Fuck. I wasn’t supposed to feel this pull. Not on a protection detail. Not with a witness whose life depends on me keeping my head screwed on straight. Yet here I am, stealing glances at her soft curves, the way her dark hair falls across her cheek, the nervous sparkle in her eyes that refuses to die even after everything she’s been through. She looks like sunshine wrapped in a librarian cardigan. Innocent and breakable.
"Steel Mountain’s a half hour out," I say, voice coming out rougher than I intend. "My cabin’s off the grid. No one will find us there."
She nods, biting her lower lip. "Okay. That sounds... secure. Do you think my apartment is still safe enough to grab a few things? Clothes. My e-reader. Maybe some tea. I know it’s silly with cartel hitmen on my tail, but the thought of facing days without my favorite chamomile makes me want to cry."
Her voice is soft and a little breathless, cutting straight through my defenses. I want to pull over, haul her into my lap, and tell her ‘if the world stands between us, I’ll reduce it to cinders and carry you through the smoke.’ Instead I keep my eyes on the rearview mirror.
"We stop quick," I tell her. "In and out. You grab what you need. I watch the perimeter."
The drive stretches with tension thick enough to taste. Ava chatters nervously about library books and mystery sections and how she once organized a readathon that went viral in Timber Creek. Her words wrap around me like warm honey. I grunt responses, but inside every syllable makes me want her more. She’s light in a world that has been nothing but shadows for me. And I’m the dark that wants to swallow her whole while keeping her safe.
Her apartment complex comes into view sooner than I like. Modest brick building tucked at the edge of town, surrounded by enough trees to give cover to anyone who shouldn’t be there. I circle the block once, scanning every shadow, every parked car. Nothing moves that shouldn’t. Still, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
"Stay behind me," I order as I park in the back lot. I kill the engine and draw my sidearm, the familiar weight solid in my grip. The cold mountain air bites as I open her door, my hand settling on her lower back to guide her. Even through thecardigan the heat of her body sears my palm. "Eyes open. We move fast."
She nods, clutching her purse like a shield, but those big blue eyes lift to mine with trust that makes my chest tighten. "Yes, sir, Marshal Hartman. Lead the way, grumpy boss."
A ghost of a smile tries to pull at my mouth. Grumpy boss. She has no idea how right she is. Or how badly I already want to protect every inch of her.
The stairwell smells of damp concrete and faint cooking spices from neighboring units. I keep her close, my body angled to shield hers as we climb to the second floor. Her keys jingle in her trembling hand when she unlocks the door. The apartment is small, cozy, every surface covered in books and soft blankets and little plants that somehow thrive under her care. Vanilla candles sit on the coffee table. A half finished mug of tea rests beside an open romance novel, the cover showing a mountain man with his arms around a woman who looks a lot like her.
I lock the door behind us and move to the front window, parting the curtains just enough to watch the lot and street. "Two minutes, Ava. Essentials only."
She darts into the bedroom, the sound of drawers opening and closet hangers sliding filling the quiet space. I breathe in the scent of her home. Books. Tea. Her. It sinks into my bones and makes every possessive instinct I own flare hot. I want to pin her to that bed piled with quilts, strip her out of that cardigan, and show her exactly who she belongs to now. But the cartel is out there. And my job is to keep her alive.
A shadow moves across the lot. Too deliberate. My hand tightens on my weapon.
"Ava," I call low. "Time to go."
She emerges with a small duffel, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild. "I got clothes, my e-reader, some tea bags, and my favorite fuzzy socks. Oh and this book I’ve been dying to finish. Is that too much? I can leave the book if…"
Gunfire erupts before she finishes. Bullets punch through the window glass in a shattering explosion of shards. I lunge, wrapping my arms around her and taking her to the floor. Her body is soft and warm beneath mine, curves molding perfectly to my harder frame.
"Stay down," I growl against her ear. My heart hammers but my hands are steady. This is what I do. What I am. And no one’s taking her from me.
More shots crack through the apartment. Plaster rains from the walls. A bullet buries itself in the bookshelf inches from where we lay. Ava whimpers, her hands fisting in my jacket, face pressed to my chest. Her breath is warm and rapid against my skin through the fabric.
"I’ve got you," I murmur, voice rough. "They won’t touch you. Not ever."
I roll us toward the kitchen, keeping my body between her and the windows. Glass crunches under my boots. The duffel is still clutched in her white knuckled grip. Outside, tires screech. I catch a glimpse of two men in dark clothing moving toward the building, weapons drawn.
"Back door," I say, pulling her up but keeping her tucked against my side. "Now."
We move fast through the small space. I kick the rear door open, scanning the narrow alley. Clear for the moment. Cold air rushes in. Ava stumbles once on the steps. I scoop her up without thinking, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighs nothing but she feels like everything.
Her arms wrap around my neck instinctively. "Jax," she breathes, voice shaky but still carrying that spark. "This isn’t how I pictured my first time being carried by a hot marshal."
Despite the danger a low chuckle rumbles in my chest. "Save the commentary. Hold on tight."
I run for the SUV, boots pounding pavement. Bullets whine past us, one ricocheting off the brick wall near my head. I return fire with my free hand, the shots precise and controlled. One assailant drops. The second hesitates. That’s all the time I need.
I set Ava in the passenger seat and slam the door, then vault over the hood to the driver's side. The engine roars to life. I peel out, tires screaming, as more gunfire peppers the rear. Metal pings. A back window cracks but holds. I push the SUV hard, weaving through back streets until the complex disappears in the rearview.
Ava’s breathing fast beside me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. "Are they... did we lose them?"
"For now," I say, jaw tight. My hand finds hers on the console, squeezing once. Her fingers are cold. I rub my thumb over her knuckles, warming them. "But we’re not stopping until we reach the cabin. Steel Mountains will swallow us up. No one follows us there."
The road climbs higher. Snow thickens on the shoulders. Tall pines close in like sentinels, their needles whispering in thewind. Every mile eases the immediate threat but tightens something deeper in my gut. A few days, maybe more, alone with her in that remote cabin. One bed. Forced proximity. Her soft body and my iron control.
