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)
She exhales, looking momentarily relieved. “This is… remote. Really remote.”
“That’s the point,” I say with a shrug, grabbing her duffel from the back. “Nobody should find us here.”
She nods, following me up the porch steps. The old boards creak beneath our weight, and I can tell she’s still uneasy. So am I, if I’m honest, but I try to project calm confidence for her sake. Once we step inside, I lock the door behind us, sliding the deadbolt into place. Then I draw the curtains, dimming the midday light.
“It’s not much, but it’s safe,” I tell her.
She sets her foam takeout box on the small table, eyes scanning the cabin. Her gaze lands on me. “So… what now?”
I run a hand over my short hair, considering. “Now we wait. Dean and the team at Maddox will let us know if they get a lead on who’s behind the threats. In the meantime, we lay low, keep off the radar. No phone calls, no leaving the property unless absolutely necessary.”
She sighs, sinking into one of the chairs. “So basically, I’m a prisoner here.”
The hurt in her voice stings more than I expect. “No, you’re not a prisoner,” I say, pushing back the flicker of guilt. “But you are a target. Until we handle that, we can’t afford to let our guard down.”
She looks up at me, and for a second, the tension eases. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For all of this. I know you’re…giving up a lot to keep me safe.”
“I’m just doing my job,” I answer, but the words feel inadequate. Because the truth is, it’s more than a job now. The way my heart clenches when she’s scared, the way I can’t stop thinking about that kiss—it’s not just business. And that terrifies me almost as much as the threats themselves.
She nods, then stands, crossing over to the dusty couch. With a thoughtful glance at me, she says, “Guess I’ll unpack.”
“Good idea,” I reply, though my mind is already racing with next steps—like how to secure the perimeter so nobody can sneak up on us again.
As she unzips her duffel and starts rummaging for clean clothes, I take a moment to check my phone. Dean’s text simply reads: “Got a partial lead on Mitch. Will call soon.” My gut tightens. A partial lead is better than nothing. Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.
I slip the phone into my pocket, letting out a slow breath. One step at a time. First, secure this place, make sure nobody can ambush us. Then wait for Dean’s call, see if Mitch or someone else stands out as a prime suspect. If so, we move. We get the proof we need, or we confront them directly, whichever method is safer.
And as for Aubree’s step-father… well, I’ll keep that suspicion to myself until I have more to go on. I’m not going to break her heart with half-baked theories.
Before I fully set my attention on my next task, I allow myself one quick moment to appreciate the sight of her. She glances back at me, meeting my eyes, and a flicker of a smile crosses her lips. Despite everything, she’s still got that spark. And I realize that spark is what’s going to keep us both going—until we’ve put a stop to whoever’s behind these threats, once and for all.
Chapter 20
Aubree
I wake up to the soft golden light creeping through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust motes floating around the bedroom. It’s been about three days since Boone and I arrived at this off-the-grid cabin, and somehow, I’ve managed to settle into a pattern of existence that feels both strangely peaceful and unbearably suffocating at the same time.
The first morning, I barely slept, terrified of every creak and rustle in the woods. I spent half the night replaying the threats in my mind, thinking of how everything in my life had been turned upside down. But Boone insisted that a routine would help, that structure can stave off the anxiety. In some ways, he’s right. Every day has been almost identical. It’s a little after six in the morning, and I already know how most of the day will unfold.
I push back the covers, slide out of bed, and stretch. The small cabin bedroom is modest—just a narrow closet, a dresser, and a bed. I can hear Boone in the living room; he’s a morning person, or at least, he’s up at dawn out of habit. I shuffle into the adjoining bathroom, do a quick wash, tie my hair back in a loose ponytail, and change into some leggings and a hoodie. The air in the cabin has a permanent chill to it this early, and the old wooden floors don’t help.
When I emerge into the living area, Boone is perched by the window, sipping a mug of coffee. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. The rays of sunlight catch the angles of his face, highlighting that strong jaw and the subtle thickness of his beard. Even though he’s only been here a few days, the cabin life already looks good on him. Then again, I suspect Boone could adapt to almost any environment. There’s a contained energy in him that reminds me of a coiled spring.