“Megan?” Laura’s relief is palpable. “Oh God, honey, are you okay?”
I snatch the phone from his hand. “Laura? What the hell is this? You sent someone to kidnap me?”
“I sent him to save your life,” she says. “The story’s too hot. Sources disappearing. I couldn’t risk it. Aaron’s the best. Trust him. Stay with him until we know it’s safe.”
“I have a story to finish!”
“And you will. I promise. Just stay alive, okay? For me.”
I glance at Aaron. He’s waiting, arms crossed, strong jaw, scarred hands resting on his belt, that Stetson shadowing eyes that see too much.
I hand the phone back. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”
He pockets it. “Get in the truck.”
I climb in, slamming the door harder than necessary.
He rounds the hood, slides behind the wheel. The cab feels smaller with him in it, his broad shoulders filling the space. His scarred hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, and I can’t stop noticing the way his jaw flexes when he shifts gears, the faintscar that begs for a story, the voice that wraps around my name like velvet.
We pull onto a hidden back road, headlights off, driving by moonlight.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, voice steadier now.
“My cabin at the Lone Star Security ranch compound. It’s safe and secure. No one will find you there.”
I cross my arms. “And if I say no?”
“You already said yes.”
I glare at his profile. “You’re infuriating.”
He glances over, eyes meeting mine in the dim dash light. “You’re trouble.”
His look lingers—too long, too intense. Heat creeps up my neck, and I look away first.
The drive is tense, silent at first. But the chemistry is there, crackling in the air between us, in the way his low voice fills the cab, in the scarred hands that steer with quiet confidence.
This man just kidnapped me.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
Chapter three
Aaron
The cabin door closes behind us with a solid, final click that echoes louder than it should in the quiet night.
Megan stands dead center in the living room, arms crossed tight over her chest, green eyes blazing like twin forest fires. Her dark curls are wild from the struggle at Lookout Point, cheeks flushed with anger and leftover adrenaline, lips parted like she’s still deciding which insult to unleash first. She’s beautiful when she’s furious, dangerously so, and I hate that I notice. Hate that my pulse kicks up a notch just from looking at her.
I lean back against the door, arms folded, blocking the only exit. Not that she could run far. The ranch compound is a fortress: gated, monitored, miles of open land between here and anywhere else. She’s safe. She’s also trapped, and she knows it.
“Give me my phone,” she says, voice low and sharp, slicing through the silence like a blade. “And my laptop. Now.”
“No.”
She takes one step forward, chin lifted, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just—”
“I can, and I did.” I keep my tone even, calm. Professional. The way I’ve trained myself to sound when everything inside is screaming. “Your phone’s on airplane mode in the truck. Laptop’s locked in the safe. No calls. No emails. No pings. Not until we know the threat’s contained and Gray gives the green light.”
