Page 4

Isabel

The drive feels endless. I stare out the window at the rolling countryside, the tall pines swaying like silent sentinels as we wind farther and farther away from the city. Lincoln keeps his eyes on the road, silent except for the occasional grunt whenever a deer or a small critter darts across our path. The tension between us hasn’t lessened—if anything, it’s built, layer by layer, ever since that little chase in the city.

When we finally pull up to the safe house, I’m reminded that I selected this property specifically for its isolation and strategic vantage points. Perched on a gentle slope, it’s surrounded by towering pines. The structure itself looks deceptively quaint—two stories with a covered porch, painted an unassuming gray. The front steps creak under our feet as we make our way to the entrance.

“You’re kidding, right?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “We’re going to be living in a Hallmark movie for the foreseeable future?”

Lincoln shoots me a look. “You said you didn’t want something obvious. A big fancy condo would stand out.”

He unlocks the door with a code, and the smell of fresh pine and lemon cleaner drifts out to greet us. The lights are already on, probably set on a timer by the same crew who stocked this place. I let out a sigh. It’s a place I know well—or at least the layout. I’ve contracted this safe house to be fully equipped for high-profile clients in need of discreet shelter. Guess the joke’s on me for ending up here myself.

Inside, the floors are hardwood, polished to a shine, and the living area is furnished with plush gray couches, a few rustic end tables, and a thick woven rug that gives it a cozy vibe. There’s a stone fireplace along one wall, flanked by tall windows that offer a partial view of the forest. It’s the kind of place people dream about for a quiet retreat, but in our case, it’s a fortress—albeit a subtle one.

I set my bag down on the couch, feeling a pang of annoyance at how…perfect everything looks. I can’t help but imagine the team that rushed in here earlier, stocking the fridge with groceries, fluffing pillows, and making sure the security system is armed. I was the one who gave them the instructions on how to set it all up, so at least there aren’t any unpleasant surprises.

Lincoln lingers behind me, every inch the vigilant guard dog. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, voice low. “We need to talk.”

I spin on my heel, crossing my arms over my chest. “Oh, good. More talking.”

He ignores my sarcasm, stepping closer until I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “We’re about to be stuck here together for who knows how long. We need ground rules.”

A tiny spark of defiance flickers in my gut. “What are we, kids at summer camp?”

“Call it whatever you want,” he says, jaw tight. “But if I’m responsible for your safety, I get a say in how this works.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Okay, Sergeant. Lay it on me.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for a fight. “Rule one: you don’t leave this house without me. Not even to go outside and breathe fresh air.”

I open my mouth to argue, but his gaze dares me to fight him on it, so I snap my jaw shut.

“Rule two,” he continues, “you tell me—up front—about any new leads, theories, or information you get about your threat. No more running off half-cocked on your own.”

I bite back a retort. “Anything else?”

Lincoln’s eyes flick over my face, and tension crackles between us like static electricity. For a moment, his guard slips, and he looks…concerned. Almost gentle. Then that layer of stone slams back in place.

“Rule three: for the time being, I’m in charge of security protocol. If I say something’s not safe, it’s not up for debate.”

A disbelieving laugh escapes me. “You want me to just roll over and accept all your commands like a good little soldier?”

He stands his ground, crossing his arms. “It’s not about commands. It’s about keeping you alive.”

I can’t argue with that, so I press my lips together, feeling my cheeks blush. “Fine,” I manage. “But you have to promise me something too.”

He raises a brow. “Which is?”

“That you won’t shut me out. You said we’d go over my leads together, and I want your word that you’ll actually consider them. No dismissing me because I’m not ex-military or because I’m Dean’s sister.”

He exhales, tension draining from his posture as he nods. “Agreed.”

We stand there in a standoff for a second, neither of us budging. Finally, I jerk my head toward the small dining table near the kitchen. “Let’s sit down. I’ll show you what I’ve got so far.”

