James

Fight or flight? I can see the question wavering behind her tear-filled eyes. Fear and desperation swirl together in her jerky movements, but it’s the distrustful way she’s looking at me that worries me the most. With danger lurking on the other side of that door, her trust is imperative. Without it, I might as well not be here.

Keeping her hand in mine, I guide her to the bottom of the stairs. I need to hurry this up and get her to safety. He’s alone, which means our odds are better than good, but to keep control of the situation, I need to be the one on the offensive.

Reaching up, I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Annelly, look at me. I know I’ve made a mess of things, and I promise I’ll fix it soon. But right now, you have to trust me. Whoever’s on the other side of that door, I will keep you safe. But this only works if you do exactly as I say.”

She nods, opening her mouth to speak—just as the doorbell rings again, this time several times in a rapid burst that sets my teeth on edge. Her face contorts into a heartbreaking mix of panic and pleading, like she’s silently begging me to stay while also wanting me to make the danger disappear. The sight feels like a punch straight to my gut because I can’t fulfill the second part without leaving her side. The realization that I have to send her away, alone and afraid, twists me up inside. Everything in me screams that I should keep her close, to comfort and shield her from this nightmare. But this isn’t the time for comfort. 

So, with a steady hand, I gently urge her up the first two steps. “Go, Annelly. Hurry. Lock the door, and I’ll come get you when they’re gone.”

To my relief, she does what I say. I keep my eyes on her until she disappears around the corner at the top of the stairs. Watching her walk away like that, knowing she’s up there and alone, ramps up my anxiety tenfold. It’s not until I hear the click of her bedroom lock that I move towards the foyer. 

Reaching behind me, I double-check that my weapon is exactly where it should be before finally opening the door. With an affable grin, I come face to face with the man I’ve been itching to confront. Seeing him here—on her doorstep, of all places—riles up the beast inside me. It takes every scrap of self-control I have not to let my murderous rage bleed through. 

“Hey, man,” I greet him, keeping my tone light, my posture loose—an act that hides the adrenaline surging through my blood. “What can I do for you?”

The man who stands before me practically radiates an aura of refined confidence. Brown eyes, blonde hair, an expensive haircut, standing around five-eleven with an average build. In his tailored black-on-black suit, the look screams money and prestige, definitely “big city” and so out of place in our little mountain town. The look on his face as he recognizes me is priceless and confirms he didn’t expect to find me here. Can’t say I’m not thrilled by the shocked expression on his face.

“I’m looking for Annelly. Is she home?” His hands slip into his pockets in an obvious attempt to appear casual, while we both pretend we’re oblivious to the tension vibrating between us. It’s clear he’s working as hard as I am to school his expression, but he’s not nearly as good at it, since I can see the frustration coiling under his skin.

For the two days we’ve been monitoring Annelly, he’s been doing the same. Watching her. Waiting. Though, for what, we still don’t know. Whether out of stupidity or sheer arrogance, he used his real name when booking his rental car, which is how we confirmed it’s him: Victor Bastille. Owner of several night clubs—mostly gentlemen’s clubs—scattered along the Eastern Seaboard. The high-end establishments cater to a very exclusive type of clientele. Top-of-the-line security—way more than even Owen expected—safeguards his business dealings, suggesting there’s a lot he’s hiding.

“Oh, and you are?” Cool as a cucumber, with a sly grin on my face, I pretend I don’t know who he is. Inside, I’m on high alert, my body primed and eager to respond to any sudden move he might make.

He hesitates, then murmurs, “You know what? I’ll just check in with her at work. Any idea if she’s there tonight?”

“Actually, no, she’s here.” Clearing my throat, I allow a smirk to slip onto my face. “She’s, uh… sleeping. We’ve had quite a day. My poor girl’s exhausted.” My voice drips with innuendo, all part of my plan to piss him off, while marking her as mine and therefore off-limits to him.

“Oh…” though he tries to look unaffected, the scowl carving itself into his brow betrays his anger. His narrowed eyes brim with contempt, nearly making me giddy. “Well, okay then. I’ll, um, give her a call later. Thanks for—.”

“Victor!” I cut him off, voice bright and loud, as if I’ve just solved some grand mystery. “I knew you looked familiar. From Lucas and Emilia’s wedding, right? You were Annelly’s date?”

His jaw tightens. Once, twice, three times before he inclines his head in a stiff nod. “Yeah. Her date.”

“Oh man,” I say, piling on the casual friendliness and capping it off with a half-hearted, fake apology. “No hard feelings, I hope. It’s just that Annelly and I go way back—friends first, you know? I’m sure you noticed at the wedding how close we used to be. Then she came back to town, we reconnected, and… well, I guess you could say the rest is history.” I chuckle like it’s all water under the bridge, like he’s perfectly fine with this turn of events. “I’m convinced it was kismet.”

Red-faced, skin scrunched up, he’s a ball of pent-up fury, and if not for the terrified girl upstairs, I’d have half a mind to see how much more it would take to make him snap. But hey, there’s always next time.

