Chapter 9 #2
The certainty in his voice steadies me. Every decision since the frame-up has been mine alone to make and mine alone to face the consequences of. Having someone willing to stand with me, to share the risk and the burden, feels both terrifying and necessary.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. This gets ugly before it gets better."
"I know." I lean into his touch, let myself have this moment of comfort before the storm hits. "But at least I'm not facing it alone anymore."
"Tomorrow’s going to start early," he says quietly. "We’ve got a lot to do to get ready."
We spend the day turning the cabin into a defensible position.
Finn checks sight lines from every window, identifies weak points in the perimeter, maps escape routes through the forest. I set up communication equipment, establish encrypted channels with Zeke, organize the evidence so it can be transmitted quickly if we need to evacuate.
By late afternoon, we've done everything we can with the resources available. Motion sensors positioned at key approaches. Supply caches hidden at strategic locations. The satellite phone charged and ready.
Finn makes dinner while I review the evidence one more time, looking for gaps in what I've compiled.
The financial records are solid. The witness statements corroborate each other.
Tom's coded notes point toward corruption at the highest levels.
But the final piece, the one that names the Marshal definitively, is still missing.
"Food's ready," Finn calls from the kitchen.
We eat at the small table, talking through contingency plans and worst-case scenarios. The conversation is tactical, practical, focused on survival rather than the uncertainty of what comes next.
Darkness falls early this time of year. By the time we've cleaned up and secured the cabin for the night, exhaustion has settled into my bones. The adrenaline that's kept me going for weeks is finally fading.
He kisses me then, slow and deep, and I taste determination mixed with desire. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with want.
But neither of us moves. The awareness between us crackles like electricity.
After a moment, he takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.
I get a better look at it this time. The space is simple like the rest of the cabin.
A queen bed with a quilt similar to the one in the living room.
A dresser with a few framed photographs.
A window overlooking the forest, currently dark with night.
When Finn turns back to me, there's heat in his expression but also tenderness. This isn't the desperate urgency of the shelter during the storm. This is deliberate. Intentional. A choice we're both making with clear heads and open eyes.
"I want you," he says simply. "Been wanting you since you climbed into my truck asking for backcountry access. But this time I want to do it right. Take my time. Make you feel what you deserve to feel."
My pulse kicks up. "And what do I deserve to feel?"
"Cherished. Desired. Safe enough to let go completely."
The words hit harder than they should. Since the frame-up, I've held myself rigid against danger, against vulnerability, against the possibility that letting someone close could get them killed or get me caught.
But standing here in Finn's bedroom, looking at this man who's choosing to stand with me despite all the risks, I want to let go.
Want to trust that just for tonight, I can stop being a fugitive and just be a woman.
"Then show me."
He crosses to me in two strides, but instead of kissing me immediately, he just looks. His gaze travels over my face like he's memorizing every detail. Then his palms come up to cup my jaw, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones with a gentleness that tightens my throat.
"You're beautiful. Even exhausted, even scared, even carrying all this weight on your shoulders."
"I don't feel beautiful right now."
"Then let me show you." He leans in, presses his forehead to mine. "Let me carry this weight for a while. Let me make you feel what I see when I look at you."
The offer breaks something open inside me. I rise on my toes and kiss him, pouring years of loneliness and fear and determination into the contact. He responds immediately, his mouth claiming mine with heat and purpose. But there's patience too, like he meant what he said about taking his time.
He pulls me flush against him. I can feel the hard length of him pressed against my stomach, evidence that he wants this as much as I do. But he doesn't rush. Just kisses me thoroughly, deeply, until I'm breathless and aching.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark. "Tell me what you want."
"You. All of you. Everything you'll give me."
"That's a lot to ask for."
"I know. But I'm asking anyway."
Fierce determination crosses his face. Then he's lifting me, carrying me to the bed with an ease that sends heat pooling low in my belly. He sets me down gently and follows me onto the mattress, caging me in with his arms.
"Last chance to change your mind."
"I'm not changing my mind."
"Good." He kisses me again, then starts working on the buttons of my shirt. Each one opens slowly, deliberately, his knuckles brushing against my skin and leaving trails of heat. When he finally pushes the fabric off my shoulders, his breathing changes.
"Christ, Cara."
I'm suddenly self-conscious about the scars.
Investigation work has left its marks. A puckered bullet wound on my left shoulder from a source who turned out to be working for the people I was investigating.
A knife scar across my ribs from a fight in Chicago that nearly ended badly.
Smaller marks from various confrontations and close calls.