Lincoln follows, and the shifting of his weight on the hardwood sets my nerves on edge. Part of me is dying to push him away, just to assert my independence, but another part—one I refuse to analyze too closely—feels a bit more secure knowing he’s here. Especially after the stunt I pulled climbing out that window.

The kitchen is tucked off to the right, separated from the living area by a half-wall. Everything gleams with newness—stainless steel appliances, freshly stocked cabinets. My safe-house prep team never disappoints. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and plop down at the dining table, which is a sturdy oak piece with enough chairs to seat four.

Lincoln takes the chair across from me, large hands resting on the table like he’s waiting for a briefing. Fine. I can handle that.

I unzip my bag and pull out a black folder. “Remember how I told you I tracked the phone records from that threatening text?” I open the folder, spreading out a few printed pages. “Turns out the number belongs to a burner phone, but I got a couple of possible hits from older database logs. It’s messy, but one name popped up: Morris Rolfe.”

Lincoln’s expression clouds over. “Never heard of him.”

I shrug. “Me neither. So I started digging. This guy’s got a rap sheet that includes cyber hacking, extortion, and a handful of assault charges. Nothing that screams ‘hitman,’ but it’s enough to raise some eyebrows.”

He frowns, scanning the documents. “Why would a guy like that target you specifically?”

“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” I admit, tapping a line of text. “But see here? It mentions he may have ties to a black-market cyber ring. One that sells intel to whoever’s willing to pay.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s possible someone hired him to go after me—or after Dean—and I got caught in the crossfire.”

Lincoln is silent for a long moment, gaze sliding over the words. The tension in his jaw suggests he’s piecing it all together. “We’d need more to go on than just a name.”

“Obviously,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But it’s a start. At least it’s more than we had.”

His gaze snaps to mine. “You’ve been sitting on this for how long?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Dammit, Isabel.” He shakes his head. “You should’ve told Dean the second you got this. We can run background checks, bank traces, everything.”

I bristle at his tone. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s counting to ten. When he opens them again, his voice is calmer. “Okay. Let’s figure out the next step. If this is our guy, or at least a link to him, I can talk to some contacts I have. Discreetly.”

I raise my brows, surprised. “You have contacts?”

He shoots me a look. “Believe it or not, I do more than just stand around looking intimidating.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips before I can stop it. It’s gone just as quickly. “All right, so what’s the next step in your grand plan, oh fearless leader?”

He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. For a split second, I notice how the muscles in his forearms flex under that fitted black T-shirt, and I swallow hard. Focus, Isabel.

“First,” he says, “we secure this lead. I’ll make a few calls, see if I can dig up anything else on Morris Rolfe. Meanwhile, you go over any other intel you have—phone records, logs, emails. Then we compare notes.”

My heart stirs with a mixture of excitement and dread. This is real now. We’re actually working together on this. “And then?”

He pauses, meeting my gaze. “Then we see what we’re dealing with. If it’s safe to go after him directly, we plan a controlled approach. If it’s not, we find another angle.”

I blow out a breath. “And in the meantime, we hide away in this charming little woodland cabin?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “In the meantime, we do our jobs. That means I make sure you stay out of harm’s way until we’re certain of our next move.”

Something about the finality in his voice sets my pulse racing. “Lincoln,” I say, trying to curb the edge of panic, “what if this takes weeks? Months?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll be here for weeks or months.”

I want to protest, but I can’t deny the logic. I flick my eyes around the cozy living space. The soft hum of the HVAC system, the pine-scented air—if I didn’t have a stalker or a bodyguard breathing down my neck, I might actually enjoy this place.

I shift in my seat, suddenly aware that I’m alone with Lincoln in a house designed for secrecy and solitude. My stomach flips. I clear my throat. “All right. Let’s get started.”

He nods, determination etched on his face. “Yes. Let’s.”

Without another word, he picks up the folder to review the details, and I watch him carefully, torn between my instinctive desire to break free and the undeniable comfort of having him here. We might butt heads, but at least I’m not fighting this battle alone anymore.

As we start pouring over the papers, the tension between us hums like a live wire. This is going to be an interesting ride, no matter how it turns out.