“Handle what, exactly?”
“Someone needs to check your locks. Your windows. The property.”
“The property? You’re insane?—”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Iamcrazy. And you’ll deal with this, and you’ll deal withme.Period.”
I stared at him, speechless. The nerve. The audacity. The sheerdominanceof the man.
And still, despite everything—despite my better judgment, my training, my common sense—I felt myselfyield.
Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the day. The dead bodies. The media. The fact that I hadn’t slept. But I didn’t argue. Because Phoenix Steele wasn’t asking. He wasdeciding.
And the most unprofessional part of all?
Somewhere in the chaos, I didn’t feel threatened.
I felt safe.
The man had decided I was his responsibility, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could say to change that.
And I found myself wondering… did he act like this witheverywoman?
Or was it just me?
19
ROSE
Nerves fluttered in my stomach as we topped the driveway. The rain had turned into a full-on deluge, making the steep, winding road up the mountain feel scary instead of the way home. My cabin emerged from the darkness—silent, shadowed, and unsettling.
It was the first time I didn’t smile at the sight of it.
This house was my baby. The one I’d gutted and rebuilt, piece by piece. My safe place. My sanctuary. And now… it felt haunted. Tainted by the image of a faceless man slipping inside, crossing boundaries I’d once believed were unbreakable.
He’d taken the one thing I couldn’t rebuild: my safety. My privacy. My peace. And maybe—just maybe—he’d taken Andrew’s life too.
A wave of nausea crested in my chest. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut as the image of Andrew’s body flashed across my mind—blood, brokenness, and the eerie quiet of death. I shifted in my seat, willing it away.
But I couldn’t.
Phoenix pulled under the carport andkilled the engine. Before I could gather my purse or catch my breath, he was already out of the truck, striding into the rain with purpose.
I watched his silhouette—broad, solid, moving with the kind of focus that came from years of combat and control—cut through the downpour like it wasn’t even there.
He didn’t head to the porch.
He went around the house.
I grabbed my raincoat from the back, pulled it on, and stumbled out into the storm.
“Hey,” I called, wobbling on my heels as I jogged to catch up. “Where’re you going?”
“Perimeter check.”
Two words, gruff and direct.
And something about them—abouthim—made my heart slam once in my chest, then settle into something slower. Steadier.
