Chapter 19 #2
She bites her lip, nodding. “Mitch. He was an older guy—late fifties, maybe? He worked for me for about four months, but then things got weird. He would show up late or not at all, and he had this attitude whenever I tried to talk to him about it. I warned him a few times, but he never improved, so I let him go. He stormed out, cursing me out. Called me all sorts of names, said I’d regret it. ”
I frown, turning that over in my head. “Sounds like a prime suspect to me. Did he ever come back? Ask for a second chance?”
“No,” Aubree says, hugging the foam box tighter.
“But I heard from Stuart that Mitch was spotted hanging around the high school a couple times after that. Not sure if he was messing with Slice Slice Baby or just being a creep. Stuart confronted him once, I think, and Mitch said something along the lines of, ‘This place is going down, sooner or later.’” She exhales, her breath shaky.
“I just wrote it off as him being bitter.”
My jaw clenches. “Bitter enough to threaten you, apparently. Did you ever file a police report about Mitch?”
She shakes her head. “No. I guess I should have, but I didn’t want to escalate things. I was naive.”
I can hear the self-blame in her voice and resist the urge to reach over and place a hand on her thigh. I can’t afford that kind of contact right now, not when I need to stay objective. “We’ll see what Dean digs up on him,” I say firmly. “If he has a record, we’ll know soon.”
She nods, falling silent again. I let the conversation lapse for a few miles, focusing on the road.
The scenery is changing—rolling hills, thick clusters of trees.
We’ll be heading up into more remote terrain soon, away from main highways.
That’s exactly what I want: somewhere off the grid, difficult to track.
Eventually, she speaks up, her voice small. “Hey, Boone?”
“Yeah?” I keep my gaze forward, scanning the horizon.
“Can we… can we call my mom?” She shifts, as though she’s about to reach for her pocket, forgetting that her phone isn’t there. “Just to let her know I’m okay. She’s probably worried sick.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. I remember the conversation I had with Dean this morning, the details he dug up on Aubree’s step-father.
I don’t have definitive proof he’s involved, but something about the financial records—transfers, odd payments—makes me suspicious as hell.
I don’t like the idea of telling Aubree, not until I’m certain.
I also don’t like the idea of calling her mom, who might pass along our location to her husband.
“Not a good idea right now,” I say carefully, trying not to sound too harsh.
She frowns. “Why not?”
“Because if your phone’s traceable—and it might be, if these people are determined enough—calling your mom could give away our general area.
Even if they can’t pinpoint our exact location, they’ll know which cell towers we’re using.
” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either.
I decide to push the technical side, so I don’t have to mention her step-father yet. “I’m not willing to risk that.”
She inhales sharply, her frustration palpable. “My mom’s going to freak out, though.”
I glance over and see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. My resolve wavers. But then I steel myself. Her safety is more important than her mother’s peace of mind, at least for now. “Aubree, I get that. But this is about survival. We can’t contact anyone until I’m sure it’s safe.”
She bites her lip, tears threatening to fall. “Fine,” she whispers, turning her head to stare out the window again.
I know she’s hurting. I don’t like doing this to her, but it’s the only way.
For all I know, her step-father could be the one pulling the strings—some messed-up plot to scare her out of town.
The possibility seems wild, but stranger things have happened.
Until I have answers, I’m not taking any risks.
The highway narrows, and soon I take an exit onto a smaller state route. The trees loom taller, the land more isolated. We pass a scattering of houses, most set far back from the road. Time slips by, the monotony of the drive broken only by the occasional passing vehicle.
Aubree leans her head against the window, and I can practically feel her disappointment rolling off her in waves. I want to reach over, rub her shoulder, something—anything—to comfort her. But I don’t. I just keep driving.
After a while, she starts talking again, filling in more details about the threats.
How she got an email with a crudely photoshopped image of a broken pizza sign, her shop’s sign, made to look like it was burning.
“That’s when my mom hired Maddox Security,” she says.
“I guess she was right. I should’ve done it sooner. ”
“You did the best you could at the time,” I reply, my voice quiet. “Nobody expects something like this until it happens.”
She nods, tears gathering again, but this time she blinks them back. “I can’t believe I might lose my shop,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ve worked so hard for it. Seven years, Boone.”
My throat tightens. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. And in the meantime, just focus on staying safe. I can’t help you rebuild if you end up hurt—or worse.”
She swallows, glancing my way. There’s gratitude and sadness in her expression, and maybe a flicker of something else. Something that reminds me how she felt in my arms the other night, how I almost lost my damned head over her. I shove the thought away and focus on the road.
The trees grow thicker as we climb a gentle slope, the road twisting and turning.
The safe house is a friend-of-a-friend’s cabin near a lake, if I recall correctly.
I’ve never been there in person, but I have a rough idea of where we’re going.
Supposedly, it’s secure, out of the way, and rarely visited.
Dean said the owners are traveling abroad, which suits our situation perfectly.
I keep my eyes peeled for the turnoff. The sunlight filters through the foliage, creating patches of shade and light across the asphalt. Another ten minutes or so, and we’ll arrive.
I glance at Aubree again, her features drawn in exhaustion.
She’s been through hell—anyone can see that.
