“In some ways.” His expression turns thoughtful. “You get used to the protocols, the constant movement. But the reasons behind it—those never get easier.”
I think about Mason, about Ryan, about Chaos.
Cooper and his injuries.
I think about the gunfire that echoed through the Montana forest as we lifted off.
“Any word from Mason and Ryan?”
Jackson shakes his head. “Not yet. They’ll make contact when they’re secure.”
Bear shifts closer, as if sensing my concern, his warm weight pressing against my side. I run my fingers through his thick coat, finding comfort in the simple, tangible connection of a four-footed friend.
The boat ride lasts exactly twenty-three minutes before we reach the opposite shore. True to Martinez’s word, another SUV awaits.
“Final leg of the journey.” Jackson guides me toward a forest-green pickup truck.
Bear jumps into the vehicle bed, making himself comfortable with a contented huff.
“Stubborn beast,” Jackson mutters, but there’s affection in his tone.
The drive takes us up winding mountain roads, climbing higher into