Fear flashes across her face. “Did you see something? Did someone call?”
“No.” As soon as Hazel’s within arm’s reach, I pull her to me, feeling marginally better to have her back in my arms. “No one called. But someone’s coming up the driveway. And I’m not sure who it is. So I need you to go inside. Now.”
She stiffens. “Alec.” A quiver tugs at her voice.
“Go.” I push her resisting body through the doorway. “Lock the door behind you. And if you hear me whistle, I want you to call Enzo. Right away.”
“Alec, no.” She grabs my wrist and tries to tug me inside along with her. “Come inside with me.Please.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. Just go inside. I’m just going to find out who it is. It’s probably nothing?—”
“Then I want to stay with you. What if you need help? What if?—”
“Haze.” Urgency makes my tone rougher than intended. “Go. Inside. Now.”
Hazel stares at me for a second. Her chin wobbles. Then she says, “I’m getting your other gun. And I’m waiting right inside the door. If you need?—”
“Okay.” I give her a little shove, then yank the door closed behind her. “Lock the door,” I call after her. “Stay inside.”
Then I turn my attention back to my phone, which is now showing an empty security feed. Because by now, whoever entered my property is likely halfway up the driveway and seconds from pulling up behind my truck.
Possibly identities of the driver run through my mind in a blink.
It could be Dorothy, the mail carrier. It could be a politician doing early canvassing for their upcoming campaign. It could be someone selling something, like popcorn for Boy Scouts or a magazine subscription.
All innocuous explanations for an unexpected visitor.
Or.
It could be the fourth accomplice we missed, coming to finish the job. It could be some sick asshole who saw Hazel’s photo on the dark web and decided he wanted to take her for himself. Just because Owen, Wyatt, and Kyle claimed they had no intention of kidnapping Hazel and selling her, just because there was no evidence on any of their computers…
Shit. Have I let Hazel down again?
A soft rattling accompanies the car working its way up the driveway. I grab my Sig from its belt holster and hide it behind my back, not wanting it visible in case the visitor really does have an innocent motive and not the sinister one my gut is insisting.
My muscles tense as the car draws closer.
My pulse speeds, but I take long, slow breaths, forcing it to slow down.
If this is an enemy, I need to be ready. Focused. I can’t let myself think about how quickly a simple Saturday morning could shift to violence. I need to think like a warrior. A defender. The hero Hazel believes me to be.
As I wait, the rattling gets louder.
The faint chords of country music join in; some man singing about broken hearts and whiskey.
My hand tightens on the hand of my Sig.
Then the car appears.
I only catch a brief glimpse of the driver. It’s a man. Tall. Blonde hair. Wearing a sweater rather than a hoodie to conceal his face. But it’s not enough to identify him. Not from where I’m standing, more than twenty feet away.
The car shuts off. The driver’s side door opens.
Despite my best efforts to remain calm, my adrenaline surges.
But Hazel’s inside. Safe. She knows what to do if there’s trouble.
Unless she tries to come out to help. Unless she thinks I’m in danger and she?—
