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“Um, are you hungry?” I hear myself ask.
He runs his eyes appreciatively over me in my pajamas, but it doesn't creep me out. I… like the way he looks at me. And so does my body as my nipples bead beneath the soft material of my top. A slow ache spreads from my lower stomach between my legs.
Get a grip, Amalie. You're on the run. No time for distractions.
“No, but thanks for the offer. I better be on my way. Like I said, I just wanted to check on you.”
“Thank you, Lucas,” I call as he turns to walk away.
He pauses, giving me a brief smile. His eyes burn with something I can't identify but send shocks of awareness dancing across my skin. Watching him pull away, I feel safer than I have in a very long time.
I close and lock the door, musing over my reactions to him. I have zero experience with men and relationships, but Lucas Lawson calls to me in ways that scare and intrigue me.
But I don't fear Lucas. No, I fear what he could come to mean to me.
Chapter Four
Lucas
I'm fucked up. There's no other explanation.
But then I remind myself that I'm not some sick pervert. I'm doing this to protect Amalie. I can watch from the shadows and ensure that no one harms her.
And I have been watching her. For three days. Every night, I pull the cruiser into a wide spot across from the motel. She's only left her room to grab soda and ice from the machines outside her door. She's holed up in there, hiding out, and instinct tells me she's still in danger.
Not gonna lie, it briefly crossed my mind that she could be running from a crime she committed when I first pulled her over. But that suspicion vanished the second I looked into her innocent blue eyes. I didn't need Jace's confirmation, who called me a few days ago after running a detailed background check.
Amalie Vasti is twenty-three. Lives in Hyde Park in Chicago, home to the University of Chicago and the Obama family. Graduated high school at the top of her class and went on to study floristry at college but never did anything with her qualification.
She's not married, so I can only assume the trouble she's fleeing is family-related. Jace's digging into her father suggests that he's far more than a property tycoon. The word "mafia" was thrown around more than once when we spoke. I know what I'm up against and I don't give a shit. No one will harm Amalie again as long as I draw breath.
Jace is monitoring who comes in and out of town, and Malcolm ‘Mal’ Parker, the no-nonsense owner of the motel is keeping an eye on her. Mal is also ex-military, albeit older than Jace and me in his mid-forties. He knows how to handle himself. Still, my gut tells me I need to stay close, that Amalie is mine to protect.
Amalie took a long time to answer when I knocked on her door the other night and I heard something being moved from before she opened it. She's afraid. If my time with her the other day didn't prove that, the chair she wedged against the door certainly did. She's taking extra precautions to keep herself safe.
I slide down in the seat a little to get more comfortable, thinking about the woman who's shaken me to my soul. I liked her smile, tentative as it was. I liked that she invited me in. But I didn’t like the fear lingering in her eyes.
All is quiet as I watch intently. The dimly lit motel room remains still and silent. The night air seems heavy with tension tonight like a hand stifling my breath. I've always been good at reading people, at sensing their emotions, and something about Amalie’s fear has ignited a fire within me. I can't leave her alone and vulnerable.
Minutes turn into hours as I keep vigil. The occasional flicker of light from inside the room means that Amalie is safe for now. But my instincts, honed by my years in the Marines, tell me that danger lurks beyond my sight.
Around 2 AM, exhaustion pulls at me, but I don't give in. I'm not working tomorrow, so I can sleep when the sun is up and Amalie is a little safer. Sure, bad things happen in the daylight, but she'll be okay in the motel. Mal will make sure of that.
Looking for a distraction, I grab my phone. But instead of pulling my thoughts from Amalie, I find myself looking up her social media again. I've already checked her socials, so I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I couldn't find her Facebook page the other day, but her TikTok was an open book, even if she barely had anything on it. I found a blog with only one entry, a rambling post that didn't go anywhere.
I get the impression she guards her privacy, but she obviously lives a privileged life back in Chicago, so why is she on the run?
My eyes narrow as I watch her videos again, the last one posted three months ago. She stares into the camera while a melancholy song plays in the background. Text appears briefly toward the end:
When your choices are taken away from you, there’s only one choice left.
Who has taken her choices away? A husband? Her family?
There's only one other video, a few months before the last. Amalie stands in front of a water fountain, smiling as she talks about her weekend plans, and how the lake calls to her, even on cold days. She walks a path to the lakeshore, her eyes wide with wonder. It's obvious from the happiness gracing her lovely face that she loves that lake.
Shelby doesn't have a lake, but there are several nearby. There was even a waterfall a couple of hours' drive away. You have to hike up to the fall, but it's worth the effort. Would Amalie like that? Will she stick around long enough for me to offer to take her?
She promised to stay for a week or so until her wrist is healed, but will she? Or will she want to get away as fast as she can? I can't blame her, but I also can't let her leave. I've known her for less than a day but everything in me tells me she's mine.
