Page 4 of Protected By The Ranger (The Men of Ghost Security #1)

IZZY

J ake is going to be furious.

It’s Friday afternoon, andhe was insistent that I stay at Hayden’s house while he went to run an errand and check in at the office to see where the tech guy is with tracking my stalker.

But I was going stir crazy, so I called for a taxi and headed for my old high school.

Now, I’m walking through Raytown High. It’s late afternoon and all the kids are gone, but I know the teacher I’m looking for will undoubtedly still be here, probably working with a student.

The music department is tucked away in the arts wing, where the walls are still painted an unfortunate shade of beige. The same motivational posters hang crooked in their frames—”Music is the universal language” and “Follow your dreams.” The only difference now is that the edges are yellowed.

Mrs. Henderson’s classroom door stands open, and the familiar sound of someone practicing scales rings out clearly.

My chest tightens with nostalgia. This was the first place anyone told me I had real talent, where Mrs. Henderson pushed me to reach notes I didn’t think I could hit and encouraged me to sing my own songs, when I’d been too shy to tell anyone—even my brother or my parents—that I was writing my own songs.

This room was where I learned music could be my ticket to a better life.

When my parents were fighting constantly, when I felt invisible and then when Hayden was deployed in a faraway country, this was where I found solace and inspiration.

Mrs. Henderson saw something in me when I couldn’t see it in myself, and that changed everything.

Life was so much simpler in high school, even if it didn’t seem simple then. The biggest worry was whether I’d embarrass myself during the spring concert, not whether some stranger was tracking my every movement.

“Isabelle Dawson.”

I turn to find Mrs. Henderson standing in the doorway, her silver hair pulled back in the same practical bun she wore when I was a student here.

Her face breaks into a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, and before I can respond, she’s pulling me into a hug that nearly makes me cry from how comforting it is.

“I can’t believe it. Look at you,” she says, taking a step back but keeping her hand on my shoulders.

“Hi, Mrs. H. I was in town and I wanted to say hi.”

“I’ve been following your career, you know. That review of your first CD, in Rolling Stone, made me cry. They called you ‘a voice that carries the weight of every broken heart and the hope of every mended soul.’”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “You’ve followed my career?”

“Of course I did. You were always special, Isabelle. Even when you were sixteen and convinced you’d never be good enough.

It is such a joy to see your star rising like I always hoped it would.

” She studies my face with the same intensity she always reserved for particularly difficult passages of music. “What brings you home?”

“Just needed a break from LA. My brother is back from the Army, so I came to visit for a while,” I say, not wanting to burden her with my problems. I came here to get away from them. “Actually, I wanted to see how the program is doing. The music department.”

Her expression shifts, and something that looks like defeat settles over her features. “Oh, Isabelle. I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

“What do you mean?”

“Budget cuts. We’re losing funding across the board, and the school board is talking about eliminating the music program entirely next year.

” She gestures around the room at the ancient piano, the outdated sound system, the music stands held together with duct tape.

“They say it’s not essential education. It’s all STEM this and STEM that, and people treat the arts like they’re worthless. ”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This room saved my life when I was a teenager, drowning in my insecurity and family drama. Music gave me a purpose when nothing else made sense.

“How much do you need to keep the program running?”

“Forty thousand dollars to keep the program running for another year. At the bare minimum. Maybe buy some new instruments, fix the piano.” She shakes her head.

“It might as well be a million. The community doesn’t have that kind of money, and the school board has already made their priorities clear. ”

Forty thousand dollars. I know singers who’ve spent more than that on stage costumes for a single tour. The disparity between my world and this one hits me with uncomfortable clarity.

“What if we did a fundraiser? A benefit concert. How much could we realistically raise with a community event?”

Mrs. Henderson’s eyes widen. “Well, the auditorium holds about three hundred people. If we charged twenty dollars a ticket...that’s only six thousand dollars, assuming we sold out.”

“Then we’ll make it bigger. More significant.” I pace to the window, looking out at the empty courtyard where students used to gather during lunch. “Music saved my life in this room, Mrs. H. Let me help it save someone else’s.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “You’d really do that?”

“I want to give back to the program that gave me everything. Let me figure something out.”

Jake suddenly appears in the doorway, his face flushed like he’s been running. For a split second, relief flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something that looks like barely controlled fury.

“We need to go. Now.”

“Jake, I’m in the middle of—”

“Now, Izzy.”

