Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Do you really think someone would try to hurt me just to get to him?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
I glance at her again, this time softening my tone. “It’s a possibility,” I admit. “And it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
She nods, her throat working as she swallows. The conversation dies down after that, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. She turns back toward the windshield, hugging her backpack like a lifeline, and I let the silence stretch, giving her space to process.
But as I drive, I can’t help stealing glances at her. There’s a quiet strength in the way she carries herself, even when she’s unsure. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to protect her even more—not just because it’s my job, but because I need to.
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll keep her safe with my life. Whatever it takes.
I don’t want to make her more afraid than she already is, so I try to lighten the mood. “So, what do you like to eat for breakfast?” My tone is casual, but my focus remains split between the road ahead and the subtle tension in her posture.
Dean had assured me the safe house was stocked with all the essentials, but if she wants something specific, I’ll make it happen. Small comforts matter, especially when someone’s world has been upended.
“Blueberry pancakes are my favorite,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “Although, I’ll eat anything you have.”
“We can make blueberry pancakes,” I reply, already calculating how quickly we can grab what we need.
She laughs, a sound that catches me off guard. It’s soft and sultry, with an underlying sweetness that hits me somewhere deep. “No, seriously, it’s okay. I’ll eat anything. As long as it’s not moving, I’m up for it.”
I glance at her briefly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I appreciate a woman who likes to eat.”
Her laughter fades, and the car falls into a comfortable silence as I pull off the interstate, the glowing sign of a nearby grocery store coming into view. I don’t detect anything suspicious, no cars trailing us or anyone lingering where they shouldn’t, but my guard never drops.
After parking the truck, I shut off the engine and swivel slightly in my seat to face her. “When we’re in the store, you stick close to me. No wandering off.” My voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
She nods quickly. “Okay.”
I watch as she opens her door and slides out of the truck, her movements fluid but cautious. She’s trying to act nonchalant, but I can tell she’s uneasy, her head turning just slightly as she takes in her surroundings.
I step out as well, scanning the parking lot one last time before motioning for her to follow me. My hand hovers near the small of her back as we walk, not quite touching but close enough that she’ll know I’m there.
Inside the store, the bright fluorescent lights and cheery holiday music feel like a stark contrast to the unease simmering beneath the surface. I grab a cart and keep a steady pace as we navigate the aisles, my eyes darting between her and the people around us. Most are harmless—parents wrangling kids, an elderly couple debating which cereal to buy—but I don’t take chances.
Tory walks beside me, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the cart as if grounding herself. “Do you always do this?” she asks, glancing up at me with those big blue eyes.
“Do what?”
“Look at everyone like they might be a threat.”
Her observation is sharper than I expected, and I let out a low chuckle. “It’s part of the job. Being prepared for anything.”
Her lips press into a thoughtful line, and she doesn’t push further, her attention shifting to the shelves lined with pancake mix and syrup. I grab a box of her beloved pancake mix and toss it into the cart, along with a few other staples.
When we pass the bakery section, her gaze lingers on the display of muffins, and I catch the faintest flicker of longing. Without a word, I grab a pack of blueberry muffins and add them to the cart.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs, her cheeks turning pink.
“Figured you might want a snack before breakfast,” I reply casually, though the sight of her blushing makes something tighten in my chest.
As we approach the checkout, I remain hyper-aware of our surroundings, scanning the area for anything out of place. It’s a routine I’ve perfected over years in this line of work, but with Tory, it feels different. More personal.
Once we’re back in the truck and on the road again, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s quiet, her hands resting on her backpack, but there’s a softness to her expression now, a trace of gratitude or maybe even trust.