Page 18 of Her Remarkable Protector

Ethan rejoins me as we leave. I unfold the paper again, staring at the address. It’s close—a short drive.

“What did you say to him?” Ethan asks.

“Just something persuasive.”

“You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t pretend?—”

“Pretend what?” I smirk, unlocking the car. “That I’m the father? Of course not.”

Ethan narrows his eyes. “Then what did you do?”

I shrug, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I was just… ambiguously convincing.”

He shakes his head. “Of all people—Chase Samson.”

The drive to the address feels longer than it should, even though the GPS says it’s only ten minutes away. The closer we get, the more I brace for whatever we’re about to find.

“What the fuck…” I mumble.

The house at the address is not just empty, it’s abandoned. Shutters hang off their hinges, the yard’s a jungle of weeds, and the front door is padlocked, looking like it hasn’t been opened in years.

I stalk up to the porch, rattling the rusty lock. “This is what she gave him? A ghost house?”

Ethan stands at the curb. “She really didn’t want to be found.”

“She’s running in circles, and now so are we,” I snap, pacing back to the car. “Damn it, Ethan. We’re wasting time!”

“Then let’s take a minute,” he says evenly, like he hasn’t heard the edge in my voice. “Get some food. Clear our heads.”

I glance at him, about to argue, but my stomach picks that moment to grumble. Ethan quirks an eyebrow, and I let out a breath. “Fine. But if I hear one word about taking it easy, I swear…”

“No lectures. Just food,” he promises, climbing into the car. “There’s a takeout place up the road.”

The scent of grilled meat and fried onions hits me as we walk into the tiny takeout joint, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a menu board missing half its letters. Ethan orders for both of us—burgers and fries, no argument—and we find a seat by the window while we wait.

“She wouldn’t have given a fake address unless she had somewhere else to go,” I reason aloud.

“So, it’s really that hard to find a pregnant woman traveling with a teenage boy?” His tone is light, but it grates. Why do I feel like he’s mocking me?

“Not now, Ethan,” I bite out.

A guy behind the counter overhears, a twenty-something with shaggy hair and a name tag that says Colt. “You looking for someone?” he asks, leaning on the counter.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up. “You seen a woman—long auburn hair, pregnant? Maybe with a kid? Young teenage boy?”

Colt scratches his chin, thinking. “Can’t say about a woman like that, but there was this guy—young, kinda scruffy. Came in a few times, ordered enough food for two. Real polite. Definitely not from Great Falls. I’ve worked here five years, and I only noticed him about two weeks back. He wasn’t alone, though I couldn’t make out who was with him. Drove an old truck.”

My pulse kicks up. “What kind of truck?”

“RAM,” he says. “Beat to hell. Used to be black, but it’s mostly gray now. Rust on the wheel wells. I think they live nearby. The boy comes often.”

“Must’ve loved the food.”

“We’re the best, man! Though haven’t seen him lately.”

“Got cameras here?” Ethan asks, nodding at the shopfront.

“Nah. It’s a quiet neighborhood. Never any trouble.”

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