“I pulled off at a gas station near the pass,” I continue. “Thought I’d lose them in the little mountain roads. Bad idea. The storm hit fast. I slid. And then… you.”
He nods once. Slowly. “You’re not paranoid.”
“I know.”
His thumb moves again—barely a stroke along the inside of my wrist. I feel it everywhere.
“Who’d you take something from?” he asks.
I hesitate. The truth feels too big for this room. Too dangerous. But his eyes are steady, patient in a way that makes me want to spill everything.
“A client,” I say finally. “Well… ex-client now. Tech startup in Seattle. I was their forensic accountant. They were cooking books. I found proof. I copied it. I didn’t plan to—I just… couldn’t unsee it. Then I quit. Then the calls started. Then the car.”
Beck’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. Sharper. Darker. “How bad?”
“Bad enough they’re willing to chase me through a blizzard.”
He lets that sit for a second. Then: “You got the files with you?”
I nod toward my bag by the door—the one he carried in with me like it weighed nothing. “USB drive. Encrypted. But yeah.”
He exhales again, longer this time. “Right.”
I wait for the lecture. Thewhy didn’t you go to the policeoryou should’ve stayed in the city. It doesn’t come.
Instead he says, “You’re safe here.”
Three words. Simple. Delivered like a vow.
My throat tightens. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” His gaze drops to where his hand still circles my wrist, then lifts again. “You didn’t panic out there. You didn’t fight me when I carried you. You’re not crying now. You’re sitting in a stranger’s cabin in my shirt telling me you stole evidence from people who want it back bad enough to kill for it. That’s enough.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m not brave. I’m just… stubborn.”
A ghost of a smile touches his mouth—first one I’ve seen. Small. Crooked. Devastating. “Same difference.”
I laugh despite myself. It sounds shaky. “You’re not what I expected from a lumberjack.”
“What’d you expect?”
“Less talking. More grunting.”
He snorts. “Got plenty of grunts. Just saving ’em.”
“For what?”
His eyes darken. “When they’re needed.”
The air between us thickens. I feel it in my chest, low in my belly. The fire pops. A log shifts. Neither of us moves.
I should pull my hand back. Instead I turn it over, palm up, so his thumb lands in the center. He stills. Completely.
“Beck,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches our hands like they belong to someone else.
“You said not to tempt you,” I remind him.
