Page 8
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he eastern skyline had just begun to blush pink when Noah made the decision.
“Tennessee mountains,” he said, glancing over at Jennifer in the passenger seat. Her dark brunette hair was tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy as she straightened in her seat. “It’s our best option. I know every nook and cranny of those hills and valleys like the back of my hand.”
She rubbed her eyes, orienting herself after their long night of driving. “How much farther?”
“A couple of hours, give or take.” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “We need to get off these main roads. We know they’re looking for us, and they’re getting closer. When we get to my cabin, I’ll be better equipped to deal with trespassers. Nobody shows up around my place uninvited.”
Jennifer nodded, checking the side mirror for the hundredth time. The highway stretched empty behind them, but emptiness no longer meant safety. Twice since they’d left the relative safety of the bayou, they’d spotted the same black SUV trailing several miles back. Noah had executed a series of abrupt driving maneuvers—which she still marveled at—throughout a small town in Alabama, and they’d lost the other vehicle, at least temporarily.
“The mountains will give us cover,” Noah continued, his voice low and steady despite the fatigue etched into the lines around his eyes. “Dense forest, limited access roads, and terrain that favors those who know it.”
“And you know it.” It wasn’t a question.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Spent every summer since I was a teen. Later, it became my refuge when I came back from—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say when I needed to disappear for a while.”
Jennifer studied his profile, the stubble darkening his jaw, the scar that ran through his eyebrow. Noah Temple was a walking contradiction—capable of clinical violence when needed, yet possessed of a gentleness she’d glimpsed in unguarded moments. A man who kept everyone at arm’s length, then risked everything to keep her safe.
“Why do you have a place there?” she asked. “Gator mentioned your family lived in Tennessee too.”
He was quiet so long she thought he might not answer. “Everyone needs somewhere that’s just theirs.”
The highway signs blurred past as they continued north. Jennifer kept watch, scanning every vehicle they passed, each overpass and mile marker. The rhythm of vigilance had become second nature in the days since she’d agreed to protection from Carpenter Security.
Noah suddenly tensed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. Jennifer recognized the tension in his shoulders, the firm set of his jaw, knew he’d spotted something that had him on edge. She was beginning to recognize his expressions.
“What is it?” Jennifer turned to look behind them.
“Gray sedan, been following us for a while. It’s been there since we crossed the state line.”
She fought the urge to turn around again and look. “Could be coincidence.”
“Maybe.” His tone said otherwise. He took the next exit without signaling, cutting across two lanes of traffic.
The narrow two-lane stretch of road wound through gently rolling hills that gradually grew steeper. Noah’s eyes flicked constantly to the rearview mirror as they climbed higher.
“Still there?” Jennifer asked after a few minutes.
Noah nodded grimly. “Time to lose them.”
What followed was a masterclass in evasion. Noah navigated the increasingly serpentine roads with precision, each turn executed at speeds that left Jennifer’s stomach lurching. He took unmarked side roads, doubled back, accelerated through blind curves with a confidence that spoke of intimate familiarity with the terrain. After twenty minutes of heart-stopping maneuvers, he pulled onto a logging road barely visible among the thick pines.
“Hold on,” he warned, steering their SUV into the rutted dirt path. The vehicle bounced violently as they climbed, branches scraping against the windows.
Jennifer braced herself against the dashboard. “Are we still being followed?”
“No.” His face remained tense. “But they’re searching. We need to get to higher ground.”
The logging road narrowed further, becoming little more than a trail as they ascended. The forest thickened around them, old-growth hardwoods and towering pines blotting out much of the afternoon sun. Despite the danger, Jennifer couldn’t help but appreciate the wild beauty surrounding them, the dappled light filtering through leaves, the glimpses of rocky outcroppings and cascading streams.
After another hour of painstaking progress, Noah finally eased the vehicle into a small clearing half-hidden by a stand of towering pines.
“We walk from here,” he said, reaching for his pack in the back seat.
“You’re just abandoning the car?” Jennifer started gathering her supplies, muscles protesting as she stepped out. The air was cooler at this elevation, carrying the scents of pine and damp earth. Noah secured the vehicle, brushing branches over it to obscure it from casual observation.
“I’ll have one of my brothers pick it up. They’ll make sure nobody can find it. We’ve got a bit of walking to do from this point. It’s about two miles up,” he said, pointing to a barely discernible trail leading deeper into the forest. “Watch your step. Ground’s uneven.”
