Page 44 of Taken Away

“Aubrey, listen to me,” he said, heading out the front door and taking the steps two at a time. “Lock the internal kitchen door. Stay away from the windows. Do you hear me?”

“Bennett, I have a water flask, I don’t think⁠—”

“Aubrey. Do what I told you.”

He climbed into the truck, turned the key, and yanked it into reverse, shooting down the ridge road.

“I’m coming.”

Headlights slashed through the dark, catching on white hydrangeas as Bennett braked beneath the porte-cochere. He was out of the truck before the engine settled, up the steps, boots hitting the porch as he slammed his fist against the heavy brass knocker.

“Aubrey! Open the door!”

The lock clicked. The oak door swung back, and Aubrey stood there in the amber foyer light.

She looked unraveled. Still in the sleeveless black top and tech pants she'd worn that morning, her ponytail was coming undone, loose strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. Moose stood rigid at her flank, a low warning rumbling in his chest. One hand still gripped the deadbolt. Knuckles white.

Sweat still slicked his chest.

Bennett stepped straight into her space, chest heaving, bare shoulders gleaming in the hallway light. Black ink curled over one shoulder and down across his ribs—a stark line of vines and coordinates that looked carved into him rather than drawn.

He didn’t ask permission; his hands came up instantly, closing around her upper arms, fingers firm enough to feel the hard pound of her pulse. He scanned her face until he was sure she wasn’t hurt.

“You okay?” he rasped. “Did they touch you?”

Aubrey’s breath hitched. The faint trace of citrus and vanilla clung to her skin, ruined at the edges by fear and sweat. She tried to pull back, but her hands weren’t entirely steady.

“I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin on instinct. “I told you, I’m fine. I just… Moose saw them. They were at the glass.”

Bennett looked down at her—at the tight set of her mouth, the blown pupils, the blonde hair slipping loose from its tie. This was the woman Mabel had trusted him to protect.

A flicker of grim humor cut through the leftover adrenaline when he noticed she still had a stainless-steel water flask clenched in one hand like a weapon.

He let out a controlled breath, his hands sliding down her arms to her wrists, more to steady than to tease.

“You gonna survive, Princess?”

Aubrey froze. The nickname landed hard.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, trying to yank her wrists free. “You are unbelievably condescending. There was a prowler on my porch, and you’re standing here bare-chested acting like this is some joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bennett said, voice low but steady. He let go, giving her space. “And I’m not taking it lightly. You called, I came. Now let me do my job.”

He stepped past her into the house, buck knife already in his hand as he whistled low for Moose.

“Stay here,” he said over his shoulder, his face hardening as he headed toward the back porch. “I’ll check outside.”

Humid air on the back porch wrapped around Bennett like a damp towel. The afternoon heat had lingered into night, leaving the mountain quiet except for the rhythmic hiss-click-hiss of vineyard sprinklers spinning in the lower blocks.

Moose didn’t hesitate. The moment Bennett shoved the glass-paned sunroom door open, the Great Pyrenees surged past him, white body low to the decking, nose glued to the wood.

Bennett stepped out carefully, his work boots nearly silent on the weathered boards. He kept the buck knife low in his hand, eyes sweeping the shadows and the black, undulating lines of vines beyond.

“Moose,” he murmured. “Find ’em.”

The dog padded to the bottom of the steps, ruff bristling. No roar this time. Moose dropped his nose into the mud at the base of the stairs, inhaled deep and long, then let out a soft, high whine. His heavy tail gave a single, uncertain flick.

Bennett’s chest went tight. He dropped to one knee in the dirt, ignoring the damp red clay on his shins. The ground was still soft from days of rain.