Her smile fades. "No. They're just writing 'Soon' on my mirror in blood."
Shit. That came out wrong.But maybe it's necessary. A reminder of professional boundaries when everything about this evening has felt too comfortable, too domestic.
"We'll find the bastard," I say, in lieu of the other stupid things running through my brain about attraction and herpersonality. "Frank's the best at what he does. And the FBI has resources we don't."
"The police have been making that same promise for months, though."
I look eyes on hers ignoring every instinct screaming to avoid her trance. "If they don’t find this asshole, then I will."
The words come out with more intensity than I intended, edged with a promise of violence that surprises even me. I'm not usually so personally invested in outcomes.
Nova hears it too. Her eyes widen slightly, and she leans forward, closing some of the distance between us.
My eyes flick to her plump lips then back to her eyes. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her right now, and the fact that the thought even crosses my mind tells me, I’ve lost the fucking plot. I force my eyes to the ground.
"I should turn in," she says after a moment. "It's been a long day."
"Of course." I straighten, keeping the fireplace between us. "Towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and there are extra blankets in the closet if you get cold. Mountain nights can be chilly even in summer."
She stands, stretching in a way that's entirely unselfconscious, entirely natural. Nothing like the calculated movements of a woman who knows she's being watched, or how the slight sliver of skin that peeks through affects me when the hem of her sweater raises ever so sightly.
"Goodnight, Finn." She moves toward the stairs, then pauses, looking back at me. "Thank you. For everything."
"Just doing my job."
"No." She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "I don't think that's all this is. Not anymore."
Before I can respond, she's gone, disappearing up the stairs, leaving me with the unsettling feeling that she's right.
This stopped being just a job the moment she walked into my kitchen and started chopping vegetables like she belonged there.
The moment she looked at me, she saw a human being instead of a weapon.
The moment I looked at her and saw a beautiful and funny woman instead of a mere client.
I stare into the flames, trying to reclaim the professional distance I need to do this job right. But all I can think about is the way she smiled when she saw the mountains for the first time. The way she handled my chef's knife with easy confidence. And the way she curled on my couch with my book like she's been here a hundred times before.
Like she belongs here.
And that's the most dangerous thought of all.
4
NOVA
Iwake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the distant sound of chopping wood.
For a moment, I'm disoriented, my mind still clouded with sleep. Then it all comes rushing back. The stalker. The blood on my mirror. Finn McKenna arriving to whisk me away to safety. Montana. The cabin.
Finn.
I stretch beneath the luxurious weight of handmade quilts, surprised by how well I slept. No nightmares. No waking at every sound, convinced someone was watching me. For the first time in months, I felt safe enough to truly rest.
All because of the man currently making rhythmic chopping sounds outside my window.
I slip out of bed and pad to the window, peering out at the clearing behind the cabin. And there he is, Finn McKenna in all his mountain man glory, splitting logs with an ax that looks like it weighs as much as my suitcase. He's shirtless despite the morning chill, his upper body a landscape of muscle and scars that tells stories I'm suddenly desperate to hear.
The fluid power of his movements is mesmerizing. Lift, swing, split. Lift, swing, split. No wasted motion, no hesitation. Just pure controlled strength channeled into a single purpose.
