The truth could make her run. But more lies will destroy any chance of trust between us. And I'm starting to realize that I want her trust. And not just for the mission.
"You should try to rest," I tell her, breaking the silence. "It's going to be a long night."
"I don't think I could sleep if I tried," she says, but she leans her head against the window, her body betraying her exhaustion.
Within twenty minutes, despite her protest, her breathing has deepened and slowed. She's asleep, her face finally relaxed, the worry lines smoothed away.
I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then immediately question why I did it. This is a mission. She is an assignment. Nothing more.
Yet as I drive through the deepening twilight, I can't shake the feeling that I've crossed some invisible line. That Beth Carter is becoming more than just a witness I've been ordered to protect.
Chapter 6 - Beth
I wake to unfamiliar shadows dancing across an unfamiliar ceiling. For one blessed moment, I exist in the hazy space between sleep and full consciousness, where nothing is wrong and I am safe.
Then reality crashes in.
Men with guns. Bullets flying. Running across rooftops. Sam.
I bolt upright, heart pounding, taking in my surroundings. I'm on a bed, a large one with a handmade quilt, in a rustic bedroom I've never seen before. A cabin, from the look of the exposed wooden beams and log walls. Through the window, I can see nothing but trees and darkness.
How did I get here? The last thing I remember is watching the scenery blur past the Jeep's window, fighting to stay awake...
I must have fallen asleep. And Sam must have carried me inside.
The thought of being unconscious and vulnerable while a man I barely know carried me sends a chill through me, yet it's quickly followed by a conflicting warmth. He could have done anything to me while I slept. Instead, he simply put me in a bed.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, noticing my backpack placed neatly on a chair nearby. My shoes are still on my feet, though they feel looser. He must have untied them for comfort without removing them. A considerate gesture from a man who remains a complete mystery.
The bedside clock reads 2:17 AM. I've been asleep for hours.
Moving quietly, I check the small attached bathroom, then return to explore the bedroom. It's simple but comfortable—the bed, a dresser, a chair, and a small desk. No personal items.No photographs or decorations that might reveal who owns this place.
I crack open the bedroom door, peering into the darkness beyond. A short hallway leads to what appears to be the main living area of the cabin. A soft glow emanates from there. Firelight, maybe, or a lamp turned low.
And there's a smell—coffee. Fresh coffee.
Sam is awake.
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. In a remote cabin with a man who appeared in my life two days ago. A man who clearly lied about his reasons for being at the bookstore. A man who has skills that no ordinary contractor would possess.
Yet this same man risked his life to get me away from the people trying to kill me. He put himself between me and bullets. He had every opportunity to harm me while I slept but didn't.
Do I trust him? No. Not fully. But right now, he's the only ally I have.
I step into the hallway, and as I move toward the light, I can make out more of the cabin. Rustic but well-maintained, with quality furnishings that suggest it's more than just a hunting shack.
The hallway opens into a large open-plan space—living room with a stone fireplace, kitchen area, and a dining table. Sam sits at the table, his back to the wall, facing both the front door and the hallway where I stand. Of course he'd position himself that way. Always vigilant.
He looks up immediately, green eyes alert despite the late hour. He's changed clothes. He’s now wearing a black t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong arms. A steamingmug sits before him, along with what appears to be a map spread across the table.
"You're awake," he says softly.
I step further into the room, drawn by the warmth of the small fire burning in the fireplace. "Where are we?"
"Cabin in the mountains, about sixty miles north of Pine Haven. We're safe here."
"Your cabin?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
