A man in a ball cap stands beside Ashley's car, hands cupped around his eyes as he peers through the driver's side window.
"Ashley," I call back into the room, keeping my voice level. "Stay inside. Lock the door."
I don't wait for her response. I'm already moving down the hallway.
The morning air is cold and sharp when I step outside. The man hears the door and turns.
He’s in his mid-thirties, clean-cut under the cap, wearing an expensive jacket that doesn't belong in a mountain motel parking lot at dawn. His eyes flick to my uniform, then narrow.
"Can I help you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.
"I'm looking for someone," he says. "Ashley Clark. This is her car."
"And you are?"
"Brandon Mitchell." He straightens, like the name should mean something to me. "I'm her fiancé."
"Ex-fiancé," I correct.
His expression hardens. "She tell you that?"
"She did."
"Then she's lying." He takes a step toward me. "We had a fight. She's confused. I just need to talk to her."
I don't move. "Ms. Clark doesn't want to talk to you."
"You don't know what she wants." His voice sharpens. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Officer Ross Kavanaugh. And I’m ordering you to leave."
Brandon's jaw works. "This is a public parking lot."
"You've been asked to leave by motel staff twice. That makes you a trespasser."
"I'm not trespassing. I'm looking for my—"
"Your ex-fiancée," I interrupt. "Who doesn't want contact with you. Which means if you keep showing up, you're harassing her."
His hands curl into fists at his sides. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I take a step forward, closing the distance between us.
"Here's what I know," I say, voice dropping lower. "Ashley Clark is under my protection. If you contact her, approach her, or show up anywhere near her again, I will arrest you. Do you understand?"
Brandon's eyes flash. "You can't do that."
"I can. And I will." I hold his gaze, letting him see I'm not bluffing. "There's a restraining order being filed today. You'll be served within forty-eight hours. Until then, you stay away."
"She's mine," he says, and there's something ugly in his voice now. Something that makes my hands itch.
"No," I say flatly. "She's not."
For a long moment, we stand there. The mountain is silent around us except for the wind.
Then Brandon steps back. "This isn't over."
"Yes," I say. "It is."