They hiked in silence, Jennifer struggling to match Noah’s pace as the trail grew steeper. Her breath came in short gasps as they climbed, the city-softened muscles of her legs burning with the effort. Funny how she’d thought herself in decent physical shape, having kept up with her gym membership before coming to America, but she already felt like a little old lady in need of a walker and an oxygen mask. Yet Noah moved with the easy grace of someone returning to familiar territory, though he frequently paused, ostensibly to check their surroundings, but she suspected it was more to allow her to rest without having to ask for a reprieve.
The trail curved around a massive boulder, and Noah stopped, his posture relaxing slightly for the first time in days.
“We’re here.”
Jennifer moved to stand beside him, and felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. Nestled in a small hollow, protected on three sides by steep rock faces, stood a cabin. It wasn’t large, nothing like the expensive flats she was used to staying in, but it had been built with evident care. The exterior was weathered cedar, with a metal roof that had oxidized to a muted blue-green color. A covered porch wrapped around the front, two Adirondack chairs facing the spectacular view of the valley below.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
Something in Noah’s expression shifted, a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked. “It’s secure. That’s what matters right now.”
He led her down the final slope to the cabin. A small generator sat close to the back wall, alongside neatly stacked cords of firewood. Noah retrieved a key from beneath a loose stone in the foundation and unlocked the heavy front door.
The interior was spartan but not austere. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, with a well-worn leather armchair positioned beside it. A rag rug covered the floor in front of the fireplace, the muted blues, greens, and reds giving the place a cozy feel. A compact kitchen occupied one corner, its open shelving holding a small collection of plates, bowls and glasses. Another held basic provisions, canned goods and canisters for dry goods. A small dining table with two chairs stood beneath a window, and a loft was visible overhead, accessed by a ladder-like staircase.
What struck Jennifer most, however, was the carvings. They adorned every available surface—intricate forest scenes depicted on the mantelpiece, animals captured in mid-motion on bookends, birds in flight suspended from the ceiling beams. Some were painted in muted colors; others were left in their natural wood tones, the grain itself becoming part of the artistry.
“You made these,” she said, running her fingers over a fox frozen in a cautious crouch on an end table.
Noah busied himself checking the perimeter windows, his back to her. “Keeps my hands busy.”
“They’re extraordinary.” She moved to examine a great horned owl, its feathers so delicately carved they appeared almost soft to the touch. “I had no idea you were an artist.”
“I’m not.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “It’s just something to do when sleep won’t come.”
Jennifer recognized deflection when she heard it, but she let it go. There would be time for questions later. For now, the sight of an actual bed, even the simple one visible in the loft, made her realize just how bone-weary she was. It felt like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, maybe months.
Noah seemed to read her thoughts. “Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”
“You haven’t slept either.”
“I’m fine.” IT was the automatic response of a man accustomed to pushing beyond limits.
Jennifer wanted to argue but found she lacked the will or the energy, and knew she’d end up sleeping first anyway. “Wake me in four hours. I mean it, Noah. You need sleep too.”
He nodded, though she wasn’t convinced he intended to follow through.
The loft was simple—a full-sized bed with wool blankets, a small dresser, and a window that faced east toward the distant ridgeline. Jennifer barely registered these details before sinking onto the mattress, pausing only long enough to remove her shoes. She meant to remain vigilant, to listen for any sounds of trouble, but exhaustion claimed her within moments.
Jennifer woke to the scent of coffee and a soft sound she didn’t recognize. Disoriented, she sat up quickly, heart racing until memory flooded back. The cabin. Noah. Safety—for now.
Sunlight streamed through the small window, suggesting she’d slept far longer than the four hours she’d intended. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the stiffness in her body, and made her way down the narrow stairs.
Noah sat at the table by the window, a mug of coffee at his elbow, his attention focused on a block of wood cradled in his left hand. His right worked a small carving knife with precise, economical movements, transforming the shapeless chunk into something with purpose. Shavings littered the table and floor around him.
He looked up as she descended, setting aside his work. “There’s coffee. And oatmeal if you’re hungry.”
Jennifer nodded, running a hand over her hair, hoping and praying her bedhead didn’t look awful. Making her way to the small kitchen, she asked, “How long did I sleep?”
“About fourteen hours.”
