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CHAPTER EIGHT

J ennifer pushed a strand of dark hair from her face as she adjusted her stance on the hard-packed dirt of the forest floor. The morning air was crisp and a little chilly, carrying the scent of pine and something indefinably wild. Three days of isolation in the mountains had begun to calm her perpetually frayed nerves—at least until Noah had insisted on these daily self-defense lessons. She knew they were necessary, and had started to enjoy them, but they were exhausting.

“Again,” Noah commanded, his deep voice brooking no argument. His broad shoulders were squared, feet planted firmly. His Special Forces training was evident in every controlled movement.

Jennifer sighed dramatically. “My arms feel like overcooked pasta, Noah.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—the closest thing to a smile she’d seen since he’d spirited her away from their supposed safe house in the French Quarter, after the latest threat from the Amir family had blown it to fiery pieces.

“The human body has approximately six hundred and fifty muscles,” Noah replied, his gray eyes never leaving hers. “I’m currently asking you to use about twenty. Pretty sure you’ll survive.”

“I’m starting to wonder,” she muttered under her breath. “Are you always this encouraging with your clients?” Jennifer asked, blowing out a breath that sent her bangs fluttering.

“Only the French ones who complain every five minutes,” he countered smoothly.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that complaining is a cherished cultural tradition in France. We consider it an art form.”

This time, Noah’s mouth definitely curved upward. He held out his hand, and she passed him the Glock19 he had her practicing with. With an ease and smoothness she envied, he popped the clip, shoved it in his pocket, and tucked the Glock in the back of his waistband. “Show me the escape move one more time, and we can break for lunch.”

Jennifer nodded, assuming the position he’d taught her. Noah stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her throat from behind—loosely, but positioned precisely where an attacker would grab. She felt the solid wall of his chest against her back, his controlled breathing tickling her ear.

Focus, Jennifer. This is about survival, not how good he smells.

She executed the move as he’d taught her—dropping her weight, twisting her body, and using his own momentum to break his hold. Her elbow contacted his ribs, pulling the strike as he’d instructed, then stepping away quickly.

“Better,” Noah nodded, approval warming his typically stoic expression. “You learn quickly.”

She started to reply, but his body stiffened, going to complete attention from one breath to the next. He held up a fist, a sign he’d taught her on their first day of self-defense class, one that meant to freeze and most definitely not talk. Scanning the tree line, she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but Noah obviously heard or sensed something. His entire demeanor changed in an instant, his hand immediately going to the weapon holstered at his hip.

“Inside. Now,” he ordered quietly, all traces of their momentary camaraderie vanishing.

Jennifer complied without argument, spinning around and sprinting toward the cabin and slipping through the door as Noah moved to the edge of the deck, positioning himself with a clear view of anybody approaching while keeping partial cover from the cabin’s support post.

“Hello, the house,” a cheerful voice called out from a stand of trees. Jennifer spotted a dark-haired man step into the clearing, both hands raised to shoulder height, holding a canvas tote bag in each. Noah’s shoulders slumped, and the hand holding the pistol dropped to his side. “Hey, big brother! Planning to shoot me before lunch?”

The man was unmistakably related to Noah—the same tall frame and broad shoulders, though he carried himself with a loose-limbed ease Noah never displayed. Where Noah’s hair was shorter, this man’s was longer, curling slightly around his ears. His smile was wide and immediate, revealing perfect white teeth in a tanned face.

“Marcel,” Noah said flatly. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too,” Marcel replied, completely unfazed by his brother’s chilly reception. He shook the canvas bags. “Uncle Gator called. Said you might need supplies. Though knowing you, you’d rather eat pinecones than ask for help.”

Noah finally holstered his weapon, his posture relaxing fractionally. “You should have called first.”

“And miss seeing you all wound up and tactical? Never.” Marcel grinned, hefting the grocery bags. “Besides, I brought the good bourbon. The kind you pretend not to like until you’re three glasses in.”

Jennifer couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips. Noah’s head turned sharply toward her, as if he’d forgotten she was watching from inside the cabin.

