"Not everywhere." He turns my hand over in his, tracing one finger slow along my palm like he's reading something written there. "Not when I'm in the room."
I look up at him. The morning light through the window catches the gray in his eyes, makes them look like weather rolling in. "Jax."
"Yeah."
"Thank you. For not letting me perform okay. Nobody's ever done that before. Usually people just take the joke and run with it because it's easier than asking if I'm actually fine."
"I'm not interested in easier." His voice has gone rough again, but it's a different kind of rough than this morning's careful blank. "I'm interested in you."
The air between us changes all at once, goes thick and close the way it does right before a storm finally breaks. I'm half out of my chair before I've decided to move, and he meets me there, standing, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw like I'm something he's been waiting a long time to be allowed to hold.
"Ava." My name in his mouth sounds like a question and a claim at the same time.
"I'm not scared right now," I whisper, which might be the first completely true thing I've said all morning. "Is that strange?"
"No." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "That's just what it feels like to be safe."
I rise up on my toes without deciding to, my hands fisting in his shirt. He closes the last inch of distance and kisses me.
It isn't gentle, not exactly—it's hungry, like he's been holding something back since the moment he found me in that library and it's finally allowed to slip its leash. One big hand slides into my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants it, while the other flattens against my lower back and pulls me flush against him. I melt instantly, every scared, performing, exhausted part of me going quiet at once. He tastes like coffee and certainty and everything I didn't know I needed until right now. A small sound escapes me and he groans low in response, deepening the kiss until my toes curl against the cold floor and my head goes pleasantly, blessedly empty.
When we finally break apart I'm breathless, my lips tingling, my fingers still fisted in his shirt like I'm not ready to let go of the evidence that this actually happened. He rests his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling hard.
"Been wanting to do that since the library," he says, voice dark and raspy. "You're mine to protect, Ava."
I smile, shaky but real, no performance in it at all. "Good. Because I think I like being yours."
10
Jax
The safe house nestles deep in the Idaho woods like a secret the rest of the world forgot.
Two days have passed since I laid my lips on hers. Two days of pure torture wrapped in the best kind of hell. Two days of her soft, bubbly laughter cutting through the heavy silence like sunlight on fresh snow. Two days of her little comments, turning our escape plans into scenes from one of her beloved library romances. And that kiss stays front and center in my mind. When my lips touched hers for the first time her mouth was so warm, so eager and sweet. It still burns under my skin, steady and insistent, making my blood run hot every time I look at her.
I stand by the kitchen counter, arms crossed tight over my chest, the worn flannel shirt pulling across my shoulders. My boots plant firm on the hardwood floor as I watch her move around the small living space. She folds a thick wool blanket with those delicate hands, humming some off-key tune under her breath that sounds like an old pop song mixed with pure sunshine. Cute as hell. Adorkable in a way that squeezes my chest hard everydamn time. Her oversized t-shirt slips off one shoulder again, revealing smooth skin that makes my fingers itch to touch.
She glances up, catches me staring like a starving man, and her cheeks bloom that pretty pink I want to taste again.
“Everything okay, Marshal Hartman?” she asks, her voice light and teasing even after everything she’s been through. She tilts her head. “You look like you’re plotting how to bench press the couch if the bad guys show up. Or maybe just calculating how many cinnamon rolls I could bake in that tiny oven before we have to run for our lives.”
I grunt, the corner of my mouth twitching despite the tension coiled in my gut. “Something like that. Keep humming like that and I might just let you test the oven theory.”
My satellite phone buzzes sharply on the wooden table, the vibration cutting through the quiet crackle of the wood stove. Mason’s name flashes on the screen. I snatch it up and step toward the window, one eye still locked on Ava as snow swirls lazily outside. “Mason. Talk to me.”
“Hey,” his voice comes through steady and low, edged with that familiar mountain gravel. “Trial wrapped faster than expected. Hector got life. No parole. It’s done, Jax. Ava’s clear to move into WITSEC tomorrow night. Extraction team’s ready at the rendezvous point. Should be smooth sailing from here.”
I grip the phone tighter until the plastic creaks under my fingers. My jaw flexes hard. Life sentence. It should feel like victory. The cartel leader locked away for good, the threat finally neutralized. Ava safe to start fresh with a new name, a new life somewhere far from all this darkness. Far from me. But relief doesn’t hit. Instead, that heavy weight sinks deeper into my gut,cold and sharp like the Idaho wind. I remember Riley. Months back, Mason’s witness. Fed straight to the wolves by our own boss Stevens. Betrayed from the inside while under protection. Mason cleaned house after that, took over the office, and I trust him with everything I have. But what if? What if those bastards who shot at us outside the courthouse track her down anyway? What if something slips through the cracks again?
“Copy that,” I say, my voice rough as crushed stone. “We’ll be ready. Heading out in a couple hours when it gets dark.”
I end the call and set the phone down with a heavy thud. Ava steps closer right away, clutching a worn paperback to her chest like a shield. Her oversized shirt slips further, and the scent of her chamomile tea and warm skin hits me stronger. Those big eyes search my face, reading me too damn well.
“Bad news?” she asks softly, worry creasing her brow. “You’ve got that growly protector face on. The one that says you’re about to throw me over your shoulder and barricade the door.”
“Not bad,” I tell her, closing the distance in two long strides. I stop just short of touching her, but close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body in waves. “Trial’s over. Hector’s going away for life. You’re safe, Ava. We move tonight to the next safe house, then WITSEC gets you set up with a new start.”
Her face lights up for a second. Then it dims a little as she reads the tension in my shoulders, and the set of my jaw. “But you’re not happy about it. Why? This should be good news, right? I get to stop looking over my shoulder every five seconds.”
