Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“Oh my God.”
Her voice goes quieter.
Tighter.
I move toward the porch slowly, every muscle already locked and alert, my hand settling automatically near the knife strapped beneath my jacket.
“Nora.” My voice stays low. Controlled. “Get back in the truck.”
“What if someone’s still inside?”
“They won’t be for long.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
She glares at me but doesn’t move, following two steps behind anyway while I push the door open fully.
The cabin’s destroyed.
Drawers dumped across the floor.
Couch cushions slashed open.
Kitchen cabinets hanging wide.
Her camera equipment scattered everywhere like someone searched every inch of the place looking for something specific.
Or trying to scare her.
Judging by the sharp inhale behind me, they succeeded.
“Oh my God.”
I sweep the room quickly, checking corners, windows, blind spots.
Empty.
But fresh.
The place still smells like cold air and wet dirt.
Someone was here recently.
Nora steps carefully inside, staring at the mess while her breathing turns uneven. “They went through everything.”
“Yeah.”
“My laptop…”
I spot it overturned near the couch.
Screen shattered.
“Damn it.” She rushes forward, dropping beside it. “Damn it.”
I crouch near the busted front lock instead, studying the splintered wood around the frame.
Forced entry.
Clean.
Quick.
Not random.
“Rhett.”
I glance back.
She’s standing now, pale and furious all at once, holding a photograph in trembling fingers.
Me.
Taken tonight at the auction.
Watching her.
Someone printed it and left it on her bed.
My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
“He was here,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“He knew I wasn’t home.”
“Yeah.”
The panic starts settling into her expression now, fighting with anger and pride and the stubborn refusal to show weakness she’s been carrying since she stepped into town.
I recognize it because I’ve worn it myself.
She looks around the destroyed cabin again. “This is insane.”
“Pack a bag.”
Her gaze snaps to mine immediately. “What?”
“You’re not staying here.”
“No.”
I straighten slowly. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Her chin lifts instantly. Defensive. Sharp. “You don’t get to order me around because some creep broke into my cabin.”
“I do when somebody’s obviously threatening you.”
“I can call the police.”
“You can,” I agree calmly. “They won’t make it up the mountain tonight.”
“I can stay at the motel.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone in town knows where it is.”
Her eyes narrow. “You really enjoy being controlling, don’t you?”
I step closer.
Not rushed.
Deliberate.
Close enough to make her hold still.
“You know what I enjoy?” I ask quietly. “Women staying alive.”
Her breath catches slightly.
Good.
Because she should understand exactly how serious this is.
Outside, the wind slams against the cabin hard enough to rattle the windows.
The storm’s here now.
I glance toward the darkening road outside. “Rain’s getting worse.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
I close the remaining distance between us slowly, stopping close enough to feel the heat coming off her despite the cold.
“You wanna know what your problem is?” I ask.
Her brows lift. “This should be interesting.”
“You think independence means refusing help until things get dangerous enough to kill you.”
Anger flashes across her face instantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know somebody broke into your cabin while you were at the auction.” My voice lowers. “I know he’s following you closer every day. I know he’s getting comfortable.” I glance toward the photograph still clenched in her hand. “And I know he wants you scared.”
Something flickers in her expression then.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Because she knows I’m right.
“I hate this,” she mutters.
“Good.”
Her eyes flash. “Good?”
“Means you’re finally taking it seriously.”
“I was already taking it seriously.”
“No,” I say flatly. “You were hoping it would go away.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Sharp.
The truth usually is.
She looks away first, scanning the wrecked cabin again before dragging a frustrated hand through her hair. “I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah.”
“And somehow that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
That catches her off guard.
I see it immediately.
“You’re not even trying to sound trustworthy,” she says.
“I’m trying to keep you breathing. Different priorities.”
A laugh almost escapes her before she catches it, which surprises both of us.
“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” she mutters.
“Probably.”
Snow slams harder against the windows.
The lights flicker once overhead.
Nora notices too.
Her shoulders tighten slightly.
“You really think I should go with you.”
“I know you should.”
“And if I say no?”
I hold her gaze.
“Then I stay here anyway.”
Her lips part.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’d just… stay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s insane.”
“So is staying alone in a broken cabin while somebody stalks you through the woods.”
She exhales sharply through her nose, frustrated and cornered and very aware that I’m not backing down.
Good.
Because I’m not.
“Temporary,” she says finally.
“For now.”
Her eyes narrow instantly. “That sounded suspicious.”
“I’m a suspicious guy.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like unbelievable asshole before crouching beside an overturned duffel bag.
I watch her pack.
Not because I don’t trust her.
Because I do.
That’s the problem.
Every second I spend around this woman, something settles deeper under my skin. Instinct. Possession. Responsibility.
Mine to protect.
The realization should bother me more than it does.
Nora shoves clothes angrily into the bag before looking up suddenly. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah.”
“You always this intense?”
“Only when it matters.”
That shuts her up for a second.
She looks away first.
Again.
Interesting.
I move through the cabin while she packs, checking windows, footprints outside, anything useful. Near the back porch, I spot fresh boot prints leading toward the woods.