She spun around, shocked. “Fourteen? Noah, you were supposed to wake me for my shift.”
He shrugged. “You needed the rest.”
“And you didn’t?” Exasperation colored her tone as she turned back around and poured coffee into a ceramic mug.
“I got enough.”
The dark circles beneath his eyes suggested otherwise, but Jennifer bit back further comment. Instead, she glanced at the piece he’d been working on. “What are you making?”
Noah hesitated, then held it up. The small block had begun to take the form of a woman’s face, the features still rough but somehow capturing a determination that seemed familiar.
“Is that…me?”
His fingers closed around the carving. “Just passing time.”
Jennifer sat across from him, cradling her coffee. “When did you learn to do this?”
Again, that hesitation. “My grandfather taught me. He used to say working with your hands keeps you connected to what’s real.”
“Sounds like a smart man.”
“He was.” Noah’s gaze drifted to the window, toward the mountains beyond. “This was his place, originally. He left it to me when he died.”
Jennifer sensed this small revelation was significant—a piece of himself Noah rarely shared. “Thank you,” she said quietly. His eyes returned to her, questioning. “For bringing me here. I know this is your sanctuary.”
Something shifted in his expression, a softening around the edges. “It’s secure. Three sight lines, one approach path. Natural barriers on the other sides.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Noah held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away. “I know.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Jennifer sipped her coffee, allowing herself to simply exist in this moment of relative peace. The cabin felt removed from the chaos they’d fled, a bubble of stillness in a storm that still raged beyond these walls.
“We should be safe here,” Noah finally said, “at least for a while. No one knows about this place except my family, and they won’t tell anyone. Which means we’re truly off the grid now. No backup, no resources beyond what we have with us.”
“What’s our next move?”
“First, we secure our position. Then we start planning how to expose Karim Amir without getting ourselves killed in the process.” Noah rose, placing his mug in the sink. “But before any of that, you need to learn a few things about surviving up here.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “Planning to make a mountain woman out of me?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Let’s start with the basics. By the time we leave here, you’ll at least know how to start a fire, find water, and shoot straight.”
It should have been intimidating, the realization their lives now depended on skills Jennifer had never needed in her career as a decorator. Instead, she felt an unexpected surge of determination.
“When do we start?”
Noah watched Jennifer from across the cabin, his eyes tracking her slender form as she stood by the window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, catching the auburn highlights in her dark hair. The one-room cabin suddenly felt too small, too intimate.
“You should step away from the windows,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.
Jennifer startled slightly before turning to face him. “No one followed us,” she said, though she stepped back anyway. “You’ve said so yourself.”
Noah crossed the worn wooden floor to draw the faded curtains closed. “Rashid Amir has resources. Even from behind bars. And we know Karim was in New Orleans. I have no doubt they are behind the explosion at the French Quarter apartment. Gator and his sons are keeping an eye on Karim, but with his money and resources, he’s probably got a myriad of hired mercenaries searching for us as we speak.”
He looked around the cabin with a jaundiced eye. It had belonged to his grandfather—just four walls of rough-hewn timber, and a metal roof to keep out the rain. Surrounded on three sides by steep rock faces and solid stone from the mountain, it was a defensible location, one he’d used to hide away from the world. The stone fireplace that dominated one wall, a kitchenette in the corner, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. A loft above held a bed pushed against the far wall. No luxury, no pretense. Just shelter and security. Just like him. He couldn’t help wondering what Jennifer thought about his refuge. It certainly wasn’t what she was used to. With her interior design job, she had money, was used to the finer things, style and class. The most he could offer were two chairs on the porch and a view that would make angels weep.
Jennifer hugged herself, a gesture Noah had noticed she made whenever the Amirs were mentioned. “Will this ever be over?” she whispered.
Something twisted deep in his chest. He’d seen that look before on the faces of civilians caught in war zones—that mixture of fear and resignation. “Yes. After you testify and the Amirs are behind bars, you’ll be able to stop hiding.”
“If I live that long.”
“You will.” He infused his voice with a certainty he didn’t entirely feel. Eight days was an eternity in protection detail. “Starting today, we’re going to make sure of it.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“It means I’m teaching you how to defend yourself.” Noah began pushing the small table and chairs toward the wall, clearing the space in the center of the cabin. He felt her eyes on him as he worked. The heat in his belly had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the beautiful woman standing mere feet from him. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
Noah paused, his hands gripping the back of a chair. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it. Needed the reality check.
