Chapter 7
REED
The laptop screen glows in the pre-dawn darkness, security footage from the past two days playing in accelerated time. I’ve been at this for an hour, searching each feed for anything we missed since I installed the cameras on Tuesday.
Maya’s still asleep in the bedroom. After last night, she needs the rest. I need the distance to think clearly, though even from here I can smell her on my skin, feel the warmth of her body against mine.
Is it possible I could be a different man from my father? God. More than anything, I want a future that isn’t me following in my dad's footsteps. Maya makes me want a future I never thought I’d have a chance at, and I’m terrified at the thought of hurting her like my dad hurt my mom.
I scrub through more footage from the main cameras. Then I switch to the feed from the camera I installed discreetly—the one I didn’t mention to anyone, not even Owen. Old habit from Afghanistan: always have a backup nobody knows about.
And there it is.
Tuesday afternoon, just hours after I installed everything, a truck appears, barely in view of the camera.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter, realizing that whoever this guy is, he’s been watching us since we arrived and Leo’s crew left. The driver clearly thought he was avoiding the visible cameras, but my hidden unit caught him perfectly. The truck has a distinctive dent in the quarter panel.
“Got you,” I mutter, zooming in.
The truck appears again on Wednesday morning, same careful positioning. Then yesterday afternoon, circling the property like a predator.
“Can’t sleep?” Maya’s voice, rough with sleep, makes me turn.
She’s still wearing my hoodie, which ends at the top of her bare legs as she walks to the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee.
The sight of her makes my world make sense in a way it never has.
I finally get why Owen, Jake, and Kane took the jump into love.
Now that I’ve had a glimpse of what a future with Maya might feel like, I’m going to do everything in my damn power to make that a reality.
“Working.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Come look at this.”
She pads over, automatically curling into my side as she peers at the screen. The casual intimacy makes my chest tight.
“Do you recognize this truck?” I point to the frozen frame.
She leans closer, and I catch the scent of our sex on her skin, and it makes my cock ache with desire.
“What the hell? That’s Clint’s truck. Clint Lansing.” Her voice sharpens. “He lost the bid for developing this land.”
“Lansing Construction?”
“Yeah. He was very upset about losing. He didn’t say it directly to my face, but I heard he made comments saying I was ‘daddy’s little girl’ and that I didn’t deserve the contract.” She straightens. “You think he’s behind the vandalism?”
“Look at the timeline.” I pull up the footage.
“He shows up hours after I installed the cameras. I couldn’t see his plate, but look at the dent there.
Then again yesterday morning, and—” I switch to the main camera grid.
“Two of my visible cameras went offline during the storm yesterday. But he didn’t know about the one on the porch. ”
I turn to face her fully. “Maya, this is our first real lead. He’s been watching us since the moment we got here.”
Her hand grips my shoulder. “The dead fish, the threats—”
“All him.” The rage that fills me is cold and calculated. The same feeling I had in Kandahar when civilians were threatened. “This ends today.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and her eyes can’t hide the range of emotions she’s going through as she processes this. “What do we do?”
“I need to talk to Owen and check those offline cameras, verify if it’s storm damage or if he found them. But Maya, if he’s escalating—”
“You think he’ll come back.”
“I know he will.” I pull her onto my lap, hands framing her face.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that he may not have ever left, but unless I know that for a fact, there’s no reason to scare her unnecessarily.
“Guys like him don’t just watch. They build up courage, create a narrative where they’re the victim. When they act, it’s bad.”
She starts to move off my lap, but I hold her there while I call Owen. A deep, primal urge needs her close, needs to know exactly where she is until this threat is eliminated.
“Ambrose, it’s early even for you.” Owen’s voice is gravelly with sleep. I hear Vivian mumble in the background, asking if everything is okay.
“Got a positive ID on our vandal. Clint Lansing. He’s a contractor who lost the bid on the lakeside development.
I caught him on camera, but it seems he watched me install them, so he hasn’t shown up yet.
He stays outside the distance for triggering a movement alert.
Two of the visible cameras went offline yesterday.
I need you to check if it looks like storm damage or tampering from your end. ”
“Hold on. Let me grab my machine.” He yawns. “Alright,” he finally says, and I can hear the clacking of his keyboard. “Both went offline around 14:00 yesterday, right when the worst of the storm hit. Could be wind damage, torn cables. Without physical inspection, hard to say.”
“I’ll check them today. Meanwhile, I need you to review the footage carefully. Somehow, this guy knows to stay far enough away not to trigger the motion sensor. Document everything you can find with that truck. His truck has a dented quarter panel that is distinctive.”
“On it.” Owen pauses. “This guy dangerous?”
“Angry contractor who thinks he deserves what Maya earned?” I feel her tense against me. “Potentially dangerous. Ask Knox to run a background check ASAP. We need to know if he’s just hoping a few scare tactics will work, or if he has any history of violence.”
“Want backup?”
“Not yet. But tell Knox and Kane to be ready.”
“Copy that. Reed?” His tone shifts. “Keep her safe.”
