Chapter 1
ONE
Boone
Two weeks of “quiet” at Maddox Security feels like sitting on a powder keg and calling it furniture.
The place looks the same—glass walls, ocean glittering outside, expensive furniture no one ever relaxes into—but the vibe is different now. Tighter. Sharper. Like the building itself is holding its breath.
We’re no closer to finding out who tried to breach our floor in that maintenance uniform. No name. No prints worth a damn. No clean trail.
Just the feeling.
Someone’s watching.
And I hate watching back.
I prefer solving problems the old-fashioned way—by getting close enough to see the whites of their eyes.
Dean Maddox stands at the head of the conference table with a file stack in front of him, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled to the forearms. He looks like a man trying to pretend he’s not in a war.
Across from him, Lincoln sits too still, too calm. That’s his tell. When Lincoln gets quiet, he’s running ten scenarios and five exits in his head.
Orion is propped against the wall near the security monitors, arms crossed, face like he’s allergic to daylight and other people’s feelings. Asher’s at the far end, posture perfect, eyes alert—new guy energy, still eager enough to scare me.
Ranger isn’t here. He’s been out on a long assignment, and the absence is… noticeable. Like a missing tooth you can’t stop running your tongue over.
Dean lifts his gaze, dragging all of us into focus. “All right. Here’s where we are.”
I lean back in my chair, boots hooked around the leg like I’m casually not itching to put my fist through a wall.
Dean taps a finger on the table. “We’ve had zero new breaches.”
Orion mutters, “Because we turned this place into Fort Knox.”
Lincoln says, “And because whoever it is got what they wanted.”
That lands.
Dean’s jaw tightens. “They wanted to prove they could reach us.”
Asher’s eyes flick between us. “But why? If they wanted to hit you, Dean, they’d—”
“Not yet,” Orion cuts in, voice flat. “That’s the point.”
I roll my shoulders, feeling the itch under my skin. “They’re pacing. Measuring. Waiting for us to slip.”
Dean nods once. “Exactly.”
The wall of monitors shows the lobby feed, the garage, the stairwells—every angle we’ve added since the last incident. It’s quiet. Too quiet. People come and go. Deliveries arrive. The world keeps spinning.
Which is the problem.
Predators love routine.
Dean slides a folder across the table toward me. “Boone.”
I snatch it with two fingers like I’m grabbing a beer. “Please tell me this is a ‘go punch someone’ assignment.”
Dean’s mouth twitches. “It’s a ‘go protect someone’ assignment.”
“That can include punching,” I say, because rules are flexible if you’re creative.
Lincoln’s eyes lift. “Try not to break any more doors.”
“That door started it,” I say, offended on principle. “It came at me aggressive.”
Orion’s lips barely move.
Dean ignores all of us and points at the folder. “Aubree Ryan. Nashville.”
My interest perks immediately. “Tennessee?”
“Yes.”
“Mountains?” I ask, hopeful.
Dean blinks once. “You’re not on vacation.”
“I didn’t say vacation,” I argue. “I said mountains. That’s therapy.”
Lincoln murmurs, “He’s not wrong.”
I open the folder and the first thing I see is a photo of a woman standing behind a counter with flour on her cheek and murder in her eyes. Dark hair pulled up. T-shirt that says something like SLICE SLICE BABY (I swear I can hear it), and a pizza cutter in her hands like it’s a weapon.
She’s pretty.
Not in the polished, magazine way. In the I will absolutely fight you in an alley and win way.
My kind of pretty.
“Aubree owns a pizza shop,” Dean says. “Local, successful, small business. She’s been targeted by someone—break-ins, sabotage, threats.”
Orion pushes off the wall and strolls closer, reading over my shoulder like he owns my personal space. “Pizza. Violence. You’re going to be insufferable about this.”
“I’m already insufferable,” I say, flipping to the incident notes.
The list is short but nasty.
— Back door forced. Nothing stolen. Message left.
— Delivery driver attacked. “Wrong place, wrong night,” said the attacker.
— Power cut during peak hours. Box of dead rats left by the freezer.
I lift my brows. “Dead rats is a bold choice.”
Asher grimaces. “That’s… unhinged.”
“That’s a statement,” Lincoln says quietly. “He wants her scared. He wants control.”
Dean nods. “She won’t close. She won’t leave. She’s stubborn.”
My mouth curves. “I like her already.”
Dean shoots me a look. “Boone.”
“What?” I say, innocence perfected. “I’m appreciating her… dedication to pizza.”
Orion snorts. “He’s going to marry the first woman who throws a marinara jar at him.”
“I’d respect that,” I say.
Dean drags his gaze back to the folder. “We don’t know who’s behind it. Could be personal. Could be business. Could be connected to what’s happening with us.”
The room tightens again. The word connected always does that now.
Asher’s voice comes careful. “You think this is another way to get to ALPHA?”
Dean holds up a hand. “We don’t know. But the timing is suspicious. And the escalation pattern is familiar.”
Orion’s eyes go distant for a fraction of a second—like he’s remembering the zoo, the staff hallway alarm, the feeling of being hunted. He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw clenches.
Lincoln leans forward, elbows on the table. “If it’s connected, it’s not about Aubree.”
“It’s about us,” I finish.
Dean’s stare pins me. “Your job is to protect her. Get her out of the city. Keep her alive. Keep her calm. And Boone…”
“Yeah?” I say.
Dean’s voice drops. “Keep your eyes open. If you see anything that feels like our breach pattern, you call it in immediately.”
I nod once. No jokes now. “Copy.”
Dean slides a keycard across the table. “Use your cabin as the safehouse. Remote is good. But don’t get comfortable.”
“Comfortable isn’t in my vocabulary,” I say, though the idea of my cabin—wood smoke, quiet, trees—does something almost holy to my nerves.
Orion mutters, “Lies.”
Asher sits up straighter. “Do you want backup?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, kid. You stay here and keep learning how to look bored while you’re actually ready to kill someone.”
Asher’s mouth twitches. “Copy.”
Dean points at the folder again. “Aubree doesn’t know the full scope. She thinks it’s a stalker.”
“Is it?” I ask.
Dean’s eyes go flat. “That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
Lincoln adds, “And she has no idea she may have walked into something bigger.”
I look down at Aubree’s photo again. Flour on her cheek. Chin lifted like she’s daring the world to try her.
Yeah.
She’s going to hate being moved.
She’s going to hate being told what to do.
She’s going to hate me.
Perfect.
“When do I leave?” I ask.
Dean doesn’t hesitate. “Now.”
Of course.
I stand, sliding the folder into my jacket. “Tell the mountains I’m coming,” I say, because if I don’t joke, the tension will start eating through bone.
Orion calls after me, “Try not to fall in love.”
I keep walking. “Try not to adopt another bird.”
Asher chokes on a laugh. Even Dean’s mouth tugs like he hates that he’s amused.
The ocean glitters outside the glass walls like it’s mocking me. I’m done with glitter. Give me pine trees and silence and a cabin where problems don’t have a place to hide.