And Travis—turning. Phone in one hand, pistol in the other.
Everything slows.
“Drop it,” I bark, gun already up, sights eating the space between us. “Now.”
He blinks. The pistol wobbles. For a half breath, I see the calculation in his face—the one where he decides if the story in his head ends with me on the floor and her back in the car. Then he smiles. Smug. Mean.
“Bunny,” he croons without looking at her, “tell your boyfriend to relax.”
Hale moves when the barrel twitches—a blur and a new geometry—heel of his hand snapping Travis’s wrist out and away while my foot takes his knee lateral. The gun skitters under the bed; Hale’s elbow kisses Travis’s jaw and the room pops with bright-white silence.
Travis hits the mattress and bounces, mouth shaping a question he won’t get to ask. I’m on him in a breath, knee planting his shoulder, forearm pinning his throat hard enough to be instructional, not quite enough to be medical.
“Try it again,” I say, voice low. “I dare you.”
“Clear,” Hale says, already sweeping the bathroom, dragging the spread to toss over whatever weapon he can’t see. He kicks the pistol out from under the bed and pockets it. “Window’s blocked. No one else.”
“Outside?” I ask into the comm.
“Sedan is sleeping,” Micah says. “Ice boy is making a TikTok of his shoes. Deputies have both.”
“Copy.”
“Get her,” Hale adds, softer, and the world narrows to the only thing that matters.
I’m at Greta’s side in two steps, gun down, hands up like I’m approaching a skittish thing that knows me and still might bolt. “Sunshine,” I say, stupid and wrong and perfect. “I’m here.”
Her eyes fill so fast it’s like watching a spring break through rock. “Nate.”
Her voice hits me somewhere in the ribs and vows to live. I knife the zip tie at her wrists, careful not to nick her skin. The plastic snaps, and her hands fly to my shoulders and then I’m holding her the way I’ve been holding myself together for the last twenty-four hours—too tight, too long, like any space between us is a hazard.
“You okay?” I ask into her hair, into the place that smells like home and grit and cinnamon.
She nods against me, then nods again when it’s not enough. “I am now.”
Behind me, Travis coughs, rolling to his shoulder, recovering his noise. “This is kidnapping,” he spits, trying to get his chest under him. “She’s mine. She came with me. Tell them, Bunny. Tell them you’re?—”
Hale kneels and puts two plastic cuffs on him with all the tenderness of a mechanic changing a tire. “You talk again,” he says conversationally, “and I’ll show you how to shut up without a keyboard.”
Tom appears in the doorway, hat shadowing his eyes, deputy at his shoulder with the bored, delighted look of a man who loves an easy collar. “You boys leave me any paperwork, or is it all Christmas miracles from here?”
“Gun,” Hale says, handing the bagged piece to the deputy. “Assault, kidnapping, unlawful restraint, menacing, interstate flight contemplated?—”
“Don’t forget impersonating a human,” I add, and Travis snarls like he thinks there’s a version of this where he still wins.
Tom’s eyes flick to Greta, then to me. His tone softens without going soft. “You need a medic?”
“She’s banged up,” I say, feeling the heat of her cheek against my throat. “Wrist burns. Bruise.”
“I’m fine,” Greta says into my collarbone, which is a lie and doesn’t matter. She lifts her head, sets her jaw, and looks Tomdead in the eye. “I’ll give you a statement. After I get out of this room.”
“We’ll do it at my office,” Tom says, already signaling a deputy to clear the corridor. He nods to the men outside. “Bring in the ambulance, no lights.”
Hale hauls Travis upright like he’s a duffel full of bad choices and hands him to a deputy. “You’re done,” he tells him, simple and final.
Travis bares his teeth at me over his shoulder. “She’ll run again,” he says. “She always runs. You think you can keep her? Men like you break. Men like me?—”
I move faster than the thought that precedes it. My palm hits his chest and the door frame at the same time. His breath leaves in a grunt and Tom’s hand lands on my arm with a weight that saysenough.