Marcel followed his brother’s gaze, his eyes widening appreciatively when he spotted Jennifer. “Well now, this assignment makes a lot more sense.” His loping steps ate up the distance until he stood on the porch, inches from Noah. He shifted both grocery bags to one arm and extended his hand toward Jennifer. “Marcel Temple. The fun brother.”

“Jennifer Baptiste,” she replied, opening the screen door and shaking his offered hand. “Noah’s client.”

“Client, huh?” Marcel’s eyes danced with mischief as he glanced between them. “And here I thought Noah had finally learned how to have a personal life. Been a while since he let loose and had a little fun.”

Noah made a sound suspiciously like a growl. “Jennifer is under my protection until she testifies against the Amir family. This is purely professional.”

“Of course it is,” Marcel agreed with exaggerated seriousness, winking at Jennifer before turning back to his brother. “That’s why you’ve got her practicing combat moves and doing firearm training here in your home-away-from-home, instead of in a nice safe house in New Orleans with actual security systems.”

Jennifer watched with fascination as Noah’s jaw tightened. Though she’d only spent a few days with Noah, this was the first time she’d seen him so visibly rattled.

“New Orleans was compromised. Besides, this cabin has security,” Noah replied tersely.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘being so far up this mountain even the bears get altitude sickness,” Marcel quipped, before brushing past his brother and heading for the door where Jennifer stood. “May I?” he asked politely.

Jennifer stepped aside, allowing him to enter with his grocery bags. Noah followed, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and resignation.

“So, Ms. Baptiste,” Marcel called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen, “has my brother been boring you to tears with his security protocols and protein-heavy meals? Maybe taken you fishing with him?”

“It’s Jennifer, please,” she replied, following him into the rustic but immaculate kitchen. “And actually, Noah’s been very…” she searched for the right word, “attentive.”

Marcel set the bags on the counter and began unpacking them, revealing fresh vegetables, several packages of what she suspected were meat, a few bottles of wine, and indeed, a bottle of bourbon. “Attentive, huh?” Marcel waggled his eyebrows. “Noah, you dark horse.”

“She means I’ve been doing my job,” Noah clarified, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Which is keeping her alive until she can testify.”

“Against the Amirs, right?” Marcel nodded, his expression sobering slightly. “Uncle Gator filled me in. Bad business, that family. They’ve got enough money to be dangerous, even from behind bars.”

Jennifer felt the familiar cold knot form in her stomach at the mention of her half-brother’s family. “Yes. Bad business indeed.”

Marcel seemed to sense the shift in mood. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bring down the room. I’m just glad Noah’s got your back. Despite his sunny personality, he’s the best there is at keeping people safe.”

“I know,” Jennifer said softly, surprising herself with how much she meant it. Just a short time ago, Noah Temple had been a stranger, a security specialist recommended by Gator Boudreau and Carpenter Security Services after the first threats, where she’d barely escaped with her life. Now, after moving from safe house to safe house, attempts on her life in the safe houses and their frantic escape to this mountain hideaway, she couldn’t imagine facing what lay ahead without him.

“So!” Marcel clapped his hands together. “Who’s hungry? I make a mean grilled trout. Caught some fresh ones on my way up the mountain.”

“You stopped to fish on your way to provide backup?” Noah asked incredulously.

Marcel shrugged. “Seemed like you were handling things just fine. And the creek was calling my name.” He turned to Jennifer. “Noah ever tell you about the time he fell into Miller’s Creek trying to show off his fly-fishing skills to Becky Sanderson?”

“No,” Jennifer replied, a smile spreading across her face as she caught Noah’s look of horror. “He hasn’t mentioned that.”

“Marcel—” Noah began, a warning in his voice.

“He was sixteen,” Marcel continued, ignoring his brother completely. “Becky was the prettiest girl in Cedar Ridge High, and Noah had been working up the courage to talk to her for months. Finally spots her at the creek one Saturday, marches right up with Dad’s expensive rod—”

“I’m checking the perimeter,” Noah announced, turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen.

