Page 44 of Her Remarkable Protector

The answer clicks into place like a puzzle piece. No wonder I hadn’t found anything on him before. If he’s only recently gone full-time with a high-profile organization like Red Mark, his contract work wouldn’t have left much of a trail. From all the Chase Samsons I managed to dig up, they were peaceful office workers or businessmen—not the man sitting across from me.

“And before Red Mark? Before your contract work?” The question leaves my mouth before I can think better of it.

His expression shifts, a slither of unease passing across his face. “Before that, I was a SEAL.”

I freeze, my fork pausing midair. “A SEAL?” For a brief, wild second, I wonder if he’s skirting around the truth to avoid something bigger—like being connected to the Stoneborn network. But no, you don’t lie about something like being a SEAL. That’s as real as it gets. The most lethal weapon the U.S. military can produce. A flicker of respect fills my chest despite myself.

He nods, his tone calm but weighted. “Yeah. A few deployments. Mostly overseas.”

My thoughts spiral—picturing Junior as a man in a wetsuit, charcoal smeared across his face, a heavy rifle in his hands, emerging from the dark water. But then the reality hits me harder. While I was desperately chasing every thread, clinging to nothing but a face and those unforgettable eyes, he was off being a Navy SEAL. No wonder I kept hitting dead ends—he wasn’t even in the country.

“You must’ve seen a lot,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods again, his gaze drifting slightly, like he’s staring at something far away. “Yeah. A lot.”

I want to press, to ask more, but there’s a heaviness in his words that makes me hesitate. This isn’t something you unpack lightly. And now here I am, planning to avenge my father’s death with a SEAL? God, what have I gotten myself into?

I take another bite of toast, letting the silence settle between us.

Chase looks back at me. “What about you? You’ve heard my story. What’s yours?”

The question startles me. For a moment, I don’t know how to answer. My story? It’s not the kind you drop over breakfast, not with a baby sleeping in the other room and the scent of eggs still in the air.

“Nothing to report,” I say finally. “I’m just the stupidest woman who thought Damon Stone was my knight in shining armor.” It’s a lie, but one that sounds close enough to the truth that my breakfast companion will believe.

Chase studies me, his gaze patient, like he’s waiting for more.

“Well,” I add, my voice turning gentler, “don’t get me wrong. Laramie is a miracle. I never regret her.”

“I understand,” he says simply. “From now on, live as if Damon Stone is out of your life. We’ve got a lot of work to do, but keep that in your head.”

The conversation fades into silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s something about the moment that feels stable, almost like we’re bonding—though I’d rather not admit it.

As I finish the last bite of my eggs, I glance at him again and catch the faintest trace of a smile on his face. So this is what it feels like to splinter under a man’s spell. Damn it.

Almost as if he knows what I’m thinking, Chase gets up, giving me space. He clears the table, then motions for me to take my time or do whatever I need.

Before I head back to my room, he stops me and places my gun in my hand. My trusty Glock lies sideways in my palm, but my focus is elsewhere—those damn eyes. Stormy sky. They still hold that weather warning edge, but now there’s a pull to them, dragging me in, spinning me in circles.

“Do you trust me with this?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says easily. “We won’t always be inside. You need to be able to defend yourself.”

Against who? That’s the real question.

I don’t linger. I retreat to my room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.

A few minutes later, the sound of the shower running fills the quiet house. He’s shown me the combination to the front door—he trusts me to stay. But trust is a fragile thing, and right now, mine feels as sturdy as glass teetering on the edge of a table.

I could take the opportunity. Now that Laramie’s in the world, I have more flexibility to go farther. I could leave this place, grab Oakley, and make a run for Canada. Start fresh somewhere no one would ever think to look. Maybe even that town I once dreamed of as my escape.

Aunt Beth—my mother’s stepsister—visited us in Kalispell once. She was kind to me, always talking about how I should come see her someday. I don’t know exactly where she lives, or if she’s even still there, but I know it’s somewhere in Canada.

And if not there, I could find plenty of other places to start over. Whether I’ll return to this man to finish what I started is a decision for another time.

My fingers wrap tighter around the Glock as my mind spins, my steps light as I make my way toward his room. He left the bathroom door slightly ajar, steam curling out.

The doorway looms closer, every step pulling me into a dangerous possibility. I could end this right now. One shot, and the stormy sky, the questions, the doubts—all of it would go back into the box where it belongs. Chase Samson would be nothing more than a dead man, and my revenge would be complete.

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