Chapter 4
Hadley once met Dolly Parton. For years afterward, she figured out ways to work that factoid into random conversations because it had been the coolest thing she’d ever experienced in her life.
Until now.
She’d read about men who defended women and beat up would-be attackers. Mostly in romance novels. She’d hoped such men were out there, even though, in her experience, they were as elusive as unicorn farts.
But actually seeing it in action—seeing him in action—was a totally different story.
Her neighbor looked even better in person than he did through her binoculars and was, without question, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in real life.
But not, like, pretty beautiful. Definitely more of a rugged, untamed, manly kind of beauty.
The messy black hair, the thick beard stubble, the jawline that looked like it’d been carved out of stone, the knife-edged cheekbones, the eerily pale green eyes… holy hotness, Batman!
He was super tall and built like he did nothing but manual labor all day, too.
His white T-shirt looked like it was fighting for its life against his biceps and pecs.
And while she hadn’t cared that Darren was on the shorter side and what could be described as wiry, she’d be lying if she said her neighbor’s huge physical presence wasn’t sexy.
Having all of that focused on defending and protecting her was making her feel even more special than when Dolly signed a promotional photo for her and called her darlin’.
She could only hope she hadn’t embarrassed herself by grinning manically at Dolly like she was sure she was grinning at her neighbor now.
Hadley shifted her gaze to the pile of glass that used to be Darren’s car window on the ground. “I didn’t even know car windows could shatter like that.”
She imagined some men (and definitely the ones she’d been dating lately) would take that opportunity to brag a little about their skills or strength.
Not her neighbor. He was far too cool for that.
He just stared down at her like she’d lapsed into a language where he could only translate every other word or so.
“New car windows don’t,” he eventually said. “You’d need an escape hammer on a newer car like yours. You probably have one in your emergency bag.”
Bold of him to assume she had an emergency bag in her car.
Truth was, she didn’t even have an ice scraper in her Toyota, let alone tools that could shatter a window.
But she didn’t want him to think she was ill-prepared, so she kept her mouth shut.
No reason for him to know all she had in her car was a half-eaten, two-week-old box of Milk Duds and a stack of reusable grocery bags she always forgot to take into the store with her.
She’d still eat those Milk Duds, too, even if she chipped a tooth doing it. Not that she’d admit that to him.
But I digress…
She cleared her throat. “Saying ‘thank you’ for…that seems insignificant. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten here when you did.”
A frown line creased his brow. “I do.”
Yeah. So did she. She’d just really rather not think about it. It made her feel fragile. Breakable. And breakable was the very last thing she ever wanted to be. She was a smart, independent, successful woman. Admitting she could be easily overpowered and hurt was humbling. Infuriating, too.
But she didn’t want to discuss that with this unnecessarily attractive, Jason Bourne-like man. So, instead, she held her hand out (the unbruised one) and said, “My name’s Hadley. Hadley Lockhart.”
He stared at her outstretched hand for a second or two like he was unfamiliar with the custom of shaking hands. Eventually, he wrapped his giant hand around hers and gave it a squeeze so gentle she assumed he was worried about hurting her.
She wasn’t hurt. She did wonder, however, if he felt the little shock of awareness that shot up her arm the second his warm skin touched hers.
Yowza.
The speed with which he released her hand suggested he hadn’t felt it. Seemed about right for the romantic luck she’d been having lately.
Then it occurred to her that he hadn’t told her his name. He was just staring down at her like she was a calculus problem he’d been told he had to solve without scrap paper and a pencil.
After a few moments of awkward but intense eye contact, she prompted, “And your name is?”
He gave his head an almost imperceptible shake before he said, “Cole. Cole Clayton.”
The way the deep rumble of his voice caressed syllables was sinful. Like, there should be jail time attached to sounding that sexy.
It should also be illegal to save her from becoming a dating cautionary tale and not talk to her. Any other man would’ve been going on and on about how heroic he was after what had happened. But Cole? Crickets.
And for some reason, all her conversation starters at the moment were vaguely (or not too vaguely in some cases) inappropriate. Much like the grey sweatpants he was wearing. How dare he wear those pants and not be out here professing that she was his fated mate?