“Absolutely.” I end the call and look at Maya. “I need to check those cameras.”
I work on the southeastern camera mount. The storm did a number on it—the whole unit is hanging by twisted metal, camera pointing uselessly at the sky. The cable’s been torn nearly through by wind-whipped debris.
The broken branch hanging by the camera suggests this wasn’t tampering, just bad luck and weather.
I secure the mount with fresh bolts, straighten the angle, and start splicing the damaged cable.
The second camera is similar—apparent wind damage knocked it completely offline.
As I work, I think about Clint Lansing circling the property in his truck, thinking he’d found blind spots when really my porch camera had him the whole time.
My phone buzzes. Owen: Reviewed all footage. He’s been on site every day since you arrived.
Son of a bitch. Every day. Since Tuesday, when I installed the cameras. He’s been watching Maya—watching us—building his anger and justification for whatever he’s planning.
A rage builds in my chest, reminding me of the same cold fury I had in Kandahar when we discovered insurgents targeting a school.
I finish the splice and test the connection. I verify with Owen that both cameras are back online, feeding clear footage to our server. No more blind spots created by the storm. Between these and my porch camera that I haven’t told anyone about, we have full coverage.
Headlights sweep across the property as the sun sets.
I’m behind the equipment shed in seconds, watching as a now-familiar truck rolls slowly up the access road. Clint Lansing, none the wiser, thinks he’s evading the cameras. But this time, I’m ready for him.
He parks in his usual spot—what he thinks is still a blind spot. He doesn’t know I’ve had Owen expand the movement radius for the cameras.
I text Maya: He’s here. Go inside. Lock doors. Stay away from windows.
Her response is immediate: Be careful.
Clint gets out of his truck, and rage boils in me when I see he has a gas can in one hand, something else in the other—too dark to make out clearly, but the way he holds it suggests a weapon.
This is an unprovoked escalation.
I move through the shadows, keeping the equipment shed between us as he approaches the model home. He’s focused on the windows, looking for Maya, not looking for a tail.
Clint circles the model home once, checking windows, and frowning when he finds all the doors locked. He heads toward the back, where the main bedroom windows are.
Where Maya was sleeping in my arms just hours ago.
I ghost after him, staying in his blind spot. My hand goes to the Glock at my waistband, but I don’t draw it. Not yet. I need him to commit to something actionable first, and to do it on camera.
He stops at the back door, sets down the gas can, and there’s enough light that I can see the crowbar in his hand.
I text Owen. Call 911. Attempted B&E in progress. Possibly armed.
Then I move to the front of the house, climb the porch steps, and sit down.
And wait.
This motherfucker has no idea he’s walking into a trap. Once he takes a step inside, it’s over. The cameras are recording everything. The police are on their way. And when Clint Lansing comes through that house looking for Maya, he’ll find me instead.
I hear the sound of splintering wood from the back. The door giving way.
My phone lights up with Maya’s text: I hear him. I think he’s inside!
Hide.
When I hear his footsteps in the house, I crouch and run to the back door and come in quietly behind him.
Clint walks through the kitchen and toward the living room, raising his voice as he calls out to Maya.
“I know you’re here, princess. It’s time to talk about what you took from me. I know your boyfriend isn’t here.”
Princess. The condescension in that word makes my jaw clench.
“Hello, Clint,” I say quietly, my hand on my gun. “We need to talk about your fascination with my client.”
Clint freezes and spins around so fast he nearly falls over. Good.
“Who are you? How do you know who I am?” He’s watching me closely, trying to assess my threat level.
“Reed Ambrose. Ghost Security.” I flick my jacket back enough that he can see the weapon at my hip. “You’re trespassing on an active construction site and have broken into private property. With a crowbar and accelerant. That’s breaking and entering with intent to commit arson. It’s over for you.”
“You can’t prove—”
“Cameras, Clint.” I gesture toward the camera hidden in the corner of the porch, which he clearly missed me installing. “They’ve been recording since you arrived. Before you arrived, actually. We have every visit you’ve made since Tuesday. Including you breaking down the back door.”
His grip tightens on the crowbar. Part of me aches for him to make a move, because even with a crowbar, he won’t win. “No camera out there,” he says, his face red with anger.
“Yes, there is. And thank you for confirming that you know about the cameras and where they are. Maya Raymond is under my protection,” I continue calmly, controlling the rage stirring inside me. “This ends tonight. You can wait here for the police, or you can run and make this worse. Your choice.”
Clint’s face pales as the wail of sirens reaches us, becoming clearer as the police get closer. The crowbar twitches in his hand.
“Choose carefully,” I add, hand resting casually on my weapon as I flick the safety off. “Because I’m hoping you give me a reason.”
The sirens are louder now. Clint drops the crowbar, and it thuds on the carpeted floor between us.
“Smart choice.”
I don’t move a step or take my eyes off Clint. I’m not letting this motherfucker out of my sight until he’s in handcuffs in the back of a cop’s cruiser.
Because protecting Maya isn’t just my job anymore.
She’s mine to protect for the rest of our lives.