“I promise,” she said softly, meaning it.
He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead. “Good night, Amy.” The way he said her name—her real name—sent a shiver down her spine. There was reverence in it, as if he understood what it meant to her to reclaim that piece of herself.
“Good night, Nash.”
CHAPTER 15
Nash had never felt more alive than right now, with the night air filling his lungs and the weight of their mission hanging over them like the star-filled Utah sky. The convoy of trucks approached Bingham Creek Mine, their headlights cutting through the darkness. They’d spent the entire day preparing after Amy’s revelation about Porter Rockwell’s tunnels, and now the moment of truth had arrived.
Nash glanced at Amy sitting beside him in the truck, her blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her green eyes focused on the road ahead. Something about her determination made his heart do that stupid little flip it had been doing since he’d found her on that mountain trail days ago.
“You nervous?” he asked, keeping his voice low even though Porter and Colt were engaged in their own conversation in the front seat.
Amy gave him a half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A little. But mostly I just want answers.”
Nash reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I get that.”
The warmth in her eyes when she looked at him nearly caused him to miss Porter’s voice crackling over the walkie-talkie. “Hold up. There’s a truck parked near the entrance.”
Nash tensed immediately, his protective instincts flaring to life. Through the windshield, he could make out the silhouette of a pickup truck partially hidden among the scrub brush near the abandoned ventilation shaft.
“Could be trouble,” Colt muttered, his hand already moving toward the door handle.
“Everyone stay alert.” Trey’s commanding voice came through the radio. “Could be mine security, could be something else.”
They parked at a strategic distance, positioning the vehicles for a quick exit if needed.
Nash checked his gear one last time before turning to Amy. “Stay behind me,” he said. Then he immediately regretted his choice of words when her eyebrows shot up.
“I’m not some damsel who needs rescuing,” she said, but there was a touch of humor in her voice. “I’ve been in witness protection for eight years, remember? I can handle myself.”
Nash had to smile. “Fair enough. Just … stay close.”
“That I can do,” she said softly, and the way she looked at him made his mouth go dry.
They exited the vehicle silently, joining the others, who had gathered near Porter’s truck. Nash marveled at how seamlessly the Cross and Stone families worked together—each person falling naturally into their role without needing direction. Trey, with his military precision, had already dispatched Trent and Marshall to check the perimeter while Brooks went to investigate the mysterious truck.
“Could be kids looking for a place to party,” Porter suggested, though his stance suggested he didn’t believe it for a second. Nash knew his oldest brother well enough to recognize whenhe was trying to ease tension. Porter had always been that way—shouldering responsibility, projecting calm even when he was anything but calm inside. It was what had made him the natural choice as Cheyenne’s guardian after their father died.
“At an abandoned mine?” Colt scoffed. “Not likely.”
“Well,” Chance said, his hand resting casually on his service weapon, “whoever it is, they picked the wrong night to go spelunking.” The street-smart brother who understood that small towns kept many secrets.
Brooks returned minutes later, his expression grim. His eyes narrowed slightly, a tell-tale sign of trouble. “The plates belong to a George Martinez. Registered to an address in Tooele.”
“Martinez?” Amy repeated, the color draining from her face. “As in?—”
“Could be a relative,” Brooks acknowledged.
Trent and Marshall reappeared from their perimeter check, moving with the quiet efficiency that spoke of their military backgrounds. Marshall looked particularly on edge, his normally laid-back demeanor replaced by the vigilance Nash had seen in him during previous confrontations.
“There’s at least two people inside the tunnel,” Marshall reported. “We heard voices.”
“Any sign of weapons?” Trey asked.
“Couldn’t tell,” Trent replied, his expression guarded.
Nash caught Amy’s eye. “Dr. Martinez and a relative?”
