Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
WOLFE
The woman hasn't stopped talking in four hours.
I sit at my kitchen table, cleaning my rifle, and let her voice wash over me like background noise. She's on the couch with her ankle elevated, wrapped in my quilt, gesturing with her hands as she explains something about algorithms and engagement rates and content calendars.
I understand maybe every third word.
"So basically, the whole point of this trip was to rebrand after the breakup. Show my followers that being single on Valentine's Day isn't sad, it's empowering." She pauses for breath. "Are you even listening?"
I look up from the rifle. "Algorithms. Engagement. Empowering."
She narrows her eyes. "You were listening."
"I hear everything."
It's not a boast. It's a fact. Sixteen years as a SEAL sniper trained me to process multiple information streams simultaneously. I can clean this rifle, track her monologue, and monitor the sounds outside my cabin all at once. The wind has shifted in the last hour. Storm's getting worse.
"Okay, that's actually kind of impressive and also a little creepy." She shifts on the couch, wincing when she moves her ankle wrong. "Most people tune me out after about ten minutes. My ex used to put in earbuds and pretend he was listening to a podcast."
Second time she's mentioned the ex. The first was last night, something about him getting engaged. I file the information away.
"He sounds like an asshole."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "That's the most words you've said at once since I got here."
I return my attention to the rifle. "Doesn't make it wrong."
She's quiet for almost thirty seconds. A record.
"He wasn't always." Her voice is softer now. "Derek. That's his name. He was really charming at first. Supportive. He helped me grow my platform in the early days, gave me advice on branding and sponsorships." A pause. "Then it started getting weird."
I don't prompt her. Don't need to. People always keep talking when they need to get something out.
"Little things at first. Criticizing my content ideas.
Telling me I was too loud, too much, too annoying.
Then bigger things. Getting mad when I talked to other guys at events, even just networking.
Checking my phone when he thought I was asleep.
" She lets out a breath. "I kept making excuses for him.
Told myself he was just stressed, just protective, just loved me so much he couldn't help it. "
My hands still on the rifle. The metal is cold under my fingers.
"When did you leave?"
"Three months ago. He didn't take it well." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Showed up at my apartment at 2 AM, drunk, banging on the door. Called me forty-seven times in one night. Left voicemails that alternated between begging me to come back and telling me I'd never find anyone better."
Forty-seven times. I memorize the number. Add it to the file building in my head.
"Then about a month ago, he posted the engagement photos. New girlfriend, big ring, caption about finding his soulmate." She shrugs, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. "Part of me was relieved. Like maybe he'd finally moved on and I could stop looking over my shoulder."
"But?"
"But something still feels off. I can't explain it. The engagement seemed so sudden, so public. Like he wanted to make sure I saw it." She pulls the quilt tighter around herself. "Anyway. That's way more than you asked for. Sorry. I told you I talk too much."
"You don't."
She blinks at me. "What?"
I set down the rifle and meet her eyes. "You don't talk too much. He made you think that because he wanted you small and quiet and easy to control. You're not any of those things."
The look on her face does something to my chest. Cracks something open that I've kept sealed for three years.
"Wolfe." She says my name like she's testing it. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time."
I grunt and pick the rifle back up. "Don't get used to it."
But she's smiling now, a real smile that reaches her eyes, and I have to look away before I do something stupid.
The radio on my counter crackles. I cross to it and key the mic.
"Hendrix."
"Wolfe, it's Mace." The voice on the other end is steady, familiar. "Storm check. You good out there?"
"Fine. Got a civilian."
A pause. "Say again?"
"Civilian. Hiker. Got lost in the storm yesterday, I brought her in."
Sadie is watching me with open curiosity. I turn my back to her, lowering my voice slightly.
"Injuries?" Mace asks.
"Twisted ankle. Minor hypothermia, resolved. She's stable."
"Need evac?"
I glance over my shoulder at her. She's still watching me, head tilted, brown eyes bright with interest.
"Negative. Storm's too heavy. We'll wait it out."
"Copy that. Check in at 0800 tomorrow. Let me know if anything changes."
"Understood. Hendrix out."
I set the radio down and turn to find her practically vibrating with questions.
"Was that your secret mountain man headquarters? Do you have a whole network of people out here? Is this like a compound situation? Oh my God, is this a cult? Are you going to sacrifice me to a snow god?"
"Guardian Peak Security." I settle back into my chair. "I work for them. That was my team leader."
"Guardian Peak." She rolls the name around in her mouth. "Sounds very official and paramilitary."
"It's a private security firm. We do protection details, tactical training, threat assessment."
"And you just casually radioed in that you have a civilian like you're reporting inventory?" She grins. "Do you have to fill out paperwork? Form 27B, subsection C, one rescued hiker, moderately annoying, speaks too much?"
My mouth twitches. I turn it into a cough.
"Standard protocol. When something unusual happens, we report it."
"I'm unusual now?"
"You're unexpected."
She seems to consider this. "Fair enough. I wasn't expecting to almost die in a blizzard and get rescued by a sexy mountain man either, so I guess we're both dealing with the unexpected."
Sexy. The word hits me square in the chest.
I don't respond. Can't. My throat has closed up around whatever I might have said.
"Oh, come on." She's grinning wider now, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "You have to know you're attractive. The whole brooding lumberjack thing works for you. Very rugged. Very 'I could chop wood and also chop my enemies.'"
"You should rest." I stand abruptly. "Your ankle needs elevation."
"My ankle is elevated. I'm just making observations. Journalistic integrity."
"You're an influencer, not a journalist."
"Ouch." She clutches her chest in mock offense. "That was almost a burn. Wolfe Hendrix has a personality after all."
I grab my coat from the hook by the door. "I need to check the perimeter."
"In a blizzard?"
"Especially in a blizzard."
She watches me pull on my boots with something unreadable in her expression. "Hey, Wolfe?"
I pause, hand on the door.
"Thanks for listening. About Derek and everything. Most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about my problems."
I meet her gaze. Hold it. "Most people don't pay attention."
"And you do?"
"It's my job to notice things."
"Is that the only reason?"
The question hangs in the cold air between us. I don't have an answer. Or rather, I do, but I'm not ready to admit it.
"Get some rest, Sadie."
I step out into the storm before she can say anything else.
The wind slaps me, snow stinging my face, visibility down to maybe ten feet. I pull up my collar and start walking the perimeter, checking each sensor and tripwire I've set up around the property. Not because I need to. Because I need to get away from her.
She called me sexy. Said I was attractive. Made a joke about chopping enemies, and I almost smiled. Actually almost smiled.
I don't smile. Haven't in years. The muscles in my face have forgotten how.
But she's in my cabin wearing my clothes, and she trusted me with the story of her asshole ex, and she looks at me like I'm something other than a broken weapon that outlived its usefulness.
Dangerous. That's what she is. More dangerous than any enemy I've faced, because those I knew how to fight.
This I don't know how to fight at all.
I finish my perimeter check and stand in the snow for a long moment, letting the cold numb me from the outside in. It doesn't help. I can still feel the warmth of her presence in my cabin, pulling at me like gravity.
Two more days until the storm clears. Maybe three.
I've survived worse.
I'm not sure I'll survive her.