He runs a hand through his hair, and I catch myself watching the movement. “This is a small town. People talk. If I just showed up at your cottage, everyone would have opinions about it.”
“And this is better?”
“At least this way you can bill the medical center for the session.” A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth.
Despite myself, I almost laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been called worse.” He stands, and I realize the appointment has barely lasted five minutes, yet has somehow been my most stressful one of the day. “Anyway. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you are.”
I swallow the truth before I lie. “I am.”
Connor pauses at the door with his hand on the knob. “Fern? If you need anything—and I mean anything—you call me. Not Ruby, not Patricia. Me. Got it?”
“Why?” I ask, knitting my brows together.
“Because I said I’d keep you safe, and I meant it. You have my number. It’s in my patient file. Put it in your phone and use it if you need to.”
Before I can respond, he’s gone, and I’m left sitting in my carefully arranged consultation room, my heart pounding and my carefully constructed walls feeling dangerously thin.
I tell myself it’s just adrenaline from yesterday. Just the stress of starting a new job in a new place while running from my past. It has nothing to do with the way Connor looks at me, like I’m something worth protecting. Like I’m not just a problem who tumbled into his town.
Nothing at all.
I pick up my phone and stare at the blocked number from earlier. Robbie is out there, probably closing in, definitely not giving up. And I’m here in Silvercreek, accepting help from people I barely know, letting myself imagine I could be safe.
Maybe Connor is right. Maybe I’m not handling this as well as I think.
But what choice do I have except to keep going?
Chapter 4 - Connor
Nic doesn’t look up when I enter his office.
He’s bent over a stack of papers, writing something as he signs off on what looks like supply orders. The pack house is quiet this time of evening; most of the staff has gone home for dinner. I wait in the doorway until he finishes and sets down the pen.
“Close the door,” he prompts.
I do as he asks and take a seat across from his desk. The Alpha’s office hasn’t changed much since his father held the position—same dark wood furniture, same bookshelves lined with pack records going back generations. A map of Silvercreek territory covers one wall, marked with patrol routes and boundary lines. The only personal addition is a framed photo of Luna on the corner of his desk, her smile bright against the forest backdrop.
“Tell me about this woman,” Nic says.
I run through the details. Fern Ramos, licensed therapist from New York. Car sabotaged, timing belt cut within the last day or two. Ex-boyfriend named Robbie, who broke into her apartment and threatened her two weeks ago. She’s been running ever since, sleeping in rest stops and paying cash for everything to avoid leaving a trail.
“And you think this ex is tracking her?”
“Has to be. He knew where she’d be to sabotage the car, which means he’s been following her.”
Nic leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “What do you know about him? The ex?”
“Not much yet. She didn’t give me a last name, and I didn’t want to push too hard on the first conversation. She’s skittish enough as it is. I can dig deeper if you want. Run some searches, see what comes up.”
“Do it. I want to know exactly who might be showing up on our doorstep.” He pauses and studies me with those Alpha eyes that always see too much. “You seem invested in this.”
“She’s in trouble. That’s my job.”
“Your job is pack security. She’s human.”
“So?”
