Clint circles the model home once, checking windows, and frowning when he finds all the doors locked. He heads toward the back, where the main bedroom windows are.
Where Maya was sleeping in my arms just hours ago.
I ghost after him, staying in his blind spot. My hand goes to the Glock at my waistband, but I don’t draw it. Not yet. I need him to commit to something actionable first, and to do it on camera.
He stops at the back door, sets down the gas can, and there’s enough light that I can see the crowbar in his hand.
I text Owen.Call 911. Attempted B&E in progress. Possibly armed.
Then I move to the front of the house, climb the porch steps, and sit down.
And wait.
This motherfucker has no idea he’s walking into a trap. Once he takes a step inside, it’s over. The cameras are recording everything. The police are on their way. And when Clint Lansing comes through that house looking for Maya, he’ll find me instead.
I hear the sound of splintering wood from the back. The door giving way.
My phone lights up with Maya’s text:I hear him. I think he’s inside!
Hide.
When I hear his footsteps in the house, I crouch and run to the back door and come in quietly behind him. Clint walks through the kitchen and toward the living room, raising his voice as he calls out to Maya. “I know you’re here, princess. It’s time to talk about what you took from me. I know your boyfriend isn’t here.”
Princess. The condescension in that word makes my jaw clench.
“Hello, Clint,” I say quietly, my hand on my gun. “We need to talk about your fascination with my client.”
Clint freezes and spins around so fast he nearly falls over. Good.
“Who are you? How do you know who I am?” He’s watching me closely, trying to assess my threat level.
“Reed Ambrose. Ghost Security.” I flick my jacket back enough that he can see the weapon at my hip. “You’re trespassing on an active construction site and have broken into private property. With a crowbar and accelerant. That’s breaking and entering with intent to commit arson. It’s over for you.”
“You can’t prove—”
“Cameras, Clint.” I gesture toward the camera hidden in the corner of the porch, which he clearly missed me installing. “They’ve been recording since you arrived. Before you arrived, actually. We have every visit you’ve made since Tuesday. Including you breaking down the back door.”
His grip tightens on the crowbar. Part of me aches for him to make a move, because even with a crowbar, he won’t win. “No camera out there,” he says, his face red with anger.
“Yes, there is. And thank you for confirming that you know about the cameras and where they are. Maya Raymond is under my protection,” I continue calmly, controlling the rage stirringinside me. “This ends tonight. You can wait here for the police, or you can run and make this worse. Your choice.”
Clint’s face pales as the wail of sirens reaches us, becoming clearer as the police get closer. The crowbar twitches in his hand.
“Choose carefully,” I add, hand resting casually on my weapon as I flick the safety off. “Because I’m hoping you give me a reason.”
The sirens are louder now. Clint drops the crowbar, and it thuds on the carpeted floor between us.
“Smart choice.”
I don’t move a step or take my eyes off Clint. I’m not letting this motherfucker out of my sight until he’s in handcuffs in the back of a cop’s cruiser.
Because protecting Maya isn’t just my job anymore.
She’s mine to protect for the rest of our lives.
CHAPTER 8
MAYA
