Page 7 of Taking What's Mine

I spin on my heel, crossing my arms over my chest. “Oh, good. More talking.”

He ignores my sarcasm, stepping closer until I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “We’re about to be stuck here together for who knows how long. We need ground rules.”

A tiny spark of defiance flickers in my gut. “What are we, kids at summer camp?”

“Call it whatever you want,” he says, jaw tight. “But if I’m responsible for your safety, I get a say in how this works.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Okay, Sergeant. Lay it on me.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for a fight. “Rule one: you don’t leave this house without me. Not even to go outside and breathe fresh air.”

I open my mouth to argue, but his gaze dares me to fight him on it, so I snap my jaw shut.

“Rule two,” he continues, “you tell me—up front—about any new leads, theories, or information you get about your threat. No more running off half-cocked on your own.”

I bite back a retort. “Anything else?”

Lincoln’s eyes flick over my face, and tension crackles between us like static electricity. For a moment, his guard slips, and he looks…concerned. Almost gentle. Then that layer of stone slams back in place.

“Rule three: for the time being, I’m in charge of security protocol. If I say something’s not safe, it’s not up for debate.”

A disbelieving laugh escapes me. “You want me to just roll over and accept all your commands like a good little soldier?”

He stands his ground, crossing his arms. “It’s not about commands. It’s about keeping you alive.”

I can’t argue with that, so I press my lips together, feeling my cheeks blush. “Fine,” I manage. “But you have to promise me something too.”

He raises a brow. “Which is?”

“That you won’t shut me out. You said we’d go over my leads together, and I want your word that you’ll actually consider them. No dismissing me because I’m not ex-military or because I’m Dean’s sister.”

He exhales, tension draining from his posture as he nods. “Agreed.”

We stand there in a standoff for a second, neither of us budging. Finally, I jerk my head toward the small dining table near the kitchen. “Let’s sit down. I’ll show you what I’ve got so far.”

Lincoln follows, and the shifting of his weight on the hardwood sets my nerves on edge. Part of me is dying to push him away, just to assert my independence, but another part—one I refuse to analyze too closely—feels a bit more secure knowing he’s here. Especially after the stunt I pulled climbing out that window.

The kitchen is tucked off to the right, separated from the living area by a half-wall. Everything gleams with newness—stainless steel appliances, freshly stocked cabinets. My safe-house prep team never disappoints. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and plop down at the dining table, which is a sturdy oak piece with enough chairs to seat four.

Lincoln takes the chair across from me, large hands resting on the table like he’s waiting for a briefing. Fine. I can handle that.

I unzip my bag and pull out a black folder. “Remember how I told you I tracked the phone records from that threatening text?”I open the folder, spreading out a few printed pages. “Turns out the number belongs to a burner phone, but I got a couple of possible hits from older database logs. It’s messy, but one name popped up: Morris Rolfe.”

Lincoln’s expression clouds over. “Never heard of him.”

I shrug. “Me neither. So I started digging. This guy’s got a rap sheet that includes cyber hacking, extortion, and a handful of assault charges. Nothing that screams ‘hitman,’ but it’s enough to raise some eyebrows.”

He frowns, scanning the documents. “Why would a guy like that target you specifically?”

“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” I admit, tapping a line of text. “But see here? It mentions he may have ties to a black-market cyber ring. One that sells intel to whoever’s willing to pay.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s possible someone hired him to go after me—or after Dean—and I got caught in the crossfire.”

Lincoln is silent for a long moment, gaze sliding over the words. The tension in his jaw suggests he’s piecing it all together. “We’d need more to go on than just a name.”

“Obviously,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But it’s a start. At least it’s more than we had.”

His gaze snaps to mine. “You’ve been sitting on this for how long?”

“Since yesterday.”

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