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The TV flashes on, showing infrared footage of the surrounding forest, lighting up at any movement. I see a rabbit leap by and then disappear behind a tree. A bird flutters across one camera.
“That’s crazy,” I say. “I didn’t notice any cameras when we drove up. And your watch… Are you a freaking spy or something, Ryland?”
His lips twitch and he stares at me, his eyes smoldering Nordic blue. “When I was a kid, I used to dream I’d be a spy one day. I thought that was what Dad was training me for.”
I walk over to him, placing my hand on his arm, sensing the emotion that makes his words low and husky.
“You can still use your skills for good,” I tell him. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll support you.”
“I could start a security firm,” he says, nodding slowly as the idea ramps up in his mind. “I’ve spent my life analyzing risks, but from the other side. I’d be a valuable asset.”
“Of course you would,” I say fiercely.
“Maybe,” he says, leaning down and kissing my forehead softly. “Trust my little skeptic to come up with the perfect suggestion.”
I smile, sinking into the flirtatiousness despite the threat looming over us.
“I don’t hear you complaining.”
“About you?” he says, shaking his head. “Never, Rosie.”
“What if I decide to nag you to death one day, hmm? I’d wag my finger in your face and tell you to go and fix something around the house. You might have a few complaints then.”
He laughs, holding his face close to mine, his warm exhalations whispering tantalizingly over my skin.
“I’d just spank you for talking to me like that, and tell you to make me a—”
“Don’t you dare,” I laugh, slapping his firm chest playfully. “You weren’t about to say make you a sandwich, were you?”
“Don’t make me lie to you, Rosie,” he says, claiming my lips.
I smile through the kiss, sliding my hands up his shoulders to his hair, running my hands through it as I moan and he growls in the frenzy of the kiss. He presses on my lower back, grinding us close together.
“Fuck,” he growls, stepping away. “I can’t kiss you. It makes me too damn wild.”
“What should we do, then?” I ask. “Maybe we shouldn’t look at each other all night.”
“Impossible,” he smirks. “Sit down, Rosie. I’ll get us a drink.”
“Oh, what a gentleman,” I smile.
He brings his hand down on my ass in a kissing spank, a tempting sting moving over my skin.
“Don’t push your luck,” he growls, leaving the room.
“Your daddy is crazy, boy,” I tell Chopper, pacing up and down in front of the TV.
The forest surrounding us is quiet, the only life a few darting birds and the occasional rabbit.
Chopper grins up at me, as though he’s agreeing with me.
“This is such a crazy situation,” I say, gripping my hands together, as Chopper’s cute face encourages me to keep talking. “But I wouldn’t change it, boy. Because it brought me to your…”
I trail off when something shifts on the security feed. Little flashes of body heat flash across the trees, flitting here and there, and then they get closer and become the shapes of people.
There are five, six, seven—eight of them, or nine if I count the man one of them is dragging behind him.
“Ryland,” I yell. “They’re here. And they’ve got a prisoner.”
Who the heck is it?
Chapter Twenty
Ryland
I stride into the room, glancing at the screen and then at my woman.
I’m cold now, ready for whatever I have to do, ready for whatever is required of me to keep my family safe. I must seem like one grim bastard to my Rosie, as I walk across the room and glare at the screen like I’m going to crush it with my fist.
“Who the fuck is it?” I growl.
“I don’t know,” Rosie murmurs.
“Family—friends?” I bark.
“Um… No, not really. I don’t have anybody I’m really close to, apart from Mom.”
“I don’t, either, but…”
I trail off, curling my hands into tight fists.
“Fuck,” I snap, when it hits me right in the chest, this cold fact. “Harold has a boyfriend. We left in such a goddamn hurry. I forgot to arrange security… Fuck. Harold.”
I turn and roar down toward the basement.
“Yes?”
“We need you up here,” I call down.
I turn back to the screen, assessing the distance.
They’ve cleared the trees and now they’re stalking toward the house like a pack of hungry wolves.
Harold walks in behind us, hands behind his back, striding across the room like a Victorian gentleman.
“Something to drink?” he asks.
I shake my head in disbelief, my lips creasing, at my old friend. I remember conversations where I tried to persuade him to relax around me. He’d been with my family for so long by that point, Dad’s illness getting worse and worse. It didn’t make sense for him to behave so formally toward me. But he wouldn’t change.
