
“Could be hundreds of hypothetical reasons.”
“I’ll forward it to you. Checked this morning—didn’t report to parole.”
Sam whistles low. “Could be on his way here.”
“Then we get to him first. Before the authorities do.”
Sam smirks under the moonlight. “Perimeter first. Sniff him out before he steps foot in Cedar Lake Falls. I like it.”
“Thanks for showing up,” I say.
He laughs, the sound low and easy. “Can’t believe you’re… fucking Lucky Pink.”
My jaw locks. “Watch your words.”
His eyes widen, then his grin warps into stunned realization. “Holy shit. Look at that. My man’s in love.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself, exhale hard. “I’m protecting her.”
“Uh-huh.” He folds his arms. “With your dick?”
“Sam.”
He holds up both hands, palms out. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. But I’m right, and you know it.”
I stare him down until the smirk fades. “This isn’t a joke.”
He sobers immediately. “Didn’t say it was.”
A beat of silence passes between us—cold, heavy, real.
He nods toward her cabin. “Is she safe now?”
I look back at the dim light through my living room window. Where she’s curled asleep on my couch. Finally breathing without fear.
“She will be,” I say. “As long as he stays away.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
My voice comes out calm. Too calm.
“Then he won’t be breathing.”
Sam exhales through his nose, approving. “All right then.” He adjusts the strap of his pack again. “I’ll sweep the west side first. Text if you need me.”
He turns to go, footsteps silent on the grass, already vanishing into the dark like smoke.
Silent. Controlled.
Not a sound out of place.
Old instincts curl in my chest.
We were never ordinary soldiers.
Sam and I were trained for a different kind of hunt—patterns, shadows, breath, heat, the quiet shift of an enemy that isn’t afraid of killing you first.
Trackers. Hunters.
Men who find what doesn’t want to be found.
Sam melts into the tree line, and within seconds, the woods swallow him whole.
I stay where I am, catching the cold early morning breeze, jeans still unbuttoned, bare feet silent on the old timber.
The moon’s bright tonight—too bright. It paints the lake silver, the treetops white. Beautiful, but it exposes everything. Her house. My house. The stretch between them.
Lucky.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
There’s a fragile, messy woman asleep on my sofa right now—her breath warm against my blankets, her hands clutching it like she finally let go of something that chased her for too long. She trusted me enough to fall asleep.
That means something.
It also means I need to make damn sure nothing gets within a hundred meters of her without me knowing.
I scan her house from my porch—and I can already see every flaw.
Her back windows? Too old.
Her porch light? Too dim.
Door locks? Good enough for tourists, useless against a determined predator.
Her bedroom corner? Blind angle from the road.
Bathroom window? Practically an invitation.
Everything in me tightens.
Not good enough.
Not for her.
I fold my arms, jaw ticking as my mind locks into place like a loaded weapon.
First light, I’ll reinforce her door frame—steel plates, hidden screws, impact bar. Sensors under the porch steps. New floodlights angled away from the cabin to keep her from feeling watched. Motion cams buried in the treeline. Glass break alerts.
Then the interior: a safe corner. A panic signal she can reach without thinking. A lock she can engage even with shaking hands. Breathing space. Safety she won’t have to earn. The picture forms fully in my mind, and my throat works once, tight, unfamiliar. She deserves quiet that doesn’t hurt.
The wind shifts, the woods settle, and somewhere in the distance a twig snaps—Sam, signaling all clear on the first pass. I stay on the porch a while longer anyway, eyes fixed on her dark house. Michael Scheifer thinks she’s still alone. Still running. Still easy prey.
He has no idea.
Not anymore.
Not while I’m here.
I stand there a moment longer, watching, ready. Then I head back inside to her. To the girl I wasn’t supposed to fall for. To the girl, I will protect with my life.