Chapter 1 #2
“Because I’ve been tracking the men who ordered it for eight months.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “Your father wasn’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. They made it look like a tragic crash. They didn’t expect anyone to survive.”
The words land like stones in my chest. I’ve spent seven months believing it was a random accident. Bad weather. Bad luck. The idea that someone did it on purpose makes my stomach turn.
“And you think they’re still after me.”
“I know they are.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“Your father told us he made a second copy.
Michaelson knows that too. He believes your father left it with you somehow, whether you know where it is or not.
As long as you're alive, you're the only person who might lead him to it. Either way, you’re a loose end. Loose ends get cleaned up.”
I wrap my arms around myself. The heater is on, but I still feel cold. “Why you? Why not local police or someone else?”
“Because this isn’t a local problem.” His voice drops even lower. “And because I don’t trust anyone else to keep you alive.”
The possessiveness in those words should scare me. It does. But underneath the fear is something warmer and more dangerous. Something that makes my pulse skip.
I turn my head and study him more carefully now that the initial shock is wearing off.
The short blond hair. The hard line of his jaw.
The way his throat moves when he swallows.
There’s a faint scar near his left eyebrow I didn’t notice before.
He looks like a man who’s survived things most people only see in movies.
“How old are you?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He doesn’t look away from the road. “Forty-seven.”
Twenty-seven years older than me. The number should make me pull back. Instead, it settles somewhere low in my stomach and stays there.
“You’re quiet,” he says after another stretch of silence.
“I’m processing.”
“Process faster. We’ve got a long drive.”
I almost smile at the bluntness. Almost. “Has anyone ever told you that your people skills need work?”
“Repeatedly.” The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile of his own. It disappears so fast I might have imagined it. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re stuck with me.”
Stuck with him. The words hang between us. I shift in the seat, very aware of how close his hand is to my thigh every time he rests it on the center console. I could move away. I don’t.
The highway climbs. Trees get thicker. The lights of the last town fade behind us. My phone has no signal. The isolation should freak me out more than it does. Instead, the further we get from the city, the easier it is to breathe.
“You really think this cabin is safe?”
“I know it is.” He glances at me again. This time his eyes linger a second longer. “I’ve used it before. No one finds it unless I bring them there.”
“And you’re bringing me.”
“Yeah.” His voice drops. “I am.”
Something in the way he says it makes my skin warm.
I look away before he can see whatever is written on my face.
The attraction is ridiculous. He’s a federal agent who just uprooted my entire life.
He’s older. He’s intense. He’s currently driving me into the middle of nowhere with zero explanation beyond “trust me.”
There is absolutely no reason I should find any of that attractive.
Apparently, my body didn’t get the memo.
I press my thighs together again and force my attention to the dark trees blurring past the window. The road narrows. Gravel replaces pavement. The SUV handles the change without complaint. After what feels like forever, he turns onto a long dirt driveway that winds up through the trees.
The cabin appears out of the darkness like something from a postcard.
Two stories. Wraparound porch. Warm light glowing from the windows even though no one should be here.
It’s bigger than I expected. Remote doesn’t even begin to cover it.
We’re surrounded by nothing but forest and the distant sound of water.
He parks and kills the engine. The sudden silence is heavy.
“Stay in the truck until I clear the place.”
I open my mouth to argue. He shoots me a look that shuts me up without a word. He gets out, rounds the front of the vehicle, and disappears onto the porch. I watch him move—efficient, silent, completely in control. A minute later the front door opens and he steps back into view. He nods once.
I climb out. The mountain air is cooler than the city. It smells like pine and damp earth. He takes my bag from the back seat before I can reach for it and leads me up the steps.
Inside, the cabin is warm and surprisingly lived-in. Leather couches. A big stone fireplace. A kitchen that opens to the main room. Windows that look out into pure black. It feels solid. Safe. Like a place that could keep the rest of the world out if it needed to.
He sets my bag down near the stairs and turns to face me fully for the first time since the bakery. The full force of his attention is a lot. Those blue-gray eyes move over my face like he’s cataloging every detail.
“You can take the master bedroom upstairs. Bathroom’s attached. Sheets are clean. There’s food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
I nod because my voice doesn’t seem to be working. The adrenaline is starting to crash. My hands are still trembling. I curl them into fists at my sides.
He takes a step closer. Not touching. Just close enough that I have to look up.
“You’re safe here, Willow.” His voice is quieter now, more serious. “No one gets to you while I’m breathing. You understand me?”
I should say yes. Or thank you. Or ask the hundred other questions still spinning through my head. Instead I just stare up at him, caught in the intensity of his gaze, and feel something shift deep in my chest.
This is moving way too fast. I know that. Any sane person would probably be looking for the nearest exit.
So why does part of me already feel safer than I have in seven months?
I swallow hard and finally find my voice.
“Okay.”
He watches me for another long second, like he’s waiting for something more. Then he nods once, short and final, and turns toward the kitchen.
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow we talk about the rest.”
I pick up my bag and head for the stairs before I can do something stupid like ask him to stay close. The master bedroom is at the end of the hall. Big bed. Soft lighting. Windows that look out over the dark trees. I set the bag down and sit on the edge of the mattress, staring at my hands.
My real name is still echoing in my ears, low and certain the way he said it.
Willow.
I press my palm against my thigh and breathe.
Seven months of running.
And somehow I just ran straight into the arms of a total stranger who should terrify me more than anything I’ve been running from.
I should be terrified.
Instead, for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone.