Page 21

Two months later

Callum sat at his desk in his home office, frowning at a petty theft report from earlier in the day. The case—a stolen bike—barely warranted the effort it took to fill out the paperwork. Even so, he approached it methodically, reviewing every detail, ensuring no corner went unchecked.

It was what he did. It was who he was .

Still, his focus strayed. As it had nearly every damned day since he’d gotten home from Moldova.

A copy of that same art history textbook he and Sloane had read in the safe house caught his attention at the edge of his desk, the cover pristine. He’d had a copy sent to Sloane nearly six weeks ago and had ordered one for himself at the same time.

Hell if he knew why he’d done either. It wasn’t like he was ever going to read that book by himself, and Sloane hadn’t responded to the gift at all. Not that he’d expected her to.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t spoken to her since Barcelona—two full months now. Although he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of her nearly every day. Her image popped up unbidden all the time: smiling at him over her book in the safe house, her dark hair whipping in the wind as they walked through the outdoor market, her sigh of delight as she took a bite of crème br?lée.

Her face—drawn and scared—as they pulled her away from him in Barcelona.

His hand twitched toward his cell phone on the desk. One call or text to Dustin or Lincoln could give him an update, let him know how Sloane was doing. His fingers curled into a fist. No, if she had moved on—and Callum told himself that she had and that it was good that she had—he’d be damned if he pried into her life like some jealous ex.

She’s fine, Webb. The time together didn’t mean as much to her as it did to you—so what? Fucking grow a pair.

It was better this way. Better that she was moving on with her life and not getting hung up thinking about him, the way he was hung up thinking about her. If no contact meant she was happy, that was enough for him.

Or at least that’s what he told himself every night as he dreamed about her.

With effort, Callum dragged his attention back to the stolen bike report. It was mundane work, sure, but the routine grounded him. He scanned the statement from the complainant—Billy Harris, age nine—trying not to let his thoughts slip back to the past.

Then the sensor alert chirped.

Callum’s head snapped up, the faint hum of adrenaline replacing his quiet stupor. The security system he’d set up around his property was state-of-the-art—a habit from his days as an Omega Sector operative. It wasn’t the first time the alarm had tripped; local teenagers had been known to mess around near his land, thinking it funny to test the sheriff’s patience.

Except this was different.

The monitor showed the sensor tripped at the northeast corner of the property—near the woods. Callum’s gut tightened. Yesterday, he’d found odd footprints in the frost-damp dirt. He’d set the sensors earlier today as a precaution.

Now, they were paying off.

Callum rose, his instincts sharp and ready. He grabbed his jacket and slid his sidearm into the holster at his hip. His movements were fluid, efficient. Years of training had taught him not to waste time imagining possibilities.

Assess the threat. Neutralize it.

Outside, the fall Wyoming night wrapped around him—cold, silent, and unnervingly still. He moved quickly, taking a flanking route through the trees rather than walking straight toward the triggered sensor. The wind cut through the pines, and Callum let it guide him, masking his approach.

Every step brought his senses higher. His boots crushed damp leaves underfoot, and he recalled the tracks he’d found yesterday: deep indents, as if someone had planted themselves to do some sort of reconnaissance. Could’ve been a vagrant—or someone worse. His thoughts darkened.

Maybe it was Nikola Kozak.

In some ways, Callum wished it would be that bastard. He’d take great pleasure in beating the shit out of the other man. But there hadn’t been any indication that the Kozaks were doing anything except hiding out from law enforcement entities attempting to hunt them down back in Eastern Europe since their network had been broken up.

Callum reached a thick cluster of evergreens and crouched, his eyes narrowing on the faint glimmer of a shadow moving near his house. The person was crouched low, creeping toward his back window.

A small guy, but not a kid. Could still be a local teenager; some of those guys were man-sized. Callum’s pulse kicked up, though his movements remained slow and controlled. He slid his gun from the holster and flicked the safety off, his footsteps soundless as he approached.

The intruder—dark-clad and cautious—had no idea he was coming. Definitely wasn’t someone with formal or military training. They were leaving their back way too wide open.

He stepped into position behind them, his boots brushing against the dirt just enough to draw attention. The figure froze, head snapping up, as if they could sense him.