Marcel winked at Jennifer. “He’ll be back. Can’t stay mad at me for long.” He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a six-pack of beer. “So, Jennifer Baptiste, interior designer extraordinaire—at least according to your very impressive online portfolio—how are you holding up, really?”

Jennifer blinked, surprised by both the personal question and the fact that he’d apparently researched her.

“I’m…” she began, then stopped, unsure how to answer. How was she holding up? Her half-brother was dead. She was preparing to testify against two of the worst members of his family—people who turned their backs on her when they found out she was biologically related to them—at least until they thought she might be of use in their diabolical plan. Before she’d discovered what they really were. People who now wanted her silenced permanently.

“It’s complicated,” she finally said.

Marcel nodded, his playful demeanor softening into something more genuine. “Family usually is. Especially the complicated ones.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Noah doesn’t talk much about what happened with his team. But I know it’s why he’s so…” he gestured vaguely in the direction Noah had disappeared.

“Intense?”

“Careful,” Marcel corrected. “He used to be different. More like me, if you can believe it.” Jennifer raised an eyebrow, unable to imagine Noah with Marcel’s easy smile and relaxed demeanor. “It’s true,” he insisted, leaning against the counter. “We used to get into so much trouble together as kids. There was this one time, we were maybe twelve and thirteen, we decided to build a zip line from the roof of our house to the big oak tree in the backyard.”

“Oh no,” Jennifer laughed, already envisioning disaster.

“Oh yes,” Marcel grinned. “Noah had it all planned out. Calculations, rope strength, proper angles—the whole nine yards. What neither of us factored in was that Grandpa’s old hunting dog would choose that exact moment to chase a squirrel up the oak tree.”

By the time Noah returned from his “perimeter check,” Jennifer was doubled over with laughter as Marcel described, with theatrical flair, how they’d both ended up tangled in rope twenty feet above the ground, with their mother below, alternating between frantic concern and threats of grounding them until they were eligible for Medicare.

Noah paused in the doorway, his expression softening almost imperceptibly as he took in the scene. “Marcel been entertaining you with heavily embellished childhood stories?” he commented, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.

“Not embellished at all,” Marcel protested. “If anything, I’m downplaying the sheer recklessness of young Noah Temple, future security specialist and bodyguard extraordinaire.”

Jennifer wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “I’m having a hard time reconciling that boy with…” she gestured to Noah’s current, intensely controlled presence.

Something flashed in Noah’s eyes—a hint of that younger, more carefree version of himself, perhaps—before his professional mask slipped back into place.

“People change,” he said simply.

“Not as much as they think,” Marcel countered, giving his brother a knowing look. He turned back to the groceries. “Now, who’s going to help me prepare a meal that doesn’t come from a can or a vacuum-sealed package?”

Jennifer raised her hand eagerly. “I haven’t had a chance to cook since we got here.” She shot Noah a teasing glance. “Someone insists on preparing all the meals himself.”

“Security protocol,” Noah replied automatically.

“See what I mean?” Marcel stage-whispered to Jennifer. “Everything’s a security protocol with him. Next, he’ll be telling you there’s a tactical advantage to letting him fold all the laundry.”

“Actually,” Noah said, the corner of his mouth twitching again, “there is.”

Jennifer looked between the brothers, fascination growing as she observed their dynamic. For all their apparent differences, there was an unmistakable bond between them—a shorthand that only siblings who had weathered life together could develop.

As Marcel turned back to the groceries he’d brought, she caught a peek of the fresh ingredients. Chuckling as he regaled them with yet another tale of Noah’s youthful misadventures, Jennifer found herself smiling more genuinely than she had in months. For a moment, the weight of her upcoming testimony, the danger lurking beyond the mountains, and the painful history with her own half-brother receded.

In its place was something unexpected—a warmth that had nothing to do with the mountain sunshine streaming through the cabin windows and everything to do with the surprisingly comfortable presence of the Temple brothers.

And if her gaze lingered a little longer on Noah as he reluctantly joined them in the kitchen, his guard lowering degree by subtle degree in his brother’s presence…well, that was something she’d examine later, when the danger had passed.

If it ever did.