22

Nathan

It’s strange how silence can sometimes be the loudest thing in a room. After the reporter incident, the cabin had settled back into quiet, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was thick, heavy, like a storm that hadn’t quite broken yet. I sat by the window, my Glock resting on my thigh, eyes scanning the tree line, every shadow and flicker of movement putting me on edge.

Carrie was asleep upstairs—or at least she was trying to sleep. I could still hear her restless shifting through the old wooden floorboards, every creak of the mattress making my gut tighten. I hated that she was dragged into this mess. Hated even more that a part of me had started craving the mess, because it meant I got to be near her.

I leaned back, my head hitting the cool wall, and closed my eyes for a second. That damn reporter had rattled me more than I’d let on. Not because of the camera, or the threat of scandal, but because he had found us at all. Someone had tipped him off. Someone who knew where we were—who knew enough to send him into the middle of nowhere, to the one place I thought was safe.

I checked my phone for the tenth time that hour, scrolling through Gary’s last message:

“No word on Parker yet. Stay sharp. This feels off.”

Yeah. No kidding.

I set the phone down and stood up, muscles aching from sitting too long. I needed to do another sweep of the property. I grabbed a flashlight and stepped out onto the porch, my boots crunching against the gravel. The cold hit me hard, but I welcomed it—it was sharp, biting, something real to focus on.

The woods loomed around me, black and endless, but I pushed forward, circling the cabin, checking every window, every blind spot. My breath came out in white puffs as I moved, and with every step, I felt the weight of my old training settle in. I was back in Ranger mode now—hyperaware, keyed up, ready for anything.

When I rounded the back, I stopped dead.

A single red ribbon was tied to a tree near the edge of the clearing, fluttering gently in the wind. I frowned, moving closer. That hadn’t been there before. I was sure of it. My gut clenched as I reached out and tugged it down, inspecting it under the flashlight beam.

A note was attached.

My blood turned to ice as I read the words, scrawled in thick black ink:

“You can’t hide her forever.”

I spun around, scanning the woods, every hair on my body standing on end. But there was nothing—no sound, no movement—just the whisper of wind through the trees. Whoever had left it was long gone.

I bolted back to the cabin, my pulse hammering in my ears. I locked the door behind me, pulled the curtains tight, and double-checked every lock, every latch. Then I headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Carrie was sitting up in bed when I burst into her room, her eyes wide with fear. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice small but steady.

I held up the ribbon and the note, my jaw tight. “We’ve been found.”

She stared at it, her face draining of color. “Oh my God.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my hand brushing hers. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving tonight.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t ask questions—just nodded and got moving, her hands shaking as she stuffed clothes into a duffel. I watched her for a second, my heart twisting. I had promised to keep her safe, and now it felt like I was failing her all over again.

But not this time.

This time, I was going to finish what I started.

Carrie moved with surprising speed, gathering the essentials—her laptop, a few changes of clothes, a small bag of toiletries. I stayed near the door, ears tuned to every creak of the old cabin, every brush of wind outside. My eyes kept flicking to the note in my hand, rage simmering low and hot under my skin. This wasn’t a random prank. This was personal, calculated, and it was getting too close for comfort.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, zipping up the duffel and slinging it over her shoulder. Her eyes searched mine, wild and frightened but also… trusting. That trust stabbed me right in the chest because God help me, I didn’t know if I deserved it.

“Let’s go,” I said, my voice low but firm.

We moved fast, slipping out the back to avoid any prying eyes. I kept Carrie close, one hand on the small of her back, the other gripping my Glock. The SUV was parked at the far end of the driveway, half-hidden by the trees, exactly where I’d left it for a quick getaway. I opened the passenger door and helped her in, scanning the woods one last time before jumping behind the wheel.

We peeled out of the driveway, gravel spraying behind us like a burst of warning. I kept my eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror, my senses on overdrive. Every shadow looked like a threat. Every headlight in the distance made my fingers tighten on the wheel.

“Where are we going?” Carrie asked after a long stretch of silence.

“Safe house in Portland,” I said. “One of my old contacts owns it. Nobody knows about it but me and Gary.”

She nodded, staring out the window. The glow from the dashboard lights made her look pale, drawn, but she was holding it together better than I expected. Better than I would have, if I were in her shoes.

After a few minutes, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think it’s… him?”

My gut clenched. I didn’t need her to say the name. We both knew who she meant.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think it’s him.”

She sucked in a breath and hugged her knees to her chest, curling up in the seat like she was trying to make herself small. I wanted to reach over, to take her hand, to say something comforting—but the words wouldn’t come. Comfort felt like a lie right now.

We drove in silence for nearly two hours, the dark highway stretching out endlessly in front of us. My eyes started to burn from staring so hard at the road, but I didn’t dare relax. Not yet.

It was just after 3 a.m. when we finally pulled up to the safe house—a low, nondescript building tucked between two empty warehouses. It looked abandoned, but I knew better. Inside, it was a fortress—reinforced doors, blackout curtains, security cameras at every angle. My old friend Marcus didn’t mess around.

I killed the engine and turned to Carrie. “We’re here.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and glassy with exhaustion, but she didn’t complain. She just followed me to the door, shivering in the cold night air.

Inside, I did a quick sweep of the place, making sure everything was as secure as Marcus had promised. Then I led Carrie to a small bedroom at the back, where a single bed and a dresser waited.

“You should try to sleep,” I said, my voice softer now.

“What about you?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.

“I’ll be outside, keeping watch.”

She hesitated, then reached out and took my hand, her fingers cold and trembling. “Thank you, Nathan.”

I squeezed her hand gently. “Get some rest.”

She lay down without another word, curling up under the blanket. I stood there for a moment, watching her breathing slow, her face softening in sleep. And then I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me.

I sank into a chair in the living room, my Glock on the table in front of me, and stared out the window into the dark. My mind was a war zone of memories and fears, but one thought kept cutting through the noise, sharp and insistent.

I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her.

Not this time.

Not ever.