Chapter 12
Necessary Deterrent
The cottage was secure. Zach checked it again anyway.
He moved through the open space methodically: tested window locks, assessed sightlines, examined the exterior lights visible through each pane of glass.
It sat on the southern edge of the island—good visibility, limited approach vectors, sufficient distance from everything else. Nick had chosen well.
That didn’t stop Zach from running his third perimeter sweep of the evening.
Behind him, he heard the soft shuffle of fabric, the muted sounds of Emma moving about. She was doing something domestic in the bedroom—folding clothes, maybe, or organizing her belongings. The sounds were too ordinary for the situation.
Zach returned to the great room and retrieved his knife kit from his gear bag.
He settled into the armchair that offered the best view of both the front door and the bedroom hallway, pulled his survival knife from its sheath, and began the familiar ritual of maintenance.
The blade made a steady, rhythmic scrape against the whetstone.
Emma emerged a few minutes later in yoga pants and an oversized, stretched-out T-shirt. Her dark hair was in a loose knot at her nape. She moved to the kitchen, filled the electric kettle, and retrieved her mug.
“Tea?”
“No, thanks.”
The soft rustle of her movements contrasted with the steady scrape of steel on stone.
“Do you sharpen that every night?” Emma asked, her voice casual.
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a moment. “How… comforting.”
The corner of Zach’s mouth twitched from her dry tone before he could stop it. He adjusted the angle of the blade and continued the rhythmic motion. Twelve strokes on one side, twelve strokes on the other. This knife saved his life more than once. It would again. Maintenance wasn’t optional.
The kettle clicked off. She poured water over what smelled like chamomile tea and leaned against the counter, mug cradled in both hands.
Like she was settling in for the evening rather than hiding from a threat.
“So, what are Nick and David up to tonight?” she asked.
“David recruited Nick to help him install some new system he’s toying with up at the main building. He’s always dreaming up something new.”
“Right.” She took a sip of tea. “I saw you drilling the security team today. Did they seem solid?”
“They’ll do.”
“That’s… good?”
Zach glanced up. Emma regarded him with an expression he now recognized as considering whether to push the conversation forward. Most people would have given up by now, retreated into uncomfortable silence or their bedrooms. Emma just looked thoughtful.
“They know their jobs,” Zach said, which was more than he usually offered. “I’ll run them through scenarios this week. See who has actual instincts versus who just looks good on paper.”
“Sounds like fun.”
He couldn’t help the smirk this time. “It will be for me.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Zach’s attention shifted to the windows. The weather report called for storms rolling in off the Atlantic tonight. He’d already checked the storm shutters—currently open—and calculated how quickly he could secure them if wind speeds increased sufficiently.
Emma followed his gaze. “Sounds like it’s moving in fast.”
“Should hit within the hour.”
She nodded and moved to the small dining table, setting her mug down and pulling out her tablet. In moments, she was absorbed in whatever work she’d brought home, her finger scrolling down the screen.
Zach refocused on his blade.
The silence that settled between them was… odd. Not awkward. Just unfamiliar. Emma appeared content to simply exist in the same space, focused on her own tasks.
He studied her peripherally while he worked. She sat with one leg tucked under herself in the chair, a casual posture that suggested she’d already grown comfortable in the cottage. Her shoulders were relaxed, her breathing calm and level.
She didn't watch him.
Most people did, waiting for the moment he became dangerous.
She wasn’t afraid.
That bothered him more than it should have.
She should be afraid. Not of him—but of the situation. Someone threatened her. Marcus Sinclair circled somewhere in the darkness, patient and calculating. Emma was a potential target because of her access and proximity to the principals. To them.
And she didn’t know it.
Instead, she sat drinking chamomile tea like this were any other evening.
Lightning flashed, bright and sudden. Thunder crashed closer this time. She gazed out the window at the approaching storm.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Emma breathed. “I forgot how dramatic ocean storms can be.”
