Page 6 of Taking What's Mine

I take a moment, staring her down through the open window, both of us breathing heavily from the chase and the argument. She is, without a doubt, the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met—and the fact that she’s right about not wantingto hide away all day doesn’t help. Still, I can’t let her blow off protocol. Not when her life’s on the line.

“I get it,” I say, my tone dropping from anger to something less combative. “You’re not the type to sit around and do nothing. But you’re not invincible, Isabel. Whoever’s threatening you could be watching your every move. Going off alone is reckless.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s fighting a headache. I notice her hands are shaking just slightly, and my anger dims a bit. She’s scared, even if she’d never say so out loud. Isabel’s always trying to prove she can do everything on her own.

“Look,” I continue, quieter now, “we’ll go back to the office so you can leave your car in a secure location. Then we’ll drive to the safe house in my SUV. Once we’re there—out of immediate danger—we can go over your leads. Together. We’ll come up with a plan that won’t get you killed. Deal?”

She’s silent for a few seconds, staring at the steering wheel like it might reveal some magical alternative. Finally, she looks up at me. “That’s your compromise? We go to your secret hideout and then maybe I get to track down this creep?”

I let out a slow breath. “If it checks out, yes. I promise not to leave you out of the loop.”

Her jaw clenches, and I can tell she hates this. But she’s not a complete fool—she knows the odds are stacked against her if she goes it alone. “Fine,” she says, her voice wavering between surrender and lingering fury. “But I’m doing it under protest.”

“Duly noted,” I reply, and step back from the car. “Now follow me.”

She rolls up her window with a scowl. I turn on my heel and stomp to my SUV, sliding into the driver’s seat. The adrenaline hasn’t entirely worn off, and my pulse still thrums in my ears. At least I found her. The thought of her driving around solo, possible threats on her tail, was enough to scare the hell out of me.

A minute later, her car pulls out behind mine. Good. She’s actually cooperating—for the moment. I ease onto the road, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure she’s still following.

We make our way back to Maddox Security. She parks beside my SUV in the lot, still looking pissed as she climbs out. Her eyes flick up to the windows on the building’s higher floors, probably half-expecting Dean to come storming down, but he’s nowhere in sight. Maybe he hasn’t realized she slipped away yet. And hopefully I can keep it that way.

I pop the trunk of my SUV, gesture for her to toss her bag in the back. She hesitates, clearly struggling between wanting to remain independent and acknowledging the necessity of letting me help. Finally, she shoves her duffel in. I close the trunk, and we both climb into the front seats, the cabin suddenly feeling small with all that tension swirling around.

I turn the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbles to life. “Ready?”

She folds her arms and glares out the windshield. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I give her a sideways glance. Part of me wants to say something to smooth things over. To let her know I understand why she hates this. Another part of me is still simmering with anger and a deep, underlying worry about how stubborn she can be. Insteadof speaking, I pull out of the lot and head for the highway that leads to the safe house.

The silence is thick between us, heavy with all the words we’re both holding back. I’m sure she’s biting her tongue to keep from giving me an earful, and I’m straining not to berate her for nearly giving me a heart attack. So we both keep quiet, occasionally glancing at each other but saying nothing.

Eventually, I risk a sideways look. She’s staring out the window, one hand curled into a fist on her lap. The other rests against the door, knuckles white where she’s gripping it. She’s upset—at me, at the situation, at the universe in general. But beneath all that frustration, I can see fear. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to pull the car over and promise her everything will be all right.

But I can’t do that. Not yet, anyway. All I can do is stick to the plan. Keep her safe. Track down whoever’s threatening her, with the help of her intel if it pans out. Because when I told her I’d protect her, I meant it. And no matter how many bathroom windows she climbs through, I’m not going to let her out of my sight until this threat is gone.

We merge onto the highway, the city skyline shrinking behind us. My grip on the steering wheel eases up ever so slightly. At least she’s here now. At least she’s safe. That’s more than I can say for whoever put a target on her back. Because once Isabel and I put our heads together, we’re going to find that person.

And when we do, they’ll wish they never messed with Isabel Maddox.

Chapter 4

Isabel

The drive feels endless. I stare out the window at the rolling countryside, the tall pines swaying like silent sentinels as we wind farther and farther away from the city. Lincoln keeps his eyes on the road, silent except for the occasional grunt whenever a deer or a small critter darts across our path. The tension between us hasn’t lessened—if anything, it’s built, layer by layer, ever since that little chase in the city.

When we finally pull up to the safe house, I’m reminded that I selected this property specifically for its isolation and strategic vantage points. Perched on a gentle slope, it’s surrounded by towering pines. The structure itself looks deceptively quaint—two stories with a covered porch, painted an unassuming gray. The front steps creak under our feet as we make our way to the entrance.

“You’re kidding, right?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “We’re going to be living in a Hallmark movie for the foreseeable future?”

Lincoln shoots me a look. “You said you didn’t want something obvious. A big fancy condo would stand out.”

He unlocks the door with a code, and the smell of fresh pine and lemon cleaner drifts out to greet us. The lights are already on, probably set on a timer by the same crew who stocked this place. I let out a sigh. It’s a place I know well—or at least the layout. I’ve contracted this safe house to be fully equipped for high-profile clients in need of discreet shelter. Guess the joke’s on me for ending up here myself.

Inside, the floors are hardwood, polished to a shine, and the living area is furnished with plush gray couches, a few rustic end tables, and a thick woven rug that gives it a cozy vibe. There’s a stone fireplace along one wall, flanked by tall windows that offer a partial view of the forest. It’s the kind of place people dream about for a quiet retreat, but in our case, it’s a fortress—albeit a subtle one.

I set my bag down on the couch, feeling a pang of annoyance at how…perfect everything looks. I can’t help but imagine the team that rushed in here earlier, stocking the fridge with groceries, fluffing pillows, and making sure the security system is armed. I was the one who gave them the instructions on how to set it all up, so at least there aren’t any unpleasant surprises.

Lincoln lingers behind me, every inch the vigilant guard dog. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, voice low. “We need to talk.”

---