The guilt pricks at me once more, reminding me I’m the reason she can’t even call her mother.
But the moment she’s in a truly safe spot, I’ll figure out a way to get a message to her mom discreetly—assuming Dean can clear the step-father of suspicion.
If not, well… we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Finally, I spot the unmarked dirt road that leads down to the lake. I slow the truck, turning onto the path, branches scraping the sides of the vehicle. The further we go, the quieter it becomes. No passing cars, no houses in sight—just dense woods and the occasional chirp of birds.
Aubree sits up straighter, peering through the windshield. “Where are we?”
“Just about there,” I answer, scanning for the right fork in the road. “The place is tucked away, so we might have to do some searching to find it.”
After a few hundred yards, the path branches.
I take the right fork, which slopes downward toward a distant gleam of water.
The truck bounces over rocks and ruts, the tires kicking up dust. Eventually, we come to a clearing.
A small, single-story cabin stands at the edge of a lake, framed by towering pines.
The water sparkles in the midday sun, and for a moment, it’s almost picturesque—like a painting.
I park the truck near a weathered wooden porch.
Cutting the engine, I wait, scanning the surroundings.
Everything looks deserted—no other vehicles, no sign of recent activity.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I fish it out.
Dean’s name appears on the screen, but I ignore it for now. First, I need to secure the property.
“Stay here,” I tell Aubree firmly, though I already know what she’ll say.
“But—”
“Stay,” I repeat, fixing her with a stare. “I’m just gonna scout the place, make sure nobody’s around.”
She folds her arms, but I see the worry in her eyes. “Fine,” she mumbles, sinking back into her seat.
Gun in hand, I step out of the truck, the door creaking.
The air here is cooler, carrying the scent of pine and lake water.
My boots crunch on gravel as I move around the cabin, checking windows and doors.
No signs of forced entry, no footprints in the dirt except for animal tracks.
Once I’m satisfied, I unlock the front door with a code given to me by Dean.
The interior is small, just a living room, a kitchen, one bedroom, and a bathroom.
Minimal furniture—a couch, a table, a couple of chairs, a bed.
Dust motes float in the beams of sunlight from the windows, suggesting it’s been empty for a while.
Perfect. This is exactly what I need: a secure, out-of-the-way location nobody would think to check.
I do a final sweep, then head back outside. Aubree’s perched on the edge of the truck’s seat. I open her door, and she steps out, glancing around like she expects someone to jump from behind a tree. “All clear,” I say, tucking the gun away. “Let’s get your stuff inside.”
She exhales, looking momentarily relieved. “This is… remote. Really remote.”
“That’s the point,” I say with a shrug, grabbing her duffel from the back. “Nobody should find us here.”
She nods, following me up the porch steps.
The old boards creak beneath our weight, and I can tell she’s still uneasy.
So am I, if I’m honest, but I try to project calm confidence for her sake.
Once we step inside, I lock the door behind us, sliding the deadbolt into place.
Then I draw the curtains, dimming the midday light.
“It’s not much, but it’s safe,” I tell her.
She sets her foam takeout box on the small table, eyes scanning the cabin. Her gaze lands on me. “So… what now?”
I run a hand over my short hair, considering. “Now we wait. Dean and the team at Maddox will let us know if they get a lead on who’s behind the threats. In the meantime, we lay low, keep off the radar. No phone calls, no leaving the property unless absolutely necessary.”
She sighs, sinking into one of the chairs. “So basically, I’m a prisoner here.”
The hurt in her voice stings more than I expect. “No, you’re not a prisoner,” I say, pushing back the flicker of guilt. “But you are a target. Until we handle that, we can’t afford to let our guard down.”
She looks up at me, and for a second, the tension eases. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For all of this. I know you’re…giving up a lot to keep me safe.”
“I’m just doing my job,” I answer, but the words feel inadequate. Because the truth is, it’s more than a job now. The way my heart clenches when she’s scared, the way I can’t stop thinking about that kiss—it’s not just business. And that terrifies me almost as much as the threats themselves.
She nods, then stands, crossing over to the dusty couch. With a thoughtful glance at me, she says, “Guess I’ll unpack.”
“Good idea,” I reply, though my mind is already racing with next steps—like how to secure the perimeter so nobody can sneak up on us again.
As she unzips her duffel and starts rummaging for clean clothes, I take a moment to check my phone. Dean’s text simply reads: “Got a partial lead on Mitch. Will call soon.” My gut tightens. A partial lead is better than nothing. Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.
I slip the phone into my pocket, letting out a slow breath.
One step at a time. First, secure this place, make sure nobody can ambush us.
Then wait for Dean’s call, see if Mitch or someone else stands out as a prime suspect.
If so, we move. We get the proof we need, or we confront them directly, whichever method is safer.
And as for Aubree’s step-father… well, I’ll keep that suspicion to myself until I have more to go on. I’m not going to break her heart with half-baked theories.
Before I fully set my attention on my next task, I allow myself one quick moment to appreciate the sight of her.
She glances back at me, meeting my eyes, and a flicker of a smile crosses her lips.
Despite everything, she’s still got that spark.
And I realize that spark is what’s going to keep us both going—until we’ve put a stop to whoever’s behind these threats, once and for all.