Page 32 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

The sun’s barely up; a stripe of gold cuts through her window blinds. Lara’s wrapped in the sheets beside me, one bare leg tangled with mine, her face turned toward my chest like her body already decided I’m safe before her brain could catch up.

She’s snoring, and it shouldn’t be cute but it is. Loud, imperfect, human. And I love it. Not because I’m smitten, but because it means she’s still here. Still with me. And that’s more important than sleep.

But then the kind of stillness that makes everything louder in your head takes over.

This isn’t just a good night. This is a line crossed, a rule broken, a thousand consequences waiting just outside that bedroom door.

I wasn’t supposed to let her reach for me and I damn sure wasn’t supposed to reach back.

I wasn’t supposed to have sex with my best friend’s sister.

No doubt I’ve had Xander on my shoulder throughout a lot of this.

But there’s also my own agenda to finally stand still, focus on myself and not let Lara do anything but go out in the world to live her best life. My head says I should have resisted.

I don’t think Xander would have cared if I crossed the line way back when. Back then, Xander might’ve punched me, then shrugged, knowing I’d treat her right. But now? He guards her joy like it’s holy, and he wouldn’t want the man I am now, bleeding shadows, to be the one holding it in my hands.

The skin at the back of her neck is warm beneath my hand, and every few seconds she shifts in her sleep.

Last night, she let me in. Deeper than ever… Now I want to take someone with me.

Her uttering those words was the closest I’ve ever come to falling apart in someone else’s arms.

She said stay. You’re mine. I’m taking you everywhere with me. Even to the deep. Even to the dark. It wasn’t an I love you. It was something greater—forever without a beginning or end.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, just the barest brush of my lips. She shifts, letting out a soft hum that kills me a little.

I need to stop staring at her like this because I’m peering over the edge at something dangerous. Before, it was about her and me. Now, there are lies involved if I don’t tell her brother.

I told her last night she deserves better than to be a secret and I meant it. Even if my best friend will see me differently for it.

I love her. God, he has to know that…

I slide on my boxer briefs and jeans and slip quietly out into the hallway. A spoon clinks against porcelain in the kitchen.

Freya.

This is going to be an interesting walk of shame.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits me, and when I turn the corner, she’s there in her pajamas, a silk bonnet around her curls and a pot gurgling away in the old-fashioned coffee pot on the counter.

“Morning,” she says brightly.

The more I’m around her, the harder it is to picture this woman hurting a fly. And yet my gut won’t fully unclench. In war zones, instincts like that keep you alive—patterns, tells, the smallest flicker of something off. And I can’t decide if it’s instinct or paranoia whispering at me now.

I mean, Anton has the same evidence but never mentioned Freya once. Then again, he’s been mesmerized by this woman’s curves. She might just be his siren.

“Morning,” I offer. “Have a cup to spare?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, I have two cups to spare.”

She reaches up for a couple of mugs, fills them then pours in some creamer she already has out on the counter. I decide to mind my manners and not let her know I prefer black.

“She still sleeping?” Freya asks.

I nod.

“Good. She needed it.” She hands me the mugs. “But we do have a big event to prepare for later this week, so I made it extra strong.” She tilts her head to the coffee and smiles like she’s already had a few of these.

“Yeah?” I blow the top of a mug and take a sip. “A gala or something, right?”

“That’s it. A fancy party in San Jose. A donor thank-you event where somehow we tend to raise even more money. I’m always in awe of how generous people are. Throw them a ball to celebrate their kindness and then they pledge more? There are a lot of good people out there,” she says cheerfully.

Her words are a reminder I think I need. I tend to operate assuming the opposite.

“It’s a good cause.”

I soften for a beat, thinking about Lara’s story again. Thinking about how Freya has also faced death. And how they both ended up turning that into a passionate need to help others.

I nod to the living room where the broken glass once was. “Thank you for cleaning up. I came out last night to sort it out, but you’d already done it.”

“I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.” She winks.

I don’t know if she means Lara or me but I lift the mugs. “Appreciated.”

“Of course.”

I offer a thin-lipped smile and wander back down the hall and question why my gut is telling me to forget about Freya.

I’m not as easily swayed as a cup of Joe in the morning.

Or even a friendly smile. But I have to trust the evidence, or lack thereof, and moreover, Lara’s instincts.

She’s not a fool, never has been. Xander taught her to give no trust unless it’s earned.

I can’t shake the feeling completely, but my shoulders ease around her more than they did yesterday.

She told Lara she trusts me. Trusts Anton. Said she’d follow our lead no matter what and to let her know if she can help.

I push open the door with my shoulder and kick it back closed behind me. Lara’s sitting up in bed, now with a t-shirt on, cell in hand, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“What is it?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer and continues to stare at her phone.

I set the mugs down, my fingers tighter on the handle than they should be. Sit beside her, already bracing for the worst.

She exhales slowly. “I’ve been off socials for a long time. I stopped going on when Cameron first started getting weird, but let’s say not being on there didn’t stop him being weird.”

She turns her screen toward me so I can see. I lean in, peering over her shoulder.

Her inbox is a storm. Three hundred unread messages. Two hundred seventy-eight from Cameron Jenkins.