Something in his tone, the way his green eyes have gone hard and dangerous, makes the protest die in my throat.The authority in his voice sends an unexpected thrill through me that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Mrs. Henderson takes one look at his expression and steps in front of me. “Now listen here, young man,” she says, grabbing her phone like she’s about to call 9-1-1.

“I know him, Mrs. H. It’s okay,” I say. I sigh, frustrated that my little bubble of normalcy was burst so quickly.

“Can we continue this discussion later?” she asks quietly.

“Absolutely.” I give her a quick hug.

As soon as I pick up my purse, Jake’s hand settles on my lower back, guiding me toward the door with gentle but unyielding pressure.The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of my dress, and I stifle a gasp at the contact.

“You have to take this seriously, Izzy.” His voice is low. “I can’t protect you if I have to track down where you are. If we can track your phone and location as easily as we did, so can your stalker.”

The word “protect” hits me wrong, like a note played off-key. “I don’t need protection. I need my life back.”

“Right now, those are the same thing. I’m working on it.”

I cross my arms, feeling seventeen again and bristling against anyone trying to tell me what I can and can’t do. I know the stakes here, but I can’t help my frustration that bubbles over. “So what? I’m supposed to hide in Hayden’s house for weeks? Months? What kind of life is that?”

“A safe one.”

“Safe isn’t living.”

Jake runs a hand through his dark hair, and I notice the way his black t-shirt pulls tight across his chest with the movement.Even angry, he’s beautiful in a way that makes my mind wander to what those hands would feel like on my skin.

“Do you have any idea what went through my head when I came back and you were gone?” The question comes out raw, loaded with something deeper than professional concern.

“I can take care of myself, Jake. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Not like this, and you know it. Not with someone watching your every move, documenting where you go, who you talk to.” He steps closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him.

The proximity makes me want to close the remaining distance between us, to see if he tastes as good as he smells.

”This isn’t about controlling you. It’s about keeping you alive. ”

The intensity in his voice makes my chest tight.

Maybe he’s right.

Jake pulls into Hayden’s driveway and cuts the engine, but he doesn’t get out of the SUV. Instead, he sits there, staring out the windshield like he’s trying to find the right words.

I reach across the center console to touch his arm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.The muscle flexes under my touch, and it’s hard to focus on anything other than going to bed with him. “What’s really going on here?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching my face like he’s looking for permission to say something he shouldn’t. The air in the SUV is electric.

I lean closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “What are you so afraid of, Jake?”

“Somewhere between protecting you and getting to knowthe woman you are, this stopped being a favor for a Ranger buddy.” The admission comes out quiet.

“And that terrifies me. I shouldn’t feel this way about you.

But…you’re an incredible woman. I can’t help how I feel about you. Your brother would kill me.”

His words steal the breath from my lungs. All the anger and frustration from earlier evaporates, replaced by a warmth that blooms in my chest and spreads outward.

“Jake—”

“I know it’s complicated. I know you’re Hayden’s sister, and you’re my client. I know I have no right to feel this way about you.” His hands clench on the steering wheel. “But when I came back and you were gone, all I could think about was what would happen if your stalker found you before I did.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and shift closer, close enough to see the muscle working in his jaw, the way his breathing has gone shallow.

My movement makes the fabric of my dress ride up slightly, and I catch him glancing down at my bare leg, before his eyes snap back to mine, darker now with an intensity that makes me squirm.

“Look at me.”

He turns, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes my knees weak.

My thumb traces along his cheekbone.”Tell me you want this too.”

His breath catches, and his green eyes are wild as he looks at me. “I want you so much it’s killing me.”

“Then stop fighting it.”

He blinks slowly and I see the moment his control starts to crack.”This is a mistake.”

“Maybe I don’t think it’s a mistake.” I move closer and run my hand along his jaw, his stubble scratching against my palm.

For a heartbeat, we stare at each other, the air between us charged with barely restrained lust. Then Jake’s hands come up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with devastating gentleness.

“If we do this—”

“We already are doing this,” I whisper, leaning my face closer to his.

The kiss starts soft, tentative, like he’s giving me a chance to change my mind.But I’ve been dreaming about this moment since the first time I saw him, and I’m not wasting it on hesitation.I press closer, my hands grasping his shirt as I pourall my wantinto the connection between us.

Jake groans against my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest as his tongue finds mine. His arms come around me, pulling me as close as the truck’s interior allows as the kiss turns desperate, hungry.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Come on,” he says, his voice rough. “Let’s go inside.”