I should be establishing clear boundaries right now, make certain she understands the chain of command.
But she's looking at me with those hazel eyes, chin tilted up, and for a moment I forget every protocol I've ever written.
"Follow my truck," I say instead. "Stay within visual range. When we reach the compound, you'll be briefed on security procedures."
"That wasn't an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now." I turn back toward my truck, then stop. Look over my shoulder. "And Ms. Plummer? The next time you feel the need to dismiss your security detail without warning? You call me first. That's not a request."
Her smile widens. "Careful, Mr. Garrett. That almost sounded like you care."
I climb into my truck without responding.
Because the truth is, I've been caring about this woman since I first read her file three weeks ago. Since I saw that photo and felt something shift in my carefully ordered world. Since I started planning not just for her security, but for every possible future where I might lose her before I've even had the chance to know her.
Obsession, I think as I watch her climb back into her Tesla. That's what this is. Obsession disguised as professional concern.
I've planned for every contingency in my entire career.
I never planned for Mara Plummer.
Through my rearview mirror, I watch her pull onto the road behind me. She's keeping proper distance, following the route exactly as instructed.
For now.
I press the comm unit in my ear. "Deck, I have the package. ETA to compound, eighteen minutes."
"Copy that. Everything okay?"
I watch the black Tesla in my mirror, driven by a woman who looked at me like she could see straight through every wall I've built.
"Ask me again in two weeks," I say.
Then I focus on the road ahead and try not to think about how completely my carefully controlled world just tilted on its axis.
CHAPTER TWO
MARA
The man drives like he plans military operations. Precise. Controlled. Every turn executed with the kind of calculated efficiency that should be boring but instead has me gripping my steering wheel and trying not to think about how those hands would feel on other things.
Down, girl.
I've been following Boone Garrett's black truck for twelve minutes, and I've spent approximately eleven of those minutes replaying the way he looked at me on that mountain road. Like I was a problem to be solved. Like I was a threat to be neutralized.
Like he wanted to pin me against my car and show me exactly what happens to women who don't follow protocols.
My thighs press together. Not helpful.
The compound appears through the trees, and I ease off the accelerator to take it in. A main lodge built from massive timber and stone, smoke curling from a river rock chimney. Several smaller structures scattered across the property, connected by cleared paths. Training grounds visible to the east, obstacle courses and shooting ranges and what looks like a rappelling tower. Mountains rising on all sides, protective and isolating.
My father sent me to prison. A very expensive, very scenic prison.
Boone's truck pulls into a gravel lot near the main lodge, and I slide into the space beside him. He's out of his vehicle before I've even cut the engine, moving around to my door with those long, purposeful strides.
He opens it for me.
I blink up at him. "Chivalry from the man who blocked my car with his truck?"
