Nash found the binder, adding it to the growing pile. Colt kept watch at the door, occasionally flexing his hand, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips.
Within minutes, they had packed all of Amy’s research materials, along with some personal items—a framed photo of her mother, a small potted plant, and a coffee mug with “World’s Okayest Professor” printed on it.
Nash noticed Amy hesitate at the bookshelf, her hand hovering over a row of thick historical volumes. “We can come back for the books,” he said gently. “Let’s just take what’s irreplaceable right now.”
She nodded. Nash saw a flicker of sadness cross her face, quickly replaced by determination. “That’s everything essential,” she said, reaching for the box.
Nash beat her to it, lifting the heavy container easily. “I’ve got it.”
The three of them made their way back down the empty corridors, tension easing slightly once they were outside in the fresh air. Nash stowed the box in the bed of his truck, securing it with bungee cords.
“You think Martinez will come after us?” Colt asked, scanning the parking lot as they climbed into the cab.
“Not today,” Nash replied, starting the engine. “He’s too busy trying to stop the bleeding and figure out how to explain a broken nose to his wife.”
Amy was quiet as they drove away from campus, her expression thoughtful.
Nash reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She looked at him, and to his surprise, a smile spread across her face. “I was just thinking … your brother punched my boss in the face.”
Nash couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to the Cross family. We’re a bit hands-on when it comes to problem-solving.”
From the back seat, Colt snorted. “That was nothing. You should see what Porter does when he’s really angry.”
Amy laughed, the sound bright and unexpected in the tense aftermath of their confrontation. “Can’t wait.”
The words warmed Nash’s chest in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He glanced at her, at her small smile and determined eyes, and thought maybe—just maybe—they were going to pull this off. Find the gold, thwart the Ferrantes, and build something real together.
CHAPTER 12
Amy hadn’t seen a house this lavish since a museum tour of the Vanderbilt mansion her mother had dragged her to as a teenager. The Park City rental property sprawled across a hillside, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic mountain views that stole her breath. Gleaming wood and stone surfaces spoke of wealth without ostentation, while the contemporary furnishings managed to make the enormous space feel almost cozy.
Almost.
As Nash helped her from the truck, she whispered, “Are you sure we’re at the right place?”
He grinned. “The Stones don’t exactly do things halfway.”
Colt grabbed Amy’s box of research from the truck bed while Nash shouldered their hastily packed overnight bags. The three of them made their way to the front entrance, where the massive double doors swung open before they could knock.
“Welcome to the chaos,” said a tall man with an easy smile and watchful eyes. “I’m Trey Stone.”
Amy recognized him immediately from the newspaper photos she’d studied during her initial research. Everything about him screamed military—the way he carried himself, thealert eyes that missed nothing, the confident set of his shoulders. But there was warmth in his gaze too, an accessibility that put her at ease.
“Hello, Mr. Stone,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m?—”
“Sadie Blair,” he finished for her, his handshake firm but not overbearing. “Or perhaps not. We’ll get to that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Come in. Everyone’s waiting.”
The foyer opened into a great room that seemed to contain half the population of Wyoming and South Carolina. Children darted between adults, their excited voices rising above the steady hum of conversation. Through the back windows, Amy could see a sprawling patio area with a pool where several more children splashed under the watchful eye of adults.
Nash’s hand found the small of her back, a gentle pressure that anchored her amid the overwhelming scene. “Let me introduce you to everyone,” he murmured.
“Good luck with that,” Trey said with a laugh. “There are about thirty of us here at last count.”
Nash shot him a look. “We’ll start with the essentials, then.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, Amy found herself being introduced to what felt like an endless parade of Stones. First was Trey’s wife, Ava. Then Brooks, the FBI agent, who studied Amy with analytical intensity, though his handshake was kind. He had the look of a man who could dismantle your life story with a single glance but would only use that power to protect his family. His wife’s name was Serenity.