Maybe it was time to lay off the supernatural romances for a bit. Ahem.
She was still trying to puzzle out how to get more conversation going when he abruptly said, “Go inside. Get some sleep. Lock your doors.”
Then, he vanished like a thief in the night, taking her hope for all penis-havers with him.
Seriously, would there ever be a time when hope didn’t fuck her over?
There had been a time not that long ago when Cole could single-handedly topple corrupt foreign regimes.
Now, he couldn’t talk to a pretty girl without embarrassing himself.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Cole muttered as he made his way back to his house.
He’d spent the past year hiding from polite society.
Avoiding people, entanglements, and conflicts, because those were all things that brought attention—attention someone in his situation did not need.
And in one night, he’d managed to throw himself into a conflict with the potential to bring a world of shit down on his head.
And he’d made a complete ass of himself in front of Hadley.
She probably thought he was a rude, non-communicative asshole. Which, he was. But having her think that felt…shit. What was this feeling? Regret? Did he regret not being a better, more social person so he could get to know her better?
Yep. That’s exactly what this stupid feeling was.
If he’d had a normal life and a normal job—like, say, an accountant or some shit—he would’ve shown up on this woman’s doorstep upon arriving in the neighborhood and asked her out.
Fuck, they might have been engaged by now if that was the case.
But instead, his childhood had sucked, he’d gone into the military the second he was old enough to pay for college, and was recruited for dark ops five years later, where he was certain to never have a normal life with a woman like Hadley.
Simple conversations were apparently beyond him, too.
He did his best to shake off his regrets. He didn’t have time for that shit. Especially not now that his feeling about Hadley’s date had proven right.
So, he did what he should’ve done the first time he’d laid eyes on the dude. He pulled out his phone, and dialed Ren Solace, the only contact he had left with access to the dark web and all things shady and morally grey.
“If you want me to hack into the CIA’s network again, I’m going to charge you triple,” Ren said in lieu of a proper greeting.
Cole sighed. One time. He’d asked Ren to hack into the CIA’s network one time to see if they really intended to let him retire free and clear and Ren had yet to ever let him live it down.
Around eight—no, nine—years ago, Cole had been part of an op in Somalia that went horribly off the rails.
He needed an escape route, a plausible reason for being there, a non-US passport, and a cover identity.
The CIA, of course, had written him off and were more than willing to leave him there to rot.
He’d called in every favor he’d garnered over his illustrious spy career and had been put in touch with Ren, who got him everything he needed so fast it made Cole nervous.
Ren Solace was not a man you wanted as an enemy.
So, Cole always paid him on time and never told a soul that a freelance hacker with very dubious connections and skills had saved his ass and, yes, had even hacked the CIA’s systems once—only once!—to make sure Cole’s retirement agreement was 100% legit and well documented.
“No. Not the CIA this time,” Cole said. “I need you to do a full background check on a guy my neighbor was seeing.”
He rattled off the abbreviated story of what happened, the guy’s first name, description, and license plate number.
It wasn’t a ton to go on—especially if the car wasn’t registered to the asshole—but he’d seen Ren do more with less info.
“Oh, wait,” he added, “the guy might also be showing up in the ER soon with a broken distal radius.”
Ren snorted. “Nice. Should I look into your neighbor too, or just the boyfriend?”
He really wanted to have Ren look into Hadley. Cole would savor every little detail he learned like a starving man would savor a juicy steak dinner. But for some reason, it didn’t feel right. He’d already invaded her privacy enough.
“No,” he said with no small amount of regret. “Just the guy.”
“On it.”
Ren disconnected the call without another word, which was fine with Cole. They weren’t friends. Why waste time on heartfelt goodbyes?
He should’ve said goodbye to Hadley, though. Just walking off like that…
Cole groaned. What a fucking loser he was.
Maybe he should just give up and move to Tibet. Would that be far enough away that he wouldn’t remember how pretty Hadley looked, smiling up at him like he was her hero?
Doubtful, asshole. Doubtful.