Page 26 of My Mountain Man Stalker
Her eyebrows climb. “Found family.”
I test the phrase and find it doesn’t itch. “Yeah.”
She sits with that, then reaches across the table and drags her thumb across my cheek.
“Thanks,” I say, voice rougher than a thank-you warrants.
“Don’t mention it.” She sucks the seasoning off her thumb, eyes on mine while she does it. Absolutely intentional. Heat coils low and tight. She smiles like she knows exactly where my thoughts go and flicks her gaze to the pan. “You gonna hoard the crispy bits or share?”
I push the plate across the table. “All yours.”
“Careful,” she says. “I might mistake that for love.”
The word hits. I don’t show it. “Eat.”
We do. And we talk, not about ghosts and guns for once but about small things that shouldn’t matter and do. Her favorite lake from childhood. The first book that made me sit still. The way she burns toast and doesn’t mind. The way I hate clutter and pretend I don’t.
By the time the plates are empty and stacked in the sink, the light outside has gone navy. The stove ticks. The cabin breathes.
She leans back in her chair and studies me. “You’re still somewhere else.”
“Plotting,” I say.
“Share with the class.”
“Micah will try to pick up the SUV’s trail. Nate will squeeze a few informants who owe him. If we get a credible address in the next forty-eight hours, I move first.”
Her mouth tightens. “Alone?”
“Not bringing you into a live site,” I say. “Not while we don’t know who else is in play.”
“I didn’t say take me,” she says. “I saidalone.”
“I’m not dragging family into this if I don’t have to.”
“Hale.” My name in her mouth does something to me it shouldn’t. “Youdohave to. If Liam’s working with others, walking in solo is suicide. Your friends want to help—let them.”
She’s right. I hate that she’s right. I nod once. “If we get an address, I’ll call Nate and Micah. We do this clean.”
“And me?”
“You stay,” I say, firm. “You lock down, you answer my texts, and you don’t open the door unless it’s my voice and it’s bright daylight.”
She watches me, then tilts her head. “You think I’m going to argue.”
“I know you are.”
“I’m not,” she says, surprising us both. “I’m mad. I’m scared. I want to be there when he falls because I want to see his face when he realizes he loses. But I’m not going to jeopardize this because I need a front row seat. You say I stay, I stay.”
It shouldn’t ease me like it does. “Good.”
10
Wren
He kisses the back of my head like an apology before he leaves.
“You stay inside,” Hale says, voice low and precise. “Lock every door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Text me if you need anything. Don’t go outside.”
