Chapter 4
FOUR
CHASE
I wasn’t expecting her to say yes. Wasn’t expecting her to look so pretty and vulnerable as she did. Seriously, every time I look at her there’s something raw that squeezes in my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before.
I smile her. “Cabin’s in walking distance.”
She nods. “Great. Again, thank you.” She’s scared. I can tell. And she’s trying like hell to hide it behind sarcasm and resting bitch face—but I see it. And it pisses me off. Not at her.
At whoever made her look over her shoulder like that.
We walk up the gravel drive to my cabin, boots crunching against loose stone.
The porch light glows warm through the trees, casting long shadows over the pines.
It’s quiet out here. No sirens. No buzzing streetlamps.
Just trees, stars, and a wraparound porch with a swing that no one’s sat in since I built the damn thing.
“You good?” I ask, voice low.
She exhales slowly. “Just thinking about all the ways this could be a murder setup.”
I snort. “Fair. But I don’t murder on Tuesdays.”
“Wow. What a gentleman.”
Her sarcasm is a shield. I don’t take it personally. I actually can appreciate it.
“Come on. I’ve got central heat and strong locks. Real five-star serial killer energy.”
She cracks a smile—just barely—but it’s enough. A sliver of real.
I lead her inside. The air smells like cedar and cinnamon, thanks to a candle I forgot I left burning. The place is clean and cozy. One main room with a leather couch, stone fireplace, open kitchen. Two bedrooms down the hall.
“This is… not what I expected,” she says, eyeing the rustic wood beams.
“What were you picturing? Torture chamber? Hidden chains?”
“Honestly? Yeah. Maybe some taxidermy. Definitely less throw pillows.”
I glance at the sofa. “Those came with the couch.”
She wanders over to the fireplace and touches the mantel. Her fingers tremble. Just a little. “You live here alone?”
“Yeah.”
She nods. “Must be nice and quiet.”
“It is.”
I don’t say it gets lonely. Because that’s not something I admit out loud. Not to anyone. Ever.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I say, steering us back to neutral. “You’ll take the guest room. It’s warmer than the back ones at HQ, and closer in case something happens.”
She stiffens. “You mean in case someone finds me.”
“I mean in case you need anything.” I hold her gaze. “You’re not alone out here. Not anymore.”
She looks away. But she doesn’t argue. Instead, she disappears down the hall, and I hear the door click shut behind her.
I lean back against the counter and exhale.
What the hell is her story?
I don’t buy the tough girl act. Not entirely. There’s something raw beneath it. Hurt. Worry. Maybe guilt. But it’s not my job to fix that. My job is to protect her. Even if every part of me—every primal, possessive, not-at-all-professional part—wants more than that.
Wants to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her through the damn storm.
Wants to know what made her eyes look like that. Hollow and bright all at once.
Wants to kiss her smart mouth just to see if it shuts her up or makes her burn.
I scrub a hand over my jaw.
Get a grip, Callahan.
She’s off-limits. I repeat it to myself while I change into joggers and toss another log on the fire. I don’t usually bother—let the house get cold at night, save power—but tonight I leave it blazing.
She’s got that edge-of-hypothermia look. And I’m not taking chances. I’m halfway through a glass of whiskey when I hear the soft shuffle of socks behind me. I turn.
Fiona stands there in a borrowed hoodie—mine, hanging off one shoulder—and a pair of leggings she probably snagged from Kayley’s emergency bin.
Her hair’s damp from a quick shower. Her cheeks flushed.
And her eyes… still guarded. But less so.
She looks around the room like she’s memorizing the exits, then pads closer.
“Can’t sleep,” she says.
I nod to the couch. “You want the remote or the whiskey?”
She lifts a brow. “Are those my only options?”
“I’ve got Oreos.”
She smirks. “Sold.”
I grab the pack and drop it on the coffee table.
She flops onto the couch, curling her legs under her like she owns the place.
I join her on the other end, careful to keep space between us.
For all our sakes. We sit in silence for a while.
The fire crackles. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots. It’s peaceful. Almost.
Until she says, quietly, “I didn’t want to come here.” I glance over. Her gaze is on the flames, not me. “I didn’t want to ask for help,” she continues. “Didn’t want anyone to know I couldn’t handle it on my own.”
“You’re not the only one who’s ever been scared, Fiona.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not scared. I’m… tired.”
That hits harder.
“Whatever’s going on,” I say, “we’ll figure it out. You’re safe now.”
She shifts, facing me fully. “You don’t even know me. Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
Her jaw clenches. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Doesn’t matter.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re seriously telling me you’d stick your neck out for someone who could be lying to you?”
I don’t blink. “Yes.”
“Why?”
I meet her stare head-on. “Because I trust my instincts. And they say you’re not the enemy.”
Her breath catches. Then she leans back, arms crossed, like she’s trying to shield herself from the weight of my belief.
“I hope you’re right,” she says. “For both our sakes.”
“Besides you’re Gavin’s sister,” I say to lighten the mood.
She laughs lightly, opening the pack of Oreos.
I don’t say anything after that. I just sit here, watching her. And hoping like hell whoever hurt her stays gone.
Because if they come back?
I’ll burn the world down before I let them touch her again.