“In case something happens to me.”
Jennifer’s face paled, her lips parted in unspoken protest. A strand of hair fell across her cheek, and Noah had to fight the urge to brush it back.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
A familiar guilt twisted in Noah’s gut. He’d heard those words before, had even believed them once. Before Kabul. Before he’d been betrayed by someone he trusted above everyone else.
“Probably not,” he conceded. “But we’re preparing for all possibilities.”
He led Jennifer to the now-empty space in the middle of the cabin. Standing this close, he could smell the lavender shampoo she used—a small, incongruous luxury in this rough place. He’d teased her about packing it when they’d moved from the first safehouse in New Orleans, but he’d packed it back in the go-bag himself, and now the scent seemed to belong here, softening the edges of the cabin just as she somehow softened the hard angles of his solitary existence.
“The first thing you need to understand about self-defense is that it’s not about strength,” Noah explained, positioning himself in front of her. He was acutely aware of their height difference, the way she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. “It’s about leverage and knowing where to strike.”
Better to start with the basics, he thought. How to break free from various grips, where to hit to cause maximum damage with minimum effort, how to use an attacker’s momentum against them. Jennifer was attentive, focused, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she followed his instructions.
“Like this?” she asked, attempting to break his hold on her wrist. Though he was tempted to let her get free, that wouldn’t help her in a real-life situation, and he needed her to know exactly what to do. Her life might depend on it.
“Almost,” Noah adjusted her posture, hyperaware of his hands on her shoulders, then at her waist. “You need to twist here and step into me, not away.”
They went through the maneuver, then again. Noah gripped her wrist firmly but carefully. Jennifer’s skin felt warm beneath his fingers, her pulse a rapid flutter against his thumb.
“Again,” he whispered when she failed to break free for the third time. “You’re overthinking it. Trust your instincts.”
She nodded, the determined set to her jaw that Noah had come to recognize during their time together. When he grabbed her again, she executed the move perfectly, twisting and stepping toward him instead of pulling away.
“Good,” he said, unable to keep the approval from his voice. “Now try it faster.”
They progressed through different scenarios; frontal attacks, side attacks, surprise grabs. Noah gradually increased the intensity, impressed by how quickly Jennifer adapted. She might have been raised in a solitary female household in Paris, but there was a fighter’s spirit in her the Amirs had clearly underestimated.
“What do you do if I come at you like this?” Noah demonstrated a basic choke hold, his arm around her neck from behind, careful not to apply any real pressure.
Jennifer froze in his grasp. Noah immediately felt her tension, the way her breath caught. His own body responded traitorously, acutely aware of her back pressed against his chest, the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder just inches from his lips.
“Remember,” he said, his voice dropping low, “drop your weight and—”
“Drive my elbow into your solar plexus,” she finished, her voice unsteady.
“Show me.”
She moved, executing the technique almost perfectly, but Noah wasn’t prepared for the actual contact. She didn’t pull back, her elbow making enough contact with his stomach to throw him slightly off balance. Instinctively, he reached for her when she also stumbled, catching her before she could fall.
Suddenly they were face to face, Noah’s hands at her waist, Jennifer’s palms flat against his chest. Time seemed to slow. Noah could count every freckle dusting her nose, could see the golden flecks in her beautiful eyes. Her lips parted slightly, and his gaze dropped to them before he could stop himself.
This can’t happen.
The thought sliced through the haze of attraction like a blade. Images flashed through his mind—the last protection detail he’d failed, the consequences of losing focus. Of trusting his instincts.
“We should take a break,” Noah said abruptly, stepping back. The loss of contact left him cold despite the cabin’s warmth.
“I’m fine,” Jennifer protested. “I can keep going.”
Noah ran a hand through his hair, needing to put distance between them. “Take a break. Grab some water. It’s important to stay hydrated, especially in the mountains. We still have the firearms training to get through,” he said, forcing his voice to remain professional. “No point in wearing yourself out now. As a matter of fact, let’s grab lunch before we work with the weapons. I’m starving.”
She studied his face for a long moment before finally nodding. They ate lunch on the narrow porch, the mountain air helping to clear Noah’s head. He watched Jennifer as she bit into her sandwich, noting how the sunlight brought out deep mahogany highlights in her hair. Just days ago, she’d been just another assignment—the star witness in the case against the Amir family, willing to come forward to help somebody else in need. A chance to try and make up for a past betrayal. Because of that brave act, she’d become a woman who needed protection until she could testify. Now she was…what? Still an assignment, he reminded himself firmly. Nothing more.