Too late, you bastard.

Callum lunged. He tackled the intruder to the ground, realizing midair that he’d made a mistake… This wasn’t a small man at all.

It was a woman .

He twisted his body as they flew to absorb as much of the impact himself as he could. He hit the earth hard, knocking the air from his lungs, but his grip was unrelenting as he pinned the figure beneath him.

A woman could be just as deadly as a man, and Callum wasn’t letting down his guard until he found out why she was there.

But the second his hands pulled away the hood covering the intruder’s face, the world stopped as clear blue eyes—familiar and terrified—met his.

“Sloane?” he rasped, her name torn from his throat in disbelief.

Her name tasted strange on his tongue after so long, but there was no mistaking her—delicate features, pale skin, and those striking blue eyes that now stared at him, wide with surprise. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she slumped against the damp grass with a soft sigh.

She’d fainted.

“Shit,” he growled, instinct overriding his shock as he rolled her over to the side, fingers already pressing against the hollow of her throat.

Pulse: steady. Thank God. He shifted his hand to hover near her mouth, warmth confirming she was breathing. He exhaled a curse under his breath, tension bleeding from his chest.

He stared down at the state she was in. Her clothes were rumpled, jacket way too thin for this weather. There wasn’t a damn bag or car in sight. “What the hell is going on here, angel?”

Still unconscious, Sloane offered no answers.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined seeing her again. Not that he’d thought he’d be seeing her again at all.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to get her out of this cold and see what the hell was wrong. He slid his arms carefully beneath her, startled at how light she was as he lifted her off the cold ground.

“What are you doing here, Sloane Miller?” he murmured to her quiet form, his voice soft despite the edge of frustration. “And why didn’t you just come to the front door?”

The cabin door groaned in protest a few minutes later as he nudged it open with his foot, carrying her inside. He laid her gently on the couch, the worn leather creaking under her weight. Callum crouched beside her, his sharp gaze sweeping over her again—too pale, too still, too damn fragile-looking for his peace of mind. Bruises dotted her forearms, shadows darkened the hollows under her eyes, and her lips were dry, cracked.

Something wasn’t right.

Callum straightened, reaching for his phone. Dr. Annie Mackay’s number was saved under “Doc Annie,” and she picked up on the second ring.

“What kind of trouble are you calling me about at this hour, Sheriff?” Annie’s voice was heavy with dry humor. “You lose a fight with a porcupine again?”

“Not me. It’s…” He hesitated, glancing at Sloane. “Someone else. Passed out cold. Pale. Bruises on her arms. Not dehydrated as far as I can tell, but she hasn’t come to yet.”

Annie’s voice sharpened, the sleepiness gone. “Vitals? Pulse? Breathing? Any noticeable wounds?”

“No wounds. Vitals steady. She fainted, I think. But there’s something off.”

“Off, as in broken bones or concussion?”

“No, nothing like that.” Callum rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving Sloane’s still form. “She just looks… done in . Exhausted.”

Annie was quiet for a beat. “You said bruises?”

“Yeah. On her forearms. They’re not bad…” But honestly, the sight of any bruises on Sloane brought him back to the ones that had covered her thighs and chest from Nikola Kozak’s mistreatment.

Once again, Callum wished the man were here so he could pound the shit out of him.

“It doesn’t sound like she needs a hospital. I’ll come by. Zac’s with me, so he’ll drive. Give us fifteen minutes.”

Callum disconnected the call and set the phone down with a soft thunk, his brow furrowing as he paced the small room. Every now and then, Sloane’s eyelids fluttered, her head turning slightly as though caught in some dream. Each small movement sent a sliver of relief through him, though it didn’t stop the questions screaming in his head.

Why was she here? Why had she been sneaking around? Why was she showing up now after two months without a word?

The soft rumble of a car pulling into the driveway snapped him out of his thoughts. Callum opened the door before Annie could knock, her husband Zac trailing close behind her. Zac’s easy grin softened the edge of Callum’s tension. He’d known this man for decades. Was honored to call him a friend.

“Didn’t think we’d get called out tonight,” Zac quipped as they stepped inside, but Annie was already kneeling beside the couch, pulling a stethoscope from her bag.

