“Right. Well, no woman answers an ad like that unless she’s in trouble.”
I let his words linger as my mind spins with possibilities. “I think someone’s watching me.”
Another pause.
“Think,” he repeats.
“I have photos,” I snap, irritation cutting through the fear. “Of me. Taken without my knowledge. And someone left one on my porch.”
Silence again.
“Where are you?” he finally asks.
I hesitate. The question shouldn’t feel dangerous but it does.
“Devil’s Peak,” I say carefully. “North side. Near?—”
“I know the cabins,” he cuts in.
My pulse picks up.
“Stay inside,” he says, voice turning colder. Harder. “Lock your doors.”
“I already?—”
“Stay inside,” he repeats.
Something in his tone presses against my spine, straightening it. Command. I don’t like it.
“I didn’t call for orders,” I shoot back.
A beat.
Then a low exhale that almost sounds like amusement.
“Then you called the wrong man.”
My breath catches. There’s something in that voice. Something steady. Dangerous.
“You offering help or not?” I challenge.
“I am,” he says. “But you follow my lead.”
“Or what?” I push.
Another pause. Longer. He lets it stretch.
“You keep acting like prey,” he says finally, voice dropping, “and whoever’s out there is going to treat you like it.”
My stomach flips. Anger. Heat. Something sharper.
“I’m not prey.”
“No?” he murmurs.
I can hear him now. Not just the words—the weight behind them. Like he’s already seeing me.
“Then prove it,” he says.