Liar.
He shook his head. Why was this happening now? He knew a lot of beautiful women, had never claimed to be a saint. By and large he qualified more as a sinner. Yet there was something about the French woman who made his thoughts race. Made him think about things he hadn’t in a long time—like the future. He couldn’t stay holed up in this cabin forever. When Gator had called, he seriously considered refusing his request to protect Jennifer. Had even planned to go to New Orleans and turn down his uncle face-to-face. But one look at her picture and he’d been a goner.
I can’t. We can’t. There’s no future here, nothing except keeping her safe for another week. After that, she won’t be my responsibility anymore. Carpenter’s men will take over her protection, and I can come back here and…what? What am I going to do then?
After finishing lunch, Noah led Jennifer to a small clearing behind the cabin where he’d set up targets on several tree trunks.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?” he asked, removing his Glock19 from its case.
Jennifer shook her head. “Never had the need. Growing up in Paris, the closest I came to weapons was an antique sword collection for one of my clients. Although, I will admit, once I found out about my father’s business interests and the dangerous people he associated with, I considered getting one—to protect me and my mother.”
Something dark passed over her face—a memory, Noah guessed, and not a pleasant one. He knew from her file that her father’s connections had been her introduction to the Amir family, that she’d been shunned by Sayifa Amir and the rest of the family. Tarik had been the only one who’d contacted her, made her feel as if she were accepted. Learning that Tarik had only been using her, trading on their connection to have someone he could manipulate. That kind of blow left a psychic scar that might never fully heal. He could only imagine what that felt like, because he’d never had a problem being part of a loving and accepting family, both his immediate one as well as extended family, like Gator and his kids. His Aunt Elizabeth had been a loving, kind woman that he remembered vividly, though she’d been gone a long time. She had been his father’s sister, so he’d spent a lot of quality time in and around New Orleans with that side of his family.
“We’ll start with the basics,” Noah said, pushing aside his curiosity about her expression. He explained the parts of the handgun, the safety procedures, proper handling techniques. Jennifer needed to be comfortable with the weapon. Like it or not, he might not always be there when she needed him to protect her. He wanted her able to protect herself, to be able to stand her ground if confronted. Things might have eased up a bit, but they weren’t in the clear yet, not by a long shot.
“Never point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot,” he emphasized. “And always assume it’s loaded, even when you know it isn’t.” He didn’t hesitate before adding, “Always shoot to kill, because if you have a weapon in your hand, the situation can and will escalate to the use of deadly force, you can count on it. Don’t hesitate because the other person won’t.”
Jennifer listened with the same intense focus she’d shown during the self-defense training. When he finally handed her the unloaded weapon, a small smile tugged at his lips as she gripped it, reacting immediately when he warned her not to put her finger on the trigger.
“It’s heavier than it looks.”
“This is a Glock19. Reliable, relatively simple to use, and with manageable recoil. Good for beginners.”
He moved behind her to adjust her stance, aware of their proximity as he positioned her arms. The smell of her lavender shampoo drifted up again, and beneath that, something uniquely her—a scent that had become distressingly familiar to him over the past few days.
“Keep both eyes open,” he instructed, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t let his attraction to her keep him from doing his job, and right now his job was teaching her to stay alive. “Align the front sight with the target and squeeze the trigger slowly. Don’t pull it.”
They practiced with the unloaded gun, Noah adjusting her stance when she shifted, showing her the proper way to hold her arm and hand until her form looked right. Then he loaded the Glock and stepped back, ignoring the small pang of loss when he was no longer touching her.
“Remember what I showed you,” he said. “Breathe, aim, squeeze.”
Jennifer’s first shot went wide, as he’d expected. Her second was closer.
“You’re anticipating the recoil. Try again, but this time, don’t flinch before you fire.”
Her third shot hit the outer ring of the target, and a pleased smile curved her lips. Something warm unfurled in Noah’s chest at the sight of her happiness.
“Better,” he encouraged. “Now adjust your stance—feet a little wider apart.”
Noah watched as Jennifer emptied the magazine, reloaded, and fired again. With each round, her confidence grew, her stance becoming more natural, her aim more precise. By their fourth magazine, she was consistently hitting the center of the target.
