Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Chapter 9
Boone
I step outside onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool mountain air, feeling it fill my lungs. The silence around me is heavy, the only sound being the rustling of the trees. I pull my phone from my jacket pocket, swiping the screen and calling Dean. As I wait for him to pick up, I glance back at the cabin, noticing how peaceful it looks in the early afternoon light. I should be focused on keeping her safe, but there's something about the quiet here that makes my mind drift.
“Porter,” Dean’s voice crackles through the phone, cutting through my thoughts.
“Hey, it’s me. I need you to run a background check on someone.” My tone is steady, but there's a slight edge to it. Something doesn’t sit right with me about today’s encounter with Hank.
“Who’s the target?” Dean asks, and I can almost hear him tapping away on his computer, already pulling up the information.
“Hank Arnold. Local handyman in Nashville. I ran into him earlier today at the store. He’s a local at Aubree’s shop. Just something about him didn’t sit right.”
Dean’s voice shifts, the usual professionalism giving way to curiosity. “All right, I’ll check him out. Give me a minute.”
I hang up and stare out at the trees, thinking back to the tension I felt when Hank approached us in the store. There was something in the way he spoke, like he was too comfortable with Aubree, too familiar. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I don’t trust people easily. Especially not with her.
I stay outside for a while, giving Dean the time to pull up the report. The wind rustles through the pine trees, carrying the scent of the forest and something faintly sharp, like fresh mountain air. My mind drifts back to Aubree. It’s hard to not think about her when she’s always just a few steps away. She’s a lot more than I expected—smarter, sharper, and definitely tougher. But there’s this vulnerability about her, something raw that she doesn’t let many people see. I know, because I’ve caught glimpses of it.
The phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing Dean’s name pop up.
“All right, here’s what I’ve got,” Dean says. “Hank Arnold—he’s clean on the surface. No criminal record. Works in Nashville, been doing handyman stuff for years. But I dug a little deeper on your other guy.”
I frown, wondering who Dean means. “What other guy?”
“Stuart, the kid who works at her pizza shop. He’s got a couple of priors—petty theft, shoplifting, nothing major, but enough to be flagged. Just thought you should know.”
My frown deepens. Stuart never struck me as the type, but it doesn’t surprise me. People aren’t always who they appear to be. “Thanks, Dean. Keep me posted on anything else with Hank.”
“Will do.”
I hang up and put my phone back in my pocket, my gaze flicking back toward the cabin. I’m not sure what to make of Stuart’s past. It’s not a huge deal, but it’s something to keep in mind. Dean will have to keep an eye on him while we’re here. As for Hank, I still don’t like the guy. There’s something off about him. But for now, I’ve got to focus on what’s in front of me.
I head back inside, pushing open the door and stepping into the warm, cozy cabin. The quiet is welcoming, the familiar smell of pine and wood filling the air. My eyes immediately find her.
Aubree’s standing at the counter, an old radio propped up on the edge. The music is blaring, and her hips sway in time with the beat, a carefree rhythm that makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t expect. She’s smiling as she hums along, her voice soft and off-key, but it’s... charming. She’s laughing at something, probably her own ridiculousness, and I can’t help but watch.
I lean against the doorframe, just taking her in. She’s dancing like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like the weight of the threats and the unknowns doesn’t matter. I catch a glimpse of her eyes, sparkling as she spins around, and for a brief second, it’s like the whole world stops moving. I shouldn’t be standing here, shouldn’t be letting myself feel this way, but there’s something magnetic about her. She’s magnetic.
I think back to earlier, when I casually called myself her “boyfriend.” The word slipped out before I could stop it, and I couldn’t help the strange satisfaction I felt when I said it. And even now, watching her dance, I realize there’s something else behind it. Maybe it was the way she looked at me, like I was something more than just a hired gun. Maybe it was the way she made me feel like I was actually doing something—like I wasn’t just standing on the sidelines, watching life happen.