“Anyway,” I continue, shrugging as if this conversation is no big deal. “When she wakes up, I’ll let her know you stopped by—tell her to call you. You staying in town a while?”

He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking both angry and uncomfortable with my question.

“No. Just passing through. No need to tell her I came by. I’ll, uh… get in touch next time I’m around.”

With that, he turns on his heel, heading down the street toward the sleek black Mercedes parked a few houses away. Determined to get my point across, I step out onto the porch, never once letting him out of my sight as he climbs into the driver’s seat. In my periphery, I spot Zeb’s truck sitting a few spots down from Victor Bastille’s car. Just like it has been since I took this job eight years ago, he’s my ever-reliable backup. 

Deliberately, I keep my gaze locked on Bastille while he starts the engine. He notices me watching and from the way his jaw tightens, it’s clear my blatant glare is getting under his skin. It’s a calculated move on my part. Making it clear to him that I see him, that I’m always watching, and that the girl inside that house is under my protection. It’s not until his car disappears down the street that I head back inside, locking the front door behind me. As I climb the steps toward her bedroom, my phone rings.

“All good?” I ask, already knowing it’s Zeb checking in.

“You laid it on pretty thick there.”

“You heard that?” I reply with a smirk, fully aware not only did he hear it, but so did the rest of the guys at HQ.

“Yeah, I did. Which is why I won’t be surprised when Ben tears into you the next time he sees you.”

“Hey, I was just doing my job. Keeping that guy off-balance is part of my strategy.”

“Shock and awe, huh?”

“That’s right—shock and awe.” My grin widens. I love that he gets me. “So what’s the status?”

“He’s gone, but I’ll hang around for another hour or two. Owen’s got him on GPS, so if he circles back, we’ll know. You sure you’re good staying with her tonight?”

“Yeah, after all this excitement, I doubt I’ll get much rest.”

“Okay, man. I’ll text you when I’m out. I’ll be around, so call if you need me to come back.”

“Copy that.” I end the call just as I reach her bedroom door. Knocking softly, I announce myself. “Annelly, it’s James. Unlock the door for me.” 

I don’t say please, nor do I give her an out. With the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins, the only thing that’ll calm me is seeing her safe.

The deafening quiet that follows irks me, though it’s only a few seconds before the soft click of the lock signals she’s letting me in. Impatient, I open the door and find her tear-streaked face staring back at me. The fear and uncertainty tainting her features make my heart constrict. The urge to pull her into my arms is so strong I cross them over my chest to keep from touching her.

“You’re safe,” I tell her, my voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I’ll explain in a minute. You okay?”

She nods a few times, but the tremor in her chin says otherwise. Knowing she needs the comfort, I reach for one of her hands in an innocent touch I hope offers her support without overstepping the boundaries she’s so clearly set. But the moment she threads her fingers through mine, she damn near blows through my self-restraint.

Fuck! We fit together so perfectly. Enamored by the softness of her skin, I fight the urge to lift her hand to my lips. As time ticks on, the warmth of her touch seeps into every inch of me, spreading a sense of rightness that chokes me up. She feels like home. Safety. Security. It’s as if everything I’ve spent a lifetime searching for somehow exists right here, in the essence of her touch. Shock and disbelief flood my system, and I react on instinct—letting go of her hand and stepping back to rein in my rampaging thoughts.

Unsteady, I drag a hand through my hair, then down the back of my neck before shoving both into the pocket of my jeans. Damn it! I shouldn’t have touched her. I’m here to do a fucking job—to keep her safe—and the last thing I need is these bullshit feelings clouding my judgment.

Swallowing back my anger, I shake the worthless thoughts away, and keeping several feet of distance between us, I lead her back downstairs. I have to get her talking, but first, we move through each room together, pulling down blinds and verifying that every window and door is secure and locked up tight. With the sun setting and the inside lights coming on, limiting visibility into the house is crucial. We work quickly, and before long, we’re seated in the living room, where I fill her in on everything we know so far.

I explain how the man she encountered at the diner two days ago—Anthony Zappalla—is under investigation, and that ever since that incident, we’ve been working to confirm he’s not a threat to her. So far, there’s no indication he has any interest in her, which is good news. But it doesn’t change the fact that Victor Bastille seems to be stalking her. I keep that detail to myself for now, along with our suspicion that her life in New York may be connected to Zappalla’s and Bastille’s business dealings. 

“There’s more, but there are gaps in what we know. We’re hoping you might fill some of those in for us. Our questions relate to your time in New York.”

Her reaction is immediate. It starts with an adamant shake of her head, followed by her body going rigid as her hands begin to tremble.  

“Annelly…” I pause, silently imploring for her to look at me. “It’s clear something went wrong out there. Based on what we know, we have an inkling as to what that might be. But without hearing your side, we won’t know how to help. I know this isn’t easy, but telling me what really happened in New York is the only way to fix things.”

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