Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
My gaze drifts to Aubree one last time. She’s quiet, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. It’s a small comfort in the midst of the storm. A silent vow echoes in my head—tomorrow, I’ll find answers. Tomorrow, I will track down whoever is behind this, and I will make them regret ever putting her life in danger.
And I’ll do it without letting my guard down again. Because the taste of almost losing control tonight is enough to remind me just how quickly everything could slip through my fingers. Her safety is paramount, and I will not fail her. Not now, not ever.
With that final thought circling in my mind, I keep one hand on my gun and let the lull of her quiet breathing pull me into a restless half-sleep, ready to snap awake at the slightest hint of danger.
Chapter 18
Aubree
Sunlight filters through the thin curtains, casting a hazy glow across the hotel room’s worn carpet. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the morning light, and slowly become aware of the steady low rumble of Boone’s voice. He’s standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his posture stiff and alert. A chill creeps across my arms when I remember why we’re here.
My body feels heavy, like I haven’t slept in a year. I push myself upright against the headboard, noticing Boone is fully dressed: jeans, boots, and that dark T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. He’s speaking quietly, but I catch words like “safe house,” “security detail,” and “timeline.” It’s the kind of conversation that, just a week ago, would’ve felt like something out of a movie. Now, it’s my reality.
I run a hand through my tangled hair, wishing I’d had the energy to shower last night. Everything happened so fast—one moment we were alone at that cabin, dangerously close to something I’ve never experienced before, and the next, we were bolting out of there because of a potential threat outside.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance around for my phone. My first instinct is to check Slice Slice Baby’s social media, or my texts from Stuart, but my phone isn’t on the bedside table where I usually keep it. I slide out of bed, rummage through my duffel bag, and remember Boone took it.
My gaze drifts back to Boone. His voice is low and firm, the kind of tone that brooks no argument. He’s pacing a little now, hand on his hip, brow furrowed in concentration.
I let out a sigh and decide to get ready. My clothes from yesterday feel stale, and I grab my duffel looking for a new outfit. I grab the toiletry bag from my duffel as well, and head into the bathroom. The yellowish light flickers for a second before turning on, revealing the speckled counter and a chipped mirror that’s seen better days.
The water runs warm, which is a small mercy. I splash my face a few times and brush my teeth, taking a moment to stare at my reflection. My eyes have dark smudges beneath them—no surprise there. I can practically hear my mother’s voice chiding me for not getting enough rest, though under the circumstances, who can blame me?
I think about Boone’s kiss, how I melted into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. A flush creeps up my neck. It’s beyond crazy—I’ve only known him for a few days. He’s my bodyguard, for crying out loud. But every time I even glance his way, it’s like my brain short-circuits. And the memory of how his mouth felt on mine… yeah, that’s impossible to erase.
I towel my face dry and change into some new clothes. I re-enter the room to see Boone ending his call. He slips the phone into his back pocket, exhaling sharply. There’s a tension in his features, but when his gaze flicks toward me, something in his expression softens.
“Morning,” he says quietly, eyes flicking over me as if assessing whether I slept okay.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice still scratchy from sleep. I look away, not wanting him to see all the mixed-up feelings etched on my face. This man has seen me at my most vulnerable, and I can’t decide if that terrifies me or comforts me.
Anxious energy buzzes under my skin. I spot a small pad of paper and a pen on the table near the coffee maker. It’s one of those free hotel stationery sets with the logo stamped at the top. On impulse, I grab them and drop into the chair. “I need to figure out who’s behind all this,” I say, more to myself than to Boone. “I can’t just sit around and wait to be attacked again.”
Boone crosses the room, leaning against the wall opposite me. “What’re you doing?”