Amy looked up at him, and Nash could see the question that had been lurking beneath the surface all day. “Are the conquistador gold and the Rockwell gold even connected?”
He shrugged, watching the steam rise between them. “I don’t know. We’ll find out, though.” He squeezed her hands. “Together.”
They stayed in the hot tub a while longer, discussing theories and possibilities, until the night air grew too cool and their fingertips were thoroughly pruned.
By mutual agreement, they headed inside, both in need of a shower to wash away the chlorine.
Nash led Amy to her assigned room, located in a different wing from the children’s rooms, though the sounds of bedtimestories and goodnight kisses still echoed through the sprawling house. They parted with a promise to reconnect after cleaning up.
The hot shower was exactly what Nash needed, washing away not just the pool water but the tension of the day. As he toweled off and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he found himself thinking about what Porter had said by the pool—about timing and what we need versus what we want.
Was Amy what he needed? The question felt both premature and long overdue, as if he’d been waiting eight years to ask it but he’d only known her for days.
Nash remembered his brother Blaze talking about Eden, how he’d fallen for her almost instantly despite the improbability of it all. “When you know, you just … know,” Blaze had said.
Impulsively, Nash made his way down the hall to Amy’s room and knocked softly.
“Yes?” came her voice from inside.
“Can I come in?” he asked, suddenly feeling like a teenager rather than a grown man with a law degree and a gold hunt to his name.
“Yes.”
Nash opened the door to find Amy sitting cross-legged on the bed, her still-damp hair pulled back in a loose braid. She was surrounded by papers from the box they’d retrieved from her campus office, clearly deep in research mode.
The sight of her—focused, determined, brilliant—made something in Nash’s chest expand. This was the same girl he’d studied with in high school, who’d challenged him in debate class, who’d made calculus bearable with her quick mind and quicker smile. But she was so much more now—tempered by adversity, shaped by secrets, stronger than she knew.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb her careful arrangement of notes. Reaching out, he took her hand inhis, marveling again at how right it felt. “Is it strange that I just want to be around you?” he asked quietly, vulnerability lacing his words.
A smile spread across her face, starting in her eyes and working its way to her lips, transforming her from merely beautiful to breathtaking. “I want to be around you, too.”
Nash leaned forward, drawn like gravity to the earth, and their lips met in a kiss that felt like coming home. Soft, sure, certain—the kind of kiss that held promises neither had yet voiced but both already felt.
The moment stretched, perfect and unbroken, until?—
A shout from somewhere in the house shattered the silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking and a child’s startled cry.
They broke apart, instantly alert.
“What was that?” Amy whispered, her eyes wide.
Nash was already on his feet, every protective instinct flaring to life. “I don’t know, but?—”
More shouting erupted, this time with clear urgency. “Nash! Amy! Get down here NOW!”
CHAPTER 14
Amy’s heart hammered against her ribs as she and Nash raced down the hallway toward the source of the commotion—the shattering glass, Brooks’s urgent shout, the children’s startled cries.
Nash’s hand gripped hers tightly. “Stay behind me,” he instructed as they reached the staircase, his body instinctively moving to shield her.
But Amy wasn’t about to cower behind anyone—not after eight years of fighting her own battles. She matched his pace as they descended, her mind racing through possibilities.
Had the Ferrantes found them already? Was Dr. Martinez involved? Or was it something more mundane—a child’s mishap, perhaps?
As they reached the great room, she immediately saw that one of the patio doors was shattered, glass littering the polished hardwood floor.
Brooks stood near the broken door, gun drawn and shoulders tense, while Marshall and Trey swept the perimeter with the synchronized precision that spoke of years of military training. Porter was already herding children toward the interior rooms, his face a mask of protective determination.