Some messages are angry. Some are pleading. Some are sick. I could grind my teeth to powder both at the audacity of this man and at myself for taking this risk.

I want to put my little Firefly in a glass jar to keep her from this sicko.

But sometimes you have to walk through hell to get what you need. And she needs her freedom back.

I run my finger down her milky thigh and sit up straighter in bed, instinct kicking in hard and fast. My protective calm gives way to something colder, and I tap into the part of me that knows how to get the job done.

Today is the day. I need to shift some of this anger, and desire, and replace it with focus.

She stares at her cell, bolts of blonde falling down and framing her face. “I guess I better write something.” But something in her tone tells me she doesn’t want to.

I hate this.

I reach out for her hand. “You… we don’t have to do it this way.”

We don’t. We don’t have to set a trap. It was Xander’s idea. Not a bad one. I get it, a restraining order won’t do shit, and Lara doesn’t have days to waste worrying, running, hiding… least of all when she has multiple ex-SEALs in her life with a taste for vigilante justice.

“Lara… Arthur’s cabin? You don’t have to go there or text Cameron…”

“No, I want it over. I’m just thinking of the best way to phrase things in a text. To draw him out of hiding but still stay as honest as one can be anyway. In this situation…”

Lara doesn’t like lying.

But needs must.

She lets out a sharp breath. “Okay.” She types and dictates at the same time.

“Hi, Cameron. I haven’t replied to your messages because I felt things are getting unhealthy on your end and I hoped that by giving you space, you might focus on yourself and sort out your mental health.

I’m concerned you haven’t and feel strongly that you should get some help, because there is a perfect person out there for you, it’s just not me. ”

My jaw clenches. He doesn’t deserve a single ounce of that kindness.

I want this guy locked up, not finding someone else. He’s had months’ worth of time to be a decent man and he chose otherwise.

Call me protective, possessive, or even obsessed… fuck him.

She types another email but with a different angle.

“Hi, Cameron. I didn’t reply because I hoped giving you space might help you focus on yourself.

But nothing’s changed. These messages have been hard on me, and I’ve moved to Echo Valley to work on myself, too.

In fact, I’m on a solo art retreat tonight to reflect.

Maybe you should try something like this, too. It’s time to move on.”

She sends this one.

She stares at the screen like it might crawl out of her hands and burn her. Then she sets it face down on the blanket and goes still.

I catch her hand before she can bury it under the covers.

She doesn’t look at me. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I should’ve told him to go to hell.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. You did good.” My grip tightens, grounding her.

She had to be nice.

She stares at the wall in front of her like she’s just done something dirty.

Just then, her cell beeps and her breath hitches.

Right there on the lock screen is a reply. I lean over to see a text from Cameron.

CAMERON

I WILL TRY TO GET THERAPY OR SOMETHING. BUT FIRST, CAN WE PLEASE TALK? I JUST NEED SOME CLOSURE. TO EXPLAIN MYSELF. THERE’S A FLIGHT AT NOON. I CAN BE THERE TONIGHT. TAKE YOU OUT FOR DINNER?

One of the what-ifs in our mission just got more certain. There’s only one art retreat in Echo Valley, and Arthur has multiple social media pages with the address to the cabin on them. Cameron won’t struggle to find out where Arthur’s cabin is.

I smooth my fingers down her back. “Like I said, you nailed it.”

Her face scrunches like she doesn’t agree, and her gaze focuses on my tattoo. She smooths her fingers over the letters.

The meaning of it hasn’t faded. Lay down your life for your friends. It’s how I’ve always lived. But Lara tracing it now reminds me there’s a difference between dying for someone and living for them. Between being a weapon and being a man.

And her touch, right there?

It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m still a man underneath the armor.

“I trust you,” she whispers.

“Trust me to tear the world in half.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “I think I need to take my own advice. I need therapy.”

“Why’s that?”

With one hand I cradle her jaw. The other anchors her hip like I’m afraid she’ll disappear. Maybe she will. This might be our last morning like this.

“How can I want Cameron to get help,” she breathes, “and still want you to be the one to end him?”

“It’s called being human.” I kiss her temple. “It’s complicated.”

“Sure is.”

“I got you, Lara. I’ll do the ugly stuff so you can stay beautiful.”

She gives me a sideways grin. “Just how it’s always been.”

Nostalgia fills the room. And my heart.

And then, my cell beeps on her bedside table.

ANTON

I’M IN THE TRUCK.

I want her to stay in my arms forever, but it’s time to move. The warmth of her body is everything I’ve ever wanted, and yet the thing I have to walk away from if I’m going to protect it.

I ease out from beneath her, press one last kiss to her temple, and force myself to stand. Her hand slides across the sheets in search of me, but I’m already halfway to dressed.

She watches me through heavy eyelids and curls back up beneath the covers.

I pause at the door. Just long enough to glance back.

The bed’s a wreck. Sheets twisted from sleep and sex and something that felt dangerously close to peace. And it guts me because I know I won’t be crawling back into it.

This is the last quiet moment we’ll get.

By sunset, everything changes.

The truth is cruel, unlike any mission I’ve ever known, because once I get rid of Cameron, Lara won’t need me anymore and the countdown to her leaving will start all over again.

Protecting her is the easy part. Surviving her is what will destroy me.