We practice a while longer until my muscles burn in a good way. The domestic feel of learning from him, sweating together in this cozy cabin, makes my heart swell even more. I love this man. The realization hits me quietly but firmly. I love his strength and his rare smiles and the way he opens up over breakfast. But I keep the deeper feelings tucked away for now. Temporary, I remind myself. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Later we start packing to move to the next safe house where the transfer will take place. The duffel bags sit open on the bed as we fold clothes and supplies. I roll his shirts neatly beside mine, the simple act feeling intimate. Jax checks weapons and gear with focused efficiency. The cabin feels smaller now that we know we have to leave soon.
His satellite phone rings on the table. He picks it up quickly. "Hartman."
I watch his face as he listens. The other marshals on the line update him. They’re watching things back in Montana. So fareverything stays quiet. No movement from the cartel remnants. No signs of trouble at the old locations. Relief washes through me but it mixes with that nagging worry about what comes next.
"Copy that," Jax says, voice steady and clear. "We’re moving out soon. Keep me posted."
He ends the call and turns to me. His hand finds mine immediately. "All quiet for now. We have a window. We’ll get you to the next spot safe."
I squeeze his hand and nod, forcing another bright smile even as my mind races with questions I don’t ask. I love being with Jax. The heated tension. The domestic mornings. The way he makes me feel confident and desired. But the shadow of WITSEC looms larger with every passing hour. Will he fight to keep seeing me? Or is this beautiful chapter destined to end when the program swallows me whole?
For now I focus on the feel of his hand in mine and the heat in his eyes. I step closer and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat thuds strong and steady under my ear.
"Whatever comes," I whisper, "I’m glad it’s you protecting me."
He holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair. "Always."
The word warms me but the uncertainty lingers. I push it down and focus on packing. On the man beside me. On the story we’re writing together right now in this hidden cabin. Page by heated page.
We finish loading the bags and share one more lingering kiss before we step out into the cold mountain air. The road ahead feels uncertain but with Jax next to me every step sparkles withpossibility. Even if my heart whispers fears about tomorrow I hold onto today. Onto him.
16
Jax
The black SUV cuts through the dark night with a steady rumble under my hands. Snow flurries dance in the headlights like tiny white ghosts trying to warn me. Ava sleeps soundly in the passenger seat beside me. Her head rests against the window. Her breathing stays soft and even under the oversized jacket I draped over her. She looks so peaceful after everything. So trusting. My chest tightens at the sight of her. I keep one hand on the wheel and the other reaches over to rest on her thigh. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake. Good. She needs the rest after our morning and the self defense training.
We’re heading to the next safe house. Another remote spot deeper in the mountains. The call from the team earlier said things were quiet back in Montana but my gut hasn’t settled. Not completely. I glance in the rearview mirror again. Headlights. Same pair that have been with us for the last twenty miles. They slash through the night behind us. Steady. Too steady. I wonder if my mind’s playing tricks after too many days of high alert and too much time wanting a woman I should not keep.
I ease off the main road onto a narrower backroad. The tires crunch over packed snow and gravel. Trees close in tighter on both sides. Their branches reach like skeletal fingers in the moonlight. The headlights follow. My jaw flexes hard. I take another turn. Then another. Winding deeper into the wilderness. The SUV rocks gently over ruts in the road. Ava murmurs something sleepy but stays out. Her hand twitches toward mine in her dreams and I squeeze her thigh gently.
Those damn headlights stay glued to us. Not gaining. Not falling back. Just there. My blood runs hotter. This isn’t a coincidence. Not after everything with the cartel. Not after what happened to Riley. I won’t let history repeat itself with Ava.
I push the SUV faster on a straight stretch then brake hard and swing onto an even more deserted road. Snow banks rise high on either side. No houses. No lights except ours and the ones behind. The road narrows until it feels like a tunnel through the pines. I slow down deliberately. Let them catch up a little. Test them.
Still they follow.
Enough.
I pull the SUV over onto a wide shoulder where the snow is packed hard. I kill the headlights but leave the running lights on. Darkness swallows everything except the glow from the car behind us. Ava shifts in her sleep. I lean over and brush a strand of hair from her face. "Stay here," I whisper even though she can’t hear me. "I’ve got this."
I wait. Minutes stretch out. The other car stops about thirty yards back. Its headlights stay on. High beams cutting through the falling snow. No one gets out. No movement. My hand restson the grip of my pistol under the seat. Every muscle in my body coils tight.
Nothing.
I can’t sit here any longer. Not with Ava in the car. Not with the unknown breathing down our necks. I lean over and kiss her temple softly. Her skin feels warm under my lips. "Be right back."
I step out into the cold night air. The wind bites sharp against my face. Snow crunches under my boots as I walk back toward the other vehicle. My breath puffs out in visible clouds. The headlights blind me slightly but I keep moving. Tall. Shoulders squared. Every step radiates the kind of danger that makes smart people back off.
The car is a nondescript sedan. Dark paint dusted with snow. I approach the driver side and rap hard on the window. "Open up."
The window rolls down slowly. A scrawny man sits behind the wheel. Thin face. Nervous eyes behind wire rim glasses. He looks like he belongs in a library cubicle not tailing a US Marshal through the mountains. His hands grip the steering wheel tight enough to show white knuckles.
"Who the hell are you and why are you following us?" I growl. My voice cuts through the night like gravel under tires.
The man swallows hard. "Reporter. Mike Delaney. From the Mountain Gazette. I heard about the Carlos trial. Got a tip that a key witness was being moved through this area. I just wanted a statement. Maybe a photo. I didn’t mean any harm."
