Page 66 of Defending What's Mine

Charlotte breaks the silence first. “Do you think Wade will ever stop?”

“Not until someone stops him,” I answer honestly. “I intend to be that someone.”

She nods, trust unquestioned. The truck hums down the coastal highway, sea fog curling over the asphalt. I send periodic pings to the Lane parents and Nana Peg—status green, no tails, ETA on schedule.

Forty-five minutes later the landscape shifts from beach condos to pine-studded backroads. I turn onto a gravel lane shielded by live oaks. At the end, a modern cabin of reinforced timber and steel rests against a marshy inlet—solar, generator backup, bullet-resistant glass. I keyed the alarm codes this morning via secure app; no one else in the world has them. Not even Dean. It’s the way Maddox Security works with the safe houses.

Inside, Charlotte walks the open floor plan. The kitchen’s stocked, first-aid supplies front-and-center, panoramic windows offering views but not vantage to outsiders.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

“It’s fortress-level boring,” I correct, locking the door behind us. “Which is exactly what we need.”

She turns, wraps her arms around my waist. “As long as you’re here, I’m safe.”

Her faith settles the storm cell in my chest. I kiss her hair, then her forehead. Wade may still be out there calculating moves, but he’ll find no openings.

I’ll keep everyone updated, monitor every channel, and close the net tighter each day. But for the first time since this op began, I let myself breathe—just a little—and hold Charlotte in a space that feels like the beginning of peace.

31

Charlotte

The cabin is beautiful. It’s rustic yet modern, sturdy timber beams intersecting sleek, reinforced windows that overlook the marshy inlet. Twilight paints the sky lavender and pink, the fading sun turning the water into liquid gold. I glance at Asher, who has been diligently pacing the perimeter for the last twenty minutes, double-checking every window latch, door bolt, and hidden alarm sensor.

I can’t help but laugh softly. He spins around immediately, alert and concerned.

“What?” he asks, his brows drawn together in that serious, focused look he’s perfected. "You see something?"

“No.” I smile warmly, shaking my head. “You’re just so…intense.”

He lets out a slow exhale, relaxing his shoulders slightly. “Well, one of us has to be.”

“I appreciate it. Really,” I say, moving to him and placing my palm against his chest. His heart thuds steadily beneath myhand, a comforting rhythm. “But even you can take a break now and then.”

His gaze softens, those gray eyes warming just for me. “I’ll relax when Wade’s locked up and the threats are neutralized.”

I reach up and press a gentle kiss to his jaw. “You can be the hero tomorrow. Tonight, let me take care of you.”

He tilts his head, a small smile curving his lips. “And what exactly did you have in mind, Miss Lane?”

“Dinner,” I reply, stepping back and heading toward the kitchen. “And before you protest, it’s non-negotiable.”

“I wouldn’t dream of protesting,” he says dryly, though amusement dances in his eyes. He follows me into the spacious kitchen, taking a seat on one of the high-backed stools lining the granite island.

Opening the refrigerator, I’m pleased to find fresh ingredients stocked inside. Someone has thoughtfully ensured we’ll have enough food for a week without venturing out. I pull out chicken breasts, asparagus, and a few colorful bell peppers. The pantry holds rice, herbs, and spices, so I gather them up and start the stove, filling the cabin with comforting domestic sounds.

Asher watches silently, his elbow propped on the counter, chin resting in his palm. He looks completely at home here, casual in dark jeans and a simple black T-shirt that hugs every muscle perfectly.

As the skillet heats, I glance over at him, suddenly struck by how right this feels. Cooking for him, sharing this quiet intimacy. it’s effortless and natural. I want this to be my future. Our future.

I bite my lip, hesitating for only a second before finally voicing the thought I’ve been harboring for days. “Asher, have you ever thought about relocating?”

He blinks slowly, clearly caught off-guard, but he doesn’t immediately dismiss the question. Instead, his expression turns thoughtful. “Relocating?”

“Yes,” I say, seasoning the chicken and carefully laying it in the sizzling skillet. “Denver. You have a cabin there. We could start a dog rescue there.”

He nods slowly, processing my words. “You’d really love it there, wouldn't you?”

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