“You get used to them.”
“Do you? Get used to them, I mean.” She peered over at him. “Or do you just get better at ignoring the things you can’t control?”
Zach’s hands stilled on the blade. That was… a more perceptive question than he’d expected.
“Both,” he said finally.
Her mouth curved. “Honest answer. I appreciate that.”
She resumed her work, and Zach returned to his knife, but her question lingered.
Getting used to things versus ignoring them. The line had blurred somewhere during his military years, sharpened during contract work, and solidified into something harder when he’d joined Nick and David full time.
You couldn’t afford to be bothered by storms when you were running missions in hostile territory. Couldn’t waste energy on factors outside your control. You built protocols, established parameters, executed objectives.
Lightning flashed again, and the lights flickered.
Zach catalogued the options: flashlight in his pack, candles in the kitchen cabinet Nick had mentioned, emergency lantern in the storage closet. He noted all of them during his first sweep.
The power held.
Emma’s tablet screen glowed in the gloom. She leaned closer to it, brow furrowed in concentration as she made notes on something.
“How did you get into HR?” he asked.
Emma glanced up; surprise that he initiated the conversation flitted across her face. “Psychology degree, business minor. Started in corporate recruiting when I discovered I was better at reading people than selling products.” She tilted her head. “How did you end up in private security?”
“Military until Nick and David needed someone they could trust.”
“That’s the short version.”
“That’s the version.”
“Right.” Emma’s smile was slight but genuine. “I’ll guess eight to ten years of active duty followed by a decision point somewhere in there where you chose this over… what? Career military? Government work? Corporate security? Private contracting?”
Zach’s hands hesitated again. She was good. He’d given her almost nothing, and she’d extrapolated the broad strokes with unerring accuracy.
“All of the above,” he said. “Eight years active duty. Then, Nick and David were building something that mattered. They wanted me to join them. I didn’t re-up. Did some contract work on the side for a few years as Ivory Tower got going.”
“Loyalty,” Emma said softly. “That’s the real answer, isn’t it? You’re not here for the job. You’re here for them.”
Before Zach could decide whether to confirm, the lights died.
Total blackout.
He was moving before the darkness fully registered, years of training overriding everything else. He crossed to his pack in three strides, retrieved his tactical flashlight, and swept the beam across the room. Emma hadn’t moved from the table.
“Stay here,” he ordered, already at the door. He had to make sure this was the storm, and not human-engineered.
“Zach—”
The door shut behind him, cutting her off.
The perimeter check took four minutes. Zach swept through the dark with practiced efficiency, scanning the tree line and the distant glow of the main resort building’s emergency lighting.
The storm appeared to have knocked out the local grid. Nothing suspicious. No movement beyond wind-driven palm fronds and rain pelting the ground.
When he returned to the cottage, soft golden light spilled from the windows.
Zach paused in the doorway.
Emma had lit candles.
They were scattered throughout the great room—on the kitchen counter, the dining table, the coffee table near the couch. The small flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, transforming the functional space into something almost.… peaceful.
Emma looked up from where she was lighting the last candle. “Better than sitting in the dark, right?”
He closed the door and locked it. “Power’ll be out for a while.”
“I figured.” She straightened, brushing her hands on her yoga pants. “I also found the emergency lantern in the closet if you need brighter light for… whatever security checks are next on your list.”
A candle sat on the side table next to the couch he’d sleep on. She’d put a candle out for him—a small gesture of consideration that she probably hadn’t thought twice about.
Zach noticed. Didn’t comment. But something in his chest shifted uncomfortably.
“Thanks,” he said, because he should say something.
Emma smiled. “You’re welcome.”
The storm intensified, rain hammering against the roof. Lightning flashed white across the windows, followed by thunder that rattled the glass. Emma moved to the window seat that overlooked the ocean, tucking herself into the corner with her mug.
After a moment’s hesitation, he joined her—not close, but near enough to follow her gaze. The ocean was barely visible through the rain, just darkness and motion beneath a sky split by lightning.
A whiff of vanilla and sandalwood reached him. Emma's scent.
She glanced at him, candlelight sparkling in her dark eyes. “Do you ever just… enjoy the storms? Or is everything always a threat assessment?”
“Both,” Zach said again.
She laughed. “At least you’re consistent.”
They sat in silence as the storm raged. The cottage creaked around them; the wind testing the structure, rain pounding relentlessly. Inside, the candlelight held steady.
She watched the storm like it were something beautiful.
Zach watched Emma.
Her shoulders lost their tension, her breathing grew deep and even, expression peaceful as lightning danced across the horizon. She looked… content.
She trusted him.
He’d spent eight years in the Army learning how to be a weapon.
Years after that deploying those skills for money, for mission objectives, for strategic outcomes.
He built Ivory Tower’s security infrastructure on threat assessment and tactical precision.
People looked at him and saw a guard dog.
A necessary deterrent. Something useful, but dangerous. Potentially rabid.
Emma looked at him and saw… something else. Something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“What are you thinking?” She asked softly.
Zach refocused on her face. “That you should be more afraid.”
“Of you?”
“Of the situation.”
Emma considered that. “I’m concerned about the situation. That’s different from being afraid.” She shifted to face him better. “I’m not afraid of you because you haven’t given me a reason to be. You’ve been nothing but professional and honest. Those aren’t qualities that inspire fear.”
“Most people find me intimidating.”
“I’m not most people.”
No, she definitely wasn’t.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating Emma’s face in stark clarity. A compass rose tattoo on her shoulder peeked out from her shirt's stretched neckline. Another flash revealed the cool intelligence in her expression, the relaxed way she occupied space near him without flinching.
“Thank you,” Emma said quietly. “For taking this seriously. The security concern, I mean. I still think it’s excessive, me staying here, but…”
“It’s not excessive.”
“No?”
“If someone is targeting the resort, excessive doesn’t exist.” Zach kept his gaze on the storm. “You’re part of the leadership team. That makes you a potential target. I don’t take chances with targets.”
“That’s… reassuring. In a very Zach way.”
The corner of his mouth twitched again. Almost a smile. Not quite.
They sat together, neither speaking, both watching darkness and lightning compete beyond the glass. The silence between them had weight now, substance. It wasn’t empty or awkward. It was… shared.
Comfortable.
Something Zach had never experienced with anyone other than his family. Not even his unit brothers.
“You should sleep,” he said eventually. “Tomorrow starts early. Training at 0600.”
“Training?”
“Self-defense. Situational awareness. Basic protocols.” He said it like it was obvious. “If this guy escalates, you need to know how to protect yourself.”
“Okay, tomorrow.” She didn’t immediately move. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Zach looked at her. Emma held his gaze, calm and unflinching, and he realized she was genuinely concerned about whether he’d rest. Not because she needed him sharp—though she did—but because she cared whether he took care of himself.
When was the last time someone asked him that question and meant it?
“I’ll sleep.” It was mostly true. He’d sleep in shifts, wake at every sound, maintain awareness even in unconsciousness. But he’d sleep.
Emma seemed to accept that. She unfolded herself from the window seat, collected her empty mug, and paused near the hallway.
“Goodnight, Zach.”
“Goodnight.”
She disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
Zach remained at the window, watching the storm, listening to the hushed sounds of Emma in the next room. After a few minutes, her light went out—or rather, the candlelight visible under her door went out.
He should do another perimeter check, verify that the storm wasn't compromising any security measures. Review tomorrow’s schedule and confirm personnel assignments.
Instead, he remained in the candlelit quiet, rain streaking down the window, and tried to identify the unfamiliar sensation beneath his sternum.
He sat in the near darkness and realized her safety had become more than a mission parameter.