Page 9 of The Trail Boss

Roxie’s eyes darted to the image, her brows furrowing as she studied it. “It’s broken. So what?”

“Not broken. Tampered with.” He pointed to the jagged edges and the small grooves near the bolts. “Someone loosened it. The scratches here? They’re fresh. Whoever did this wanted it to give out the way it did—quick and clean.”

Roxie handed the phone back, her lips tightening. “That doesn’t prove anything. Maybe it was just wear and tear.”

“It’s deliberate,” Gavin insisted, slipping the phone into his pocket. “This wasn’t just bad luck, Roxie.”

She shook her head, frustration flashing in her eyes. “And why would anyone want to hurt me, huh? Because I’m such a huge threat teaching pole fitness classes to moms and office workers?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Well, stop,” she snapped, sitting forward. “I don’t need some overbearing cowboy Dom playing detective with my life.”

Gavin’s gaze locked with hers, his jaw tightening. “You do realize this is actually what I do for a living, right? You might not think you need me, but someone out there is trying to take you down—literally. So, whether you like it or not, you’re Silver Spur Security’s newest client.”

“I can’t afford you…”

“I haven’t told you what we’ll charge,” he teased waggling his eyebrows at her.

Roxie’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. “Stop that. Don’t be nice. You don’t even know me.”

“Not as well as I will before this is over,” he replied, his voice steady.

The air hung between them, heavy and charged. Gavin could see the war waging behind her eyes—pride battling with fear. Her stubbornness was infuriating, but damn if it didn’t make her even more compelling.

By the time Gavin pulled up to Roxie’s apartment, he’d already decided she wasn’t staying here without him, his Glock, and preferably an M4. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement and peeling paint of the building. He killed the engine and looked at her.

“Home sweet home,” she muttered, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Gavin leaned back, his eyes scanning the dimly lit lot and the surrounding area. The place wasn’t just run-down; it was downright unsafe. “You live here?”

“Yep,” she said, her tone clipped. “Not all of us have fancy ranches and big trucks.”

He ignored the jab, his gaze lingering on the broken streetlamp near the entrance. “You’ve got a door that locks, at least?”

“Of course I do.” She grabbed her bag and reached for the handle.

“Deadbolt?”

She paused, glancing at him with an exasperated expression. “Yes, Daddy, I have a deadbolt.”

“Don’t call me Daddy,” he said, his tone low.

Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smile breaking through her irritation. “Good night, Gavin.”

“Wait.”

Roxie froze, her hand on the door. She turned back, her brows lifting in question.

Gavin shifted in his seat, his expression softening just enough to catch her off guard. “Be careful, Roxie. If I’m right, and someone’s targeting you, this place isn’t safe.”

She stared at him, her defenses wavering for just a moment. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction.

“Fine’s not good enough,” he replied.

Her gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary before she pushed the door open and climbed out. “Good night, Cowboy.”

He watched her until she disappeared inside, his gut twisting with unease. Something about her story wasn’t adding up.

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