Hunter studied the driver through his binoculars. “Driver’s maybe thirty. Baseball cap, dark jacket.”
Hunter spent the next three hours watching the watcher. The driver held up his phone periodically, taking photos or video of the bakery. Made two phone calls. Never left the vehicle, not even for coffee or the bathroom. Professional. Patient.
This wasn’t curiosity. This was reconnaissance.
The SUV pulled away at 1030, right before the lunch rush. Hunter memorized every detail, the way the driver checked his mirrors before leaving, the careful speed, the professional awareness. This wasn’t some street thug. This was someone trained.
Day Five.
The pattern continued for two days. The SUV arrived at different times but always stayed 3-4 hours. Always the same driver, same cap, same patient observation. He was building a pattern file on Brie’s movements, customer flow, and the best times to strike.
Hunter’s wolf grew more agitated with each passing hour. His mate was being hunted, and she had no idea. Every time she walked past the windows, visible from the street, his muscles tensed. Every delivery run made him want to block her van with his truck.
But she’d made it clear, she didn’t want his protection.
Too bad.
Chapter
Nine
Brie double-knotted a trash bag,the plastic straining against day-old pastries and coffee grounds. She’d sent Sophie home an hour early, insisting she was fine, that she didn’t need babysitting. But fine was a relative term when every shadow looked like a threat and every customer who lingered too long made her pulse spike.
It had been three weeks since she’d witnessed the execution. Every unexpected sound made her jump. She constantly checked over her shoulder, scanning each vehicle that passed the bakery windows. Detective Reynolds had called with updates, informing her the police had found nothing. And Hunter had vanished completely since she’d refused his safe house offer a week ago.
She pushed open the back door with her hip, both hands gripping the trash bags. The November night air hit her face, sharp and cold. The dark alley stretched in both directions, the single light above the door creating more shadows than it eliminated. Her breath misted in the chill as she stepped outside.
The bags bumped against her legs as she hobbled toward the dumpster. The lid was covered in a thin layer of frost that bit her fingers when she lifted it.
Before Brie could heft the garbage bag into the dumpster, a large male hand clamped over her mouth. It smelled of cigarettes and motor oil. A second arm locked around her waist, yanking her against a solid chest before her brain could process what was happening. She dropped the bag she’d been holding, garbage spilling across the asphalt as she was dragged backward.
Her bear roared to the surface, but she was too shocked to shift. She caught a glimpse of the van’s interior as they carried her toward it: zip ties on the floor, a roll of duct tape, empty fast-food containers.
No. No, no, no…
Another form materialized from the darkness. The dim light illuminated Hunter’s face. His knife opened the shorter man’s leg, dropping him mid-stride. The man holding her spun toward the threat, his grip loosening enough that she fell hard onto the cold asphalt.
She scrambled backward into the wall of the bakery, scraping her palms. She was too stunned to do anything but watch.
Hunter moved like death. The man who’d been holding her reached for a gun, but Hunter was already there, the knife finding the soft spot under his ribs. The gun clattered away into the darkness. Blood looked black in the pale light, spreading across the pavement in thick rivulets.
Within seconds, both of her attackers were on the ground, one unconscious, one moaning and trying to hold his leg together.
Hunter stood between her and them. The shorter man was trying to crawl away, leaving a blood trail. The taller one groaned, semiconscious. Hunter pulled a zip-tie from his pocket and quickly secured the conscious one’s wrists.
“Are you hurt?”
Brie couldn’t make her mouth work. She was shaking so hard, her teeth chattered.
“Brie. Look at me. Are you injured?”
She managed to focus on his face. His hands had blood on them, but his expression was calm.
“I... no. I don’t think so.”
“Inside. Now.” He helped her stand, his hand under her elbow, steadying her. “I need to secure the other one, then call this in.”
He guided her through the bakery door, helping her inside. “Lock this. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
