He caught her instantly, arm locking around her waist, pulling her against his chest before gravity could claim her.
They froze like that—her breath sharp against his collarbone, his grip firm and unyielding.
“You okay?” he murmured.
She nodded, fingers gripping his jacket. “Thanks.”
He didn’t let go right away.
Didn’t need to.
When they separated, something unspoken lingered between them—trust sharpened by danger, closeness forged under pressure.
At the bottom of the ravine, Trigger crouched, scanning upstream and down.
Nothing.
Yet.
But the feeling hadn’t left.
He touched Rylie’s shoulder, leaning in close enough that only she could hear him.
“They’re good,” he said quietly. “But they’re used to chasing scared people.”
Her jaw set. “I’m not scared.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”
He straightened, eyes hardening, plan shifting again in his head.
Good.
Let Thomas think he was running.
The mistake would cost him everything.
21
Rylie
The water was louder here.
It rushed over rocks slick with moss, the sound constant enough to be comforting. White noise. Cover. The weather warmed, and the sun was hot. Just like Texas, the weather changes in the blink of an eye.
Except something about it felt… wrong.
Trigger crouched a few feet ahead of me, eyes scanning upstream, body angled like a shield. He was calm. Focused. Deadly in that quiet way that made you forget how dangerous the world could be.
That’s when I saw it.
Not movement.
Absence.
I frowned, eyes tracing the opposite bank. The rocks there were damp, darker where water had splashed higher—but one stretch stood out. Dry. Too dry for this close to the edge.
My pulse picked up.
