Six minutes.
Five.
Four.
The black Tesla appears around the bend, moving fast. Too fast for these roads, especially for someone unfamiliar with the terrain. I step out of the truck, positioning myself clearly in her line of sight, hands visible.
The Tesla's brakes engage hard. Good reflexes, at least.
She stops twenty meters away. The driver's door opens.
And Mara Plummer steps out looking like she just walked off a magazine cover instead of a six hour flight and a three hour drive.
The photos didn't do her justice.
Auburn curls escaping a messy bun, catching the late morning light like fire. Hazel eyes scanning the scene with an intelligence that makes something in my chest tighten. She's wearing what looks like designer casual wear, cream colored sweater and dark jeans that hug curves I have no businessnoticing. Athletic build, but soft in all the right places. Shorter than I expected, maybe five seven in those boots.
And she's looking at me like I'm a puzzle she's already half solved.
"You must be my babysitter." She doesn't sound upset. She sounds amused. "Let me guess. Boone Garrett, former Marine Force Recon, current tactical specialist at Guardian Peak Security, and the poor bastard my father conned into this assignment."
I don't let my surprise show. "Ms. Plummer. You left San Francisco three hours ahead of schedule without security."
"I left San Francisco when I was ready to leave San Francisco." She leans against her car, arms crossed. "And I had security. I just didn't need them hovering while I drove through some of the most beautiful scenery in the country."
"You're under active threat."
"I'm under theoretical threat." She waves a hand dismissively.
"No." I move toward her, slow and deliberate. "There isn't."
She doesn't back up. Doesn't flinch. Just watches me approach with those sharp hazel eyes, and I see the moment she really looks at me. The way her gaze travels from my boots up my legs, over my chest, settles on my face. There’s something in her expression I can’t read.
Interest? Assessment? Both?
"You're bigger than your file suggested," she says.
"You read my file?"
"I read everyone's file." Her smile is quick and devastating. "I like to know who I'm dealing with, Mr. Garrett. Though I'm guessing you already knew that, given how thoroughly you've clearly studied mine."
I stop three feet away. Close enough to see the freckles scattered across her nose, the way her pulse beats in her throat.Close enough to smell something floral and expensive beneath the road dust.
"I studied your file because it's my job to keep you alive," I say. "Which would be easier if you didn't actively work against that goal."
"I'm not working against anything." She pushes off from the car, stepping into my space. She has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes, but she doesn't seem bothered by the height difference. "I'm just not interested in being treated like a child who can't handle her own life."
"Ms. Plummer?—"
"Mara."
"Ms. Plummer." I keep my voice level. "In the last six months, you have disabled tracking devices, evaded security details, and put yourself in unnecessary danger on at least seven documented occasions. That's not handling your own life. That's actively sabotaging the people trying to protect it."
For a moment, I see something beneath the confidence. Something that might be frustration, or exhaustion, or maybe just the weight of being Mara Plummer in a world that wants what she's built.
Then it's gone, and she's smiling again.
"Tell you what, Mr. Garrett." She pulls her phone from her pocket, taps something, and a soft ping sounds from my tactical gear. "That's my personal number. Not the one my father has, not the one my security team has. Mine. For the next two weeks, I will stay on your precious compound and participate in whatever wilderness training nonsense my father has arranged. In exchange, you don't treat me like a package to be managed. You treat me like a person. Deal?"