But Finn doesn't flinch. He traces each scar with his fingertips, then follows the path with his mouth. Kissing the bullet wound, the knife scar, every mark that tells the story of how I've survived.
"You're a fighter. Every one of these proves it."
He unfastens my bra, tosses it aside, and just looks at me. The appreciation in his eyes makes me feel powerful instead of vulnerable. Then his mouth is on my breast, tongue circling my nipple until I arch into him with a gasp.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast then the other, using his mouth and hands to drive me higher. By the time he moves lower, kissing down my stomach, I'm already trembling.
"Finn, please."
"Patience." He hooks his fingers in my jeans, pulls them down along with my underwear, leaves me completely bare. Then he settles between my thighs, spreading me open.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out.
He works me with focused intensity, alternating between broad strokes and targeted pressure on the bundle of nerves that makes my hips buck.
When he slides two fingers inside me, curling to hit exactly the right spot, the pleasure builds to almost unbearable levels.
"Let go. I've got you."
The permission, the reassurance, the sheer skill of what he's doing, all combine to push me over the edge. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, leaving me shaking and gasping his name.
He gentles his touch, working me through the aftershocks, then kisses his way back up my body. When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his lips and it sends another pulse of heat through me.
"My turn." I push at his chest until he rolls onto his back.
I strip him efficiently, revealing the body I've been wanting to explore since that night in the shelter.
Broad shoulders, defined chest, abdomen ridged with muscle earned through years of military service and manual labor.
Scars of his own, including the puckered tissue across his forearm where shrapnel ended his flying career.
I trace that scar with my fingers, then lean down to kiss it. "You're beautiful too."
"Not the word most people use."
"Most people are wrong." I wrap my hand around his length, stroke him slowly. He's hard and thick and perfect, and the way his breathing shifts when I touch him makes me feel powerful.
I take him in my mouth, hollowing my cheeks and using my tongue the way I know drives men crazy. He groans, one hand coming up to tangle in my hair. Not controlling, just connecting. Grounding himself while I work him over.
When his breathing gets ragged, when I can tell he's close, he tugs gently at my hair. "Cara, stop. I want to be inside you."
I release him, crawl back up his body until we're face to face. "Then what are you waiting for?"
He pauses, meeting my eyes. "We didn't use protection in the shelter. Should have talked about it then, but circumstances weren't exactly ideal."
"No, they weren't." I trace my fingers along his jaw. "I'm clean. Got tested before everything went sideways with Stormwatch, and there hasn't been anyone since. Hard to have a relationship when you're running for your life. On birth control since my twenties."
"Clean too. Military required regular testing, and I've kept up with it since." His hand comes up to cup my face. "So we're good?"
"We're good."
He rolls us so I'm on my back, settling between my thighs with his weight pressing me into the mattress.
"Look at me."
I meet his eyes, hold his gaze as he positions himself and pushes inside slowly. The stretch is exquisite, the fullness perfect. He slides in until he's buried completely, then stills, giving me time to adjust.
"Okay?"
"More than okay."
He pulls out slowly, then thrusts back in with more force. Sets up a rhythm that's deep and steady, each stroke hitting something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. His hand trembles slightly where it grips my hip, but his left is rock steady on the mattress beside my head.
I hook my legs around his waist, change the angle so he goes even deeper.
The pleasure builds again, faster this time because I'm already sensitive from the first orgasm.
He reads my body perfectly, adjusting his pace, his angle, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit, until I'm gasping and clawing at his shoulders.
"That's it. Let me feel you come on my cock."
The words send me over the edge again. The orgasm rips through me, clenching around him, and he follows with a groan. His rhythm falters as he spills inside me, hips jerking with the force of his release.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. He pulls out carefully, then gathers me against his chest. I settle into his warmth, let myself be held, let myself feel safe for the first time since Stormwatch.
"Stay with me," he murmurs into my hair. "Not just tonight. Stay with me through this fight. Stay with me after it's over."
The request lodges somewhere deep. "That's a lot to promise when we don't know if we'll survive what's coming."
"Then promise me you'll try. That you won't run when things get hard. That you'll let me stand with you instead of facing it alone."
I press my face into his chest, breathe in the scent of him. Soap and wood smoke and man. "I promise I'll try."
"Good enough." He tightens his arms around me. "Get some sleep."
His heartbeat steadies beneath my ear. Outside, wind moves through the spruce. Inside, his arms tighten around me like he's already bracing for what's coming.
I close my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under. The discussions can wait until morning. Right now, wrapped in his arms, I'm just a woman who's finally stopped running. Tomorrow I'll have to be the fugitive again. The investigator. The woman with a target on her back.
But tonight, I have this.