Chapter 2 #3
“I know you’re trying to protect me,” she continued.
“And I appreciate that. Really, I do. But I need you to understand something—I’m not some delicate flower who’s going to fall apart because things got scary.
I’m the woman who drove a Mercedes through a bedroom window and convinced the cops my foot slipped. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know,” Grant said quietly. “I could tell that the moment I met you.”
“Good.” She took a breath, squared her shoulders despite the headache splitting her skull.
“So what’s the plan? And don’t even think about telling me to sit here and wait while you handle everything.
We’re in this together now, whether either of us likes it or not.
She thinks you and I have a thing going. Even though we just met.”
“She sees things differently,” he said. “It wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge.”
Liza looked at him—really looked at him. The bandages on his face. The tension in his shoulders. The guilt written in every line of his body.
“Talk,” she said. “Now. Who is she and why does she want to kill you?”
Grant sat back on his heels, running his hand through his hair. “Her name is Ryan Caine. We worked together in Detroit—I was her training officer when she joined our special ops unit. She was good. One of the best I’d ever seen.”
“What happened?”
“She fell in love with the wrong guy. Eduardo Diaz—major drug dealer, connected to half the crime in Detroit. I watched her cross the line for him. Little things at first. Looking the other way. Losing evidence. Then bigger things.” His voice was hard.
“When I had enough proof, I turned her in to internal affairs. She ran. Married Diaz. Built an empire with him.”
Liza’s head throbbed, but she forced herself to focus. “And you arrested him?”
“Brought down his whole operation. He killed a cop during the raid. He’s serving life without parole.” Grant’s hand unconsciously went to the scar on his jaw. “Caine blamed me for everything. Vowed revenge. She’s been trying to kill me for six months.”
“Is that how you got the scar?”
“One of her attempts. She’s a sniper—one of the best. That day, the bullet missed my head by two inches.” He met her eyes. “Today wasn’t her style. She’s usually more precise. This was a message.”
“What kind of message?”
“That she’s not playing by rules anymore. That she’ll hurt anyone around me to get to me.” His anger was palpable. “I’m sorry. I never should have walked into your bakery. Never should have put you at risk.”
Liza looked at the text again. At the threat. Her head pounded and her world had turned upside down in the space of an hour, but one thing was crystal clear.
“What do we do?” she asked.
Grant’s eyebrows rose. “We?”
“She threatened me. That makes it my problem too.” Liza sat up slowly, fighting the wave of dizziness. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’m leaving town tonight. Drawing her away from here.”
“And me?”
“You stay here. Colt will look after you, the O’Haras will—”
“No.” Liza cut him off. “She saw us together. She thinks I’m important to you. What makes you think she won’t come after me the second you’re gone?”
Grant opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Exactly,” Liza said. “So unless you have a better idea, I’m coming with you.”
“Liza, this woman is dangerous. She’s killed before. She won’t hesitate—”
“To what? Shoot me?” Liza gestured at the window. “She already tried. At least if I’m with you, you can protect me. If I stay here, I’m a sitting duck.”
She watched him struggle with it, saw the war between wanting to keep her safe and knowing she was right.
“Blaze offered me his cabin before all this happened,” Grant said.
“Said I could use it to clear my head, get away for a while. Remote, up in the mountains. Defensible.” He paused.
“We go there, wait while backup arrives—state police, FBI, whoever Blaze can coordinate. Stay out of sight, let Caine exhaust herself looking for us.”
“How long?”
“Few days. Maybe a week.”
Liza laughed, then winced at the pain it caused in her head. “A week in a cabin with a stranger while a psycho hunts us. Well, it beats getting shot in my own bakery.”
“You’re taking this remarkably well.”
“I’m terrified,” she admitted. The honesty surprised her. “But I’m also practical. And stubborn. And really tired of running.” She met his eyes. “I ran from my ex. Ran from New York. I’m not running from this too.”
Something shifted in his expression—heat and respect and something deeper that made her pulse quicken despite the fear.
“We leave after dark,” he said. “Rest while you can. It’s going to be a long night.”
Liza settled back against the couch cushions, exhaustion pulling at her. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her shaky and drained.
“Grant?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t die and leave me alone with her.”
His mouth curved into something almost like a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As her eyes drifted closed, she felt his hand wrap around hers. Warm. Solid. Real.
And despite everything—despite the fear and the danger and the impossibility of it all—she felt safe.