Unease rippled down her spine. She glanced out the side window, suddenly too aware of the new glass. The glow oftwilight spilled across the sidewalk, long shadows stretching past the edges of Winslow Crossing.
And for the first time since she’d decided to stay, it didn’t feel entirely like home.
Rylee stepped beside her. “You don’t need to be scared, Laurel. Just stay aware. We’ve got eyes on things. And you’ve got people watching your back.”
Laurel nodded slowly, the knot in her chest loosening a fraction.
Still, as her gaze drifted back to the window, she couldn’t shake the chill that ghosted across her skin.
Chapter Eighteen
Four days had gone by, and the quiet was almost too quiet.
Bennett stood near the large front window in Laurel’s apartment, the fading light of evening washing over the newly set living room. Down below, the sidewalks were empty, the air thick with salt and humidity. After the chaos of the last week, everything finally felt still.
And that was the problem.
Behind him, Laurel hummed as she moved around the kitchen, prepping something simple—sandwiches, judging by the scent of toasted bread. The homey clatter of plates and silverware mixed with the occasional soft curse when she dropped something.
He liked the sound of her here. Comfortable. Settled. Like she belonged.
Which made the ever-present edge in his gut even more annoying.
She deserved the calm. She deserved the comfortable. Hell, she deserved a damn medal for seeing her aunt through her second surgery tomorrow.
He and Laurel were all set to stay with Annie for the next two days while Matthew camped out here, much to the woman’s protests. But Laurel had remained stern, and he’d backed her up. Annie wasn’t one to sit still and take it easy during her recovery period. Experience had already proven that. A smile tugged at his lips. The woman had gumption, a lot like her niece.
A trait he admired in both women.
His phone buzzed on the table with a text from Carter.
“All security feeds holding. No alerts in the last 48. All good.”
Good. Bennett blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Another buzz from Carter:
“Mac and I met with Connor this morning—finally.”
This was also good. Bennett and Mac had gone to Wild Creek Ranch last week, but spring round-up had taken his cousin off grid.
He’d met Connor once in passing, the day before he started this assignment. Rancher. Tough as nails. Still had the hands of a working cowboy despite the money his family had accumulated over the years. If Connor was talking, Bennett trusted the man’s word a hell of a lot more than Duke Carver’s smile.
Carter buzzed again.
“Guy still hates Duke. Called him a ‘greedy little mosquito in Gucci boots.’ Said if something shady’s going on, Duke’s got his name all over it.More coming. He’s checking some land survey records for us.”
Bennett’s lips twitched. “Mosquito in Gucci boots,” he murmured, amused despite himself, as he replied with, “Roger that.”
He was supposed to meet Connor with Mac that morning, but Carter had needed someone on-site to run a full stress test on the new security grid while Brandi’s team entered the last phase of construction.
Bennett hadn’t argued. With Laurel living upstairs now, the weight of that responsibility sat squarely on his shoulders—his choice. If something failed, if a sensor didn’t catch movement or a camera glitched at the wrong time, he’d never forgive himself.
“Something new?” Laurel asked behind him.
He turned. She was drying her hands on a towel, one hip propped against the counter, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders, soft and golden in the fading sunlight. His chest warmed at the sight.
“Just Carter,” he said, pocketing the phone. “Security looks good. He and Mac talked to a local rancher this morning—Connor McCall, Mac’s cousin. Knows Duke. Doesn’t like him.”
