Sam melts into the tree line, and within seconds, the woods swallow him whole.
I stay where I am, catching the cold early morning breeze, jeans still unbuttoned, bare feet silent on the old timber.
The moon’s bright tonight—too bright. It paints the lake silver, the treetops white. Beautiful, but it exposes everything. Her house. My house. The stretch between them.
Lucky.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
There’s a fragile, messy woman asleep on my sofa right now—her breath warm against my blankets, her hands clutching it like she finally let go of something that chased her for too long. She trusted me enough to fall asleep.
That means something.
It also means I need to make damn sure nothing gets within a hundred meters of her without me knowing.
I scan her house from my porch—and I can already see every flaw.
Her back windows? Too old.
Her porch light? Too dim.
Door locks? Good enough for tourists, useless against a determined predator.
Her bedroom corner? Blind angle from the road.
Bathroom window? Practically an invitation.
Everything in me tightens.
Not good enough.
Not for her.
I fold my arms, jaw ticking as my mind locks into place like a loaded weapon.
First light, I’ll reinforce her door frame—steel plates, hidden screws, impact bar. Sensors under the porch steps. New floodlights angled away from the cabin to keep her from feeling watched. Motion cams buried in the treeline. Glass break alerts.
Then the interior: a safe corner. A panic signal she can reach without thinking. A lock she can engage even with shaking hands. Breathing space. Safety she won’t have to earn. The picture forms fully in my mind, and my throat works once, tight, unfamiliar. She deserves quiet that doesn’t hurt.
The wind shifts, the woods settle, and somewhere in the distance a twig snaps—Sam, signaling all clear on the first pass. I stay on the porch a while longer anyway, eyes fixed on her dark house. Michael Scheifer thinks she’s still alone. Still running. Still easy prey.
He has no idea.
Not anymore.
Not while I’m here.
I stand there a moment longer, watching, ready. Then I head back inside to her. To the girl I wasn’t supposed to fall for. To the girl, I will protect with my life.
Chapter 27
Ethan
ThesunlighthitsLucky'sporch in thin, hesitant lines. I’m crouched at the base of the lake house deck, wiring a motion sensor into the corner post.
Sam’s report came an hour ago—perimeter clear. He’s diving deeper, tracking anything that might stir, any trace of Scheifer. I exhale, finger tracing the wires, brain already shifting to the next steps.
Soldier mode engages. No hesitation. No distraction.