“Thank you. I know it’s late,” Callum muttered.

Annie’s focus was on Sloane as she ran through a quick assessment. “How long’s she been out?”

“Right before I called you.” Callum crossed his arms, forcing himself to stay out of her way.

Annie pointed to the door. “You guys give us some privacy.”

He wanted to argue, but he knew the doctor was right. He followed Zac outside, the calm night air a stark contrast to the tension within the house.

Zac turned to Callum, one eyebrow raised. “The ladies just passing out on your couch these days? That’s an interesting dating plan.”

“This one was actually wandering around outside my house and tripped an alarm. If I’d known it was Sloane, I wouldn’t have done my best defensive end impression and tackled her.”

“Sloane, as in… Moldova Sloane?”

Callum wasn’t surprised Zac had heard about her. Gossip ran rampant in a town the size of Oak Creek. “Yep.”

“I thought she lived in Seattle. How did she end up here?”

Callum ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips. “I have no idea. I found her sneaking around the property, no belongings, no car. Then she fainted, so I didn’t get any info from her.”

“Does Sloane being here get your hackles up?” Zac’s narrowed eyes glanced toward the door. Even thirty years after marrying her, he was still protective of Annie.

“I’m not worried she’s a threat, if that’s what you’re asking. I am wondering what the hell is going on.”

The other man relaxed slightly. “I guess what I’m asking is, are you happy to see Sloane again? Are you glad she’s here?”

Callum hesitated, the question hanging heavy in the air, but not because he didn’t know the answer.

Hell yes , he was happy she was here. He’d thought of her every single day since their abrupt goodbye in Barcelona. He’d wondered if she was okay, if she still had little nightmares about Nikola Kozak touching her, if she regretted giving her virginity to him.

Her showing up when he’d least expected it didn’t upset him at all. The opposite. But he wasn’t going to admit that to Zac, given how pathetic it sounded.

“I know her home situation isn’t the best, so if she needed out of Seattle, I’m glad she left.”

“Oak Creek is pretty fucking far from Seattle.”

Callum let out a sigh. “Yeah, and I still don’t even know how she got here. Or why she chose here at all. But if she needs help, I’ll do what I can.”

Before Zac could respond, the sound of the front door opening drew their attention. Annie emerged, her expression a mix of concern and relief.

“She’s awake and talking,” she announced. “From what I can tell, she hasn’t had proper meals or sleep for days. That, combined with stress and exhaustion, likely led to her fainting.”

Callum looked over Annie’s shoulder but couldn’t see inside to the couch. “Will she be okay?”

“With rest and nourishment, she should be fine. I’d like to schedule a follow-up appointment for a few days from now, just to be sure.”

He didn’t know if Sloane even planned to still be here in a few days. But God, he hoped so. “Sounds good. I’ll make it happen.” If he could. Maybe it would be an excuse to get her to stay.

Annie paused, her gaze softening. “Callum, are you comfortable taking care of her? She’s probably going to be pretty weak for a few days—needs as much sleeping and eating as possible.”

“Of course. I’ll do whatever it takes to help her.” The words surprised him, the depth of his own commitment catching him off guard. But as he spoke them, he knew they were true.

Annie and Zac exchanged a knowing glance, but Callum didn’t say anything.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Annie said, turning back to gather her belongings. “I’ll set up a follow-up appointment for three days from now. If you need anything in the meantime, just call.”

Callum closed the door behind his friends and turned toward the couch. Sloane had already fallen back asleep. She looked better, although maybe that was just his subconscious sighing in relief now that he knew she’d been checked out by a medical professional and was in no true danger.

He knelt down beside her. “You’re a long way from home,” he muttered, his voice soft.

She shifted then, her brow furrowing as she murmured something under her breath. Her lips parted, her eyelids fluttering again.

“Callum…” Her voice was barely audible, but the sound of his name on her lips made something inside him twist. She didn’t say anything else.

He moved into the chair across from the couch, watching her as she slowly settled into sleep once more. A quiet calm settled over the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire he’d built earlier before finding her.

“Rest, angel,” he murmured, the old endearment slipping out before he could stop it. “We’ll sort this out in the morning.”

And for the first time in years, the cabin didn’t feel quite so empty.