“Zach—”
But he was gone, moving down the hallway with his silent predator’s grace.
Emma blew out a breath and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was firm, comfortable. Through the window, the ocean stretched endlessly, moonlight painting silver paths across the water.
Her phone buzzed.
Lena
How are you holding up? Call me if you need to talk.
Emma smiled despite everything. Of course Lena was checking up on her. She hit dial.
Lena answered on the first ring. “Please tell me you’re somewhere safe.”
“Safe—yes.” Emma glanced around Zach’s bedroom—the precisely arranged books, the military discipline evident in every detail. “You’re going to laugh.”
“Oh god. What did Zach do?”
“He moved me into the owners’ cottage.”
A beat of silence. “You’re living with Zach Steele.”
“Temporarily, until they catch this guy.” Emma stood, restless, and moved to the window. “It’s not—we’re not—it’s just for security.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lena’s tone was rich with amusement.
“He said it’s the most secure location on the island.”
“I’m sure that’s theonlyreason.”
“Lena.”
“Emma.” Her best friend’s voice gentled. “How are you, really? Not the brave face you’re showing everyone else. How areyou?”
Emma pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Outside, Zach’s silhouette paced along the cliff edge, scanning the darkness with relentless precision.
“Scared,” she admitted. “Angry. Grateful. Confused. All of it at once.”
“That’s allowed. Someone threatened you. You had to leave your space. Of course you’re feeling everything.”
“I just—” Emma struggled to find words. “I keep thinking about this guy. Is he watching me? For how long? What has he seen? What else does he know?”
“Hey,” Lena’s voice was firm now. “You’re safe. Zach won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know.” And she did. Whatever else Zach Steele was, he was definitely capable. “He’s wearing a path in the cliff right now, scanning for threats.”
“See? You’re in the most paranoid hands possible. That’s ideal.”
Emma laughed, the sound surprising her. “I think you mean vigilant.”
“Same thing, different PR.” A pause. “Are you going to be okay sleeping in his house?”
Was she?
Emma glanced around the room again, taking in more details. A compass on the dresser—not decorative, the real thing. Weapons hung neatly on silver-gray walls, more than she wanted to count. A dog-eared copy ofMeditationsby Marcus Aurelius lay on the nightstand.
Evidence of a disciplined life. A solitary life.
