The sound of my name in his mouth does something to me. Something I'm definitely not ready to examine.
I delete the video.
He exhales—not quite a sigh, but close. “Good girl.”
My entire body flushes hot. Those two words hit me like a physical touch, settling somewhere deep and primal. I chance a glance up at him and find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
Recognition, maybe. Or interest.
He steps back, putting deliberate distance between us. “There's a road half a mile back that'll take you to the main highway. Follow it. Don't stop. Don't come back here.”
“What is this place?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Somewhere you don't belong,” he says simply. Then, after a pause: “Drive safe, Madison. Don’t text and drive.”
He turns and walks back toward the tree line, moving with the kind of silent efficiency that suggests military training or something close to it.
“Wait,” I call out before I can stop myself.
He pauses but doesn't turn around.
“Will I see you again?”
The question hangs in the cold air between us. For a long moment, he doesn't answer. Then, without looking back: “That depends on how well you follow instructions.”
And then he's gone, swallowed by the pines and the snow, like he was never there at all.
I stand there for another moment, heart pounding, skin tingling, completely unsure what just happened but absolutely certain of one thing: I want to see him again.
Even if it means not following instructions.
CHAPTER 2
Ileave. That's the smart thing to do. At that point, I’m not sure I have any other option.
I'm back in my car, engine running, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might keep my heart from hammering out of my chest. My phone sits in the cup holder, screen dark, the ghost of that deleted video haunting me. Should I have protested? I mean, what right did he actually have to tell me to delete it? His words echo through my mind.
Government property. Classified infrastructure. Ty Garcia.
I replay his voice in my head as I ease down the narrow road he pointed me toward. The edge of authority in his tone that made something in my stomach flutter and clench. The way he looked at me. The way he said my name.
The way he called megood girland my entire nervous system lit up like Christmas.
I should be embarrassed. I should be focused on the fact that I just stumbled onto something I absolutely was not supposed to see and got caught red-handed by someone who could probably make me disappear with a phone call.
Instead, all I can think about is the way his jaw tightened when I hesitated. The way his eyes tracked my every movement like I was something that needed to be monitored. Controlled.
Protected.
How I felt safe, not threatened with his ordering me around. I wasn’t scared, not for a second. I was, however, turned on. And my body’s reaction to this man is confusing me. It’s never happened to me before. I’ve never been turned on by a stranger. Good looking or not. It wasn’t just his physical looks, because damn he’s fine, it was the way he carried himself. He had Daddy written all over him.
I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the turn onto the main road. The GPS comes back to life with a cheerful ping, recalculating my route back to Aspen Pine like nothing happened. Like I didn't just have the most intense five minutes of my life in a frozen clearing with a man whose job description is probably classified.
I should forget about him. About this. About all of it. Especially how I physically felt. About how I’m pretty sure my underwear is wet. I should. But I can’t. I spend the next three days thinking nonstop about Ty Garcia.
And it is exactly three days before I see him again.
I'm at The Perk, my favorite (and the only) coffee shop in downtown Aspen Pine that's become my de facto office since I arrived two weeks ago. It's cozy in that deliberately rustic way that mountain towns do so well: exposed beams, vintage ski posters, a fireplace that actually works. The kind of place that photographs beautifully and makes decent lattes. No matcha here, but I can go without for a few weeks.
