When he finally came back to her, he brushed his hand over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go lie down. I’ll keep watch for a bit.”
“Jace,” she started to argue, but he covered her mouth with his big hand.
“Just for a bit,” he promised. “You and the baby need rest.”
She wanted to argue, but exhaustion tugged at her, heavy and unrelenting as it had been since the beginning of her pregnancy. She nodded, retreating to the couch. As she lay down, she kept her eyes on him—on the man standing by the window, his outline framed against the silver-blue snow. Even in the quiet, she could feel the world holding its breath. Something was out there. Jace felt it, and now, she could too.
Winter woke to the sound of the fire crackling low and the faint scent of coffee. For a heartbeat, everything felt almost normal again. It was quiet, calm, and the cabin was cocooned in soft light from the new snow outside. She sat up and stretched, noting that the chair that Jace usually occupied beside the couch was empty.
“Jace?” she said, quickly looking around the cabin. Her voice was still rough with sleep. She stood slowly, pushing the blanket aside as she did. The ache in her lower back reminded her that the baby was growing fast, claiming more of her strength every day.
“I’m in the kitchen,” he said. When she looked over to the kitchen, Jace was standing by the counter, coffee mug in one hand, the other resting on his hip. He was already dressed, boots on, gun holstered. His eyes weren’t on her—they were fixed on the window.
Winter’s pulse stumbled. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t want to.” She was starting to worry about Jace’s lack of sleep. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d end up doing something stupid that might end up getting them both killed.
She crossed the room to him, her hand finding the edge of the counter for balance. “What happened?”
Jace set the mug down and motioned toward the back door. “Take a look.” Her stomach dropped at the tone in his voice—low, controlled, but laced with something darker. She followed him to the door and peered through the frosted glass. At first, she didn’t see it. Just snow, untouched and glittering in the sunlight. But then, her gaze drifted toward the edge of theclearing to where the tree line began, and her breath caught when she saw the footprints.
They definitely weren’t animal footprints, and they weren’t random. They were human, and she knew that Jace was right—someone had found them. A clear trail led from the woods halfway to the porch before stopping short.
Winter pressed her hand to her chest as though trying to calm her speeding heartbeat. “Someone was here.”
“Yeah.” His voice was clipped, sounding professional again. His old FBI edge was cutting through. “Came sometime between two and four a.m., I’d guess. Tracks are fresh, maybe six hours old. They didn’t get too close, though. Either they were scoping us out, or they were testing to see if anyone would come out.”
Her mind reeled. “You saw them?”
“No. I just noticed movement out there. It could’ve been just one person, or it could’ve been more than one. Either way, they were smart enough not to light a cigarette or use a flashlight to draw attention to themselves.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Honestly, they were too damn smart for my comfort.”
Winter stared out the window, her throat tight. “You think it was them? The Dead Rabbits?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Could just be hunters who lost their way, but it feels off. They were too quiet, and there were no sled tracks; they had no gear, nothing. Just left the boot prints.”
She turned toward him. “What do we do?”
Jace’s eyes flicked to her belly, then back to her face. “We stay put. Keep the fire low, stay quiet. If it was them, they now know that someone’s here. I bet they’ll come back—maybe tonight. But I’ll be ready.”
Her heart clenched. “Ready how?”
He met her gaze evenly. “By making sure they never make it to that door.”
Winter’s breath caught. She wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t need to be the shield anymore—but the look in his eyes told her there was no point. She knew that he wasn’t about to let anyone take her or the baby. Even if he didn’t seem to want her anymore, he’d still keep her safe. It was just that kind of guy Jace was.
Still, fear wound tight in her chest. “Jace, what if they come while you’re outside? What if?—”
He stepped closer, cutting her off gently, his hand cupping her face. “Then I’ll handle it. But you stay inside. No matter what, Winter. Promise me.”
She swallowed hard. “I promise.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, and for a moment, the tension broke. “We’ll get through this,” he murmured. She wasn’t sure why hearing him call them a we made her a bit giddy or why it made her heart speed up having him so close—but it did.
Winter closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him sink in even as the cold truth pressed against the windows. Someone had been here. Someone knew that the cabin was occupied. The question was—did they know that it was Jace, and was it the Dead Rabbits? She wanted to tell herself that it wasn’t possible, but deep down, she could feel it—the storm outside hadn’t been the last one coming.
By late afternoon, the sun was sinking behind the trees, bleeding gold through the frost-covered glass. Winter watched Jace through the window as he moved outside, bundled in a dark coat and gloves. His breath clouded in the air while he worked,hammering boards over the side windows and checking the perimeter with a soldier’s precision.
Every sound echoed too loudly in the cold—wood cracking, metal clinking, the faint crunch of snow beneath his boots. He’d already walked the tree line twice, following those tracks until they disappeared into the woods. When he came back in, his jaw had been set tight enough to crack. He said nothing to her, just started laying traps—tripwire rigs, motion alerts he’d rigged from an old flashlight battery, and a makeshift line of cans strung across the back door.