“Again,” Noah instructed, handing her a freshly loaded magazine. “This time, imagine the target is moving toward you.”
Jennifer nodded, the determination in her eyes reminding Noah why she’d had the courage to turn on the Amirs in the first place. She raised the gun, her stance perfect now, and fired six rounds in rapid succession. Five hit the center mass of the target.
“Good,” Noah said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “One more time, but now I want you to fire two to the chest, one to the head.”
Jennifer hesitated for just a moment before nodding. She raised the gun again, and Noah could see her mentally walking through the steps he’d taught her. Breathe. Aim. Squeeze.
Two shots struck the center of the target’s chest. The third hit squarely between the eyes.
A strange mixture of pride and sadness washed over Noah. She was a natural—focused, determined, precise. She’d never wanted this life, never asked to be thrust into a world where these skills might mean the difference between life and death. Yet here she was, adapting, surviving, refusing to be a victim.
“That’s enough for today,” Noah said softly.
They cleaned up in silence, the weight of what they’d been preparing for hanging heavy between them. As they walked back to the cabin, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the clearing, Noah allowed himself to imagine, just for a moment, meeting her under different circumstances. A world where she wasn’t a witness, and he wasn’t her protector. A world where the ghosts of his past didn’t whisper warnings every time he thought about touching her.
After a simple dinner of canned stew heated over the cabin’s ancient stove, Noah found Jennifer on the porch again, staring out at the darkening forest. He joined her, two glasses of whiskey in hand. It was a small indulgence, but one they both needed after the day’s training.
He offered her the glass. “To getting through today.”
Jennifer accepted it, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. “And seven more to go.”
They drank in companionable silence, the whiskey burning a warm path down Noah’s throat. Night settled around them, stars appearing in the vast sky overhead. Out here, miles from the nearest neighbor, the brilliant lights from above a monument to creation’s greatness.
“Can I ask you something?” Jennifer’s voice was soft in the darkness.
Noah turned to look at her, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. A protector? A weapon? A man?
“Of course.”
“What happened? The scar, I mean.”
Instinctively, Noah’s fingers traced the jagged scar through his left eyebrow—a memento from a day he’d spent years trying to forget. “Kabul. Special Forces. It happened on my last tour of duty. Hit by shrapnel.” The words tasted bitter, memories rising unbidden. The unbearable heat. The ambush. The decisions that cost lives.
Noah waited for the usual follow-up questions, prepared to deflect as he always did. But Jennifer simply nodded, something in her eyes telling him she understood more than he’d said.
“Is that why you became a bodyguard?”
A hollow laugh escaped before Noah could stop it. “I didn’t have plans to become anything but a hermit. I spent all my time up here in the mountains, allowing myself to heal. But my family didn’t really like me self-isolating, so they showed up more and more frequently, pulling me back into what they’d consider a normal life.” He took another sip of the whiskey before continuing. “Uncle Gator called me, had me do a job. Investigative work, because I’d done some before. I’m good at it,” he said, the irony not lost on him. “I ended up helping his sons keep some people safe, and discovered I have a knack for sensing danger, an ability to keep people safe.”
Without warning, Jennifer reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of his hand where it rested on the porch railing. The contact sent a jolt through Noah’s system, more potent than any adrenaline rush he’d experienced in combat.
He should pull away. He knew better than to allow this to happen. Attachment was dangerous. Feelings compromised judgment, and compromised judgment got people killed. Yet when Jennifer’s touch lingered, tentative and questioning, Noah found himself turning his hand over, palm up. An invitation he had no right to extend.
Her hand slid into his, small but strong, her fingers intertwining with his as naturally as if they’d done this a thousand times. Noah’s chest tightened, a forgotten warmth spreading through him.
They stood hand in hand under the stars, neither speaking. It wasn’t a declaration or a promise. It was simply an acknowledgment: I see your pain. I carry my own. For this moment, we don’t have to bear it alone.
Tomorrow, Noah would remember his duty. He would maintain the distance necessary to keep her alive. He would be the professional she needed him to be until he delivered her to the courthouse in New Orleans in seven days.
But tonight, in this small cabin hidden in the Tennessee mountains, with the weight of Jennifer’s hand in his and the whiskey warming his blood, Noah allowed himself to forget the ghosts. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember what it felt like to be human.