Elvis moved to stoke the fire a little, just to have something to do, and then he glanced over his shoulder at the door to Delaney’s room, a soft smile toying at his lips. And for the first time since she had vanished, the world felt solid beneath him. As he turned back to the fire, he accepted something with quiet certainty.
If Serrano came for her or if anyone attempted to take her from him again, he would burn the world down around them just to keep her safe.
And he wouldn’t hesitate.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DELANEY WOKE TO THE steady sizzle of eggs in hot cast iron on the other side of the bedroom door, along with the scent of bacon riding the air mixed with coffee that smelled strong enough to wake the dead. It woke her after all, and when she had laid down she thought she’d sleep for days.
For one quiet, disoriented second, she didn’t remember where she was, and a slight panic crept up her spine. She quickly glanced around the room as the cabin walls came back into focus, taking in the stark blue curtains and the small spattering of personal items on the dresser and shelves.
Rolling onto her side, she reached across the mattress without thinking, remembering how the night before Bobby had been right there in bed with her.
But not this time. This time, she woke to an empty bed, and her chest tightened as everything came flooding back, Leon beating the hell out of Roman, the escape out of the casino, the switching of cars too many times to count, and then the long drive to the cabin, which had been the opposite of where she thought they were going.
She pushed herself upright slowly, drawing the blanket around her shoulders as she took in the unfamiliar room. Thecabin was still half wrapped in dawn, pale light slipping through the gaps in the curtains as dust motes drifted lazily in the air. The rustic structure carried the faint scent of pine and old wood, nothing personal about it really, just shelter against the elements.
But Bobby was there. Not in the bed with her, and not even beside her right then.
But he was there, having chosen the chair in the main room instead, the hard angles of watchfulness over the comfort of sleep. And somehow, even unconscious, she’d felt him moving through the space. The soft whisper of boots across the floorboards just after the faint shift of weight as he paused near her doorway long enough to listen inside. The quiet click of a door being checked to make sure she was still safe and secure.
She remembered stirring once in the night, drifting up through layers of exhaustion, and hearing him murmur something low under his breath, not words meant for her, just a sound of reassurance or presence. It had wrapped around her like a promise before sleep pulled her back under.
No one had kept vigil over her like that in years, if ever, and she felt her chest tighten at the thought.
She rested her palms on her thighs and closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel the strange, fragile comfort of knowing someone was standing between her and the world while she slept. Not because someone had ordered him to do it or because it was his job, but because it was him and it was her.
Because somewhere along the way, guarding her had become instinct, something he had never forgotten even after fifteen years apart.
She blew out a slow breath, emotion pressing behind her ribs in equal parts gratitude and fear and something dangerously close to hope. She had spent fifteen years teaching herself not toneed anyone. And now here was Bobby Jenkins again, moving through shadows so she didn’t have to.
Sliding out of bed, she quickly slid back into her clothes and headed for the main room to see what chaos was about to swallow her.
She found him where she expected, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, eyes alert even as Abe worked the stove with practiced ease.
Abe glanced up at her, his eyes bright with morning eagerness. “Good morning. Hope you like eggs and bacon. I’m not exactly fancy.”
She gave a soft laugh, bobbing her head. “At this point, I’d eat cardboard if you fried it.”
Bobby turned then, his gaze sweeping over her in that quiet way that always made her feel seen. He didn’t comment on the way her hair still held sleep in its curls or how she wrapped her arms around herself, still trying to wake up. He simply nodded once, like he was confirming she was still here, a soft smile lighting up his eyes.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Like the dead, I think. I passed right out. How about you?”
“Not bad. The couch is more comfortable than it looks.”
“Bullshit,” Donovan said from where he sat in the recliner by the fire. “I slept on that thing, too. It has a loose spring.”
She glanced at Bobby, but he simply shrugged. “I’ve slept on worse.”
They moved around each other carefully, sharing the small space without touching, both pretending the night hadn’t left fingerprints on their skin. Abe plated the food and set it on the rough wooden table, retreating to the porch afterward to give them privacy. Donovan grabbed his plate, gave Delaney a stern look, and then followed the other man outside.
They took their time eating at first, both lost in their thoughts and circumstances. Delaney stared at her fork more than she used it, her thoughts a jumbled mess.
“Have you heard about Roman?” she asked. “How he’s doing?”
Elvis leaned back in his chair, fork still in hand. “Stable, according to Hawk. He checked in on him before sunrise. He’s bruised, pissed, and already asking when he can get back to work. I think he plans on heading back to Oregon today if they’ll turn their backs on him long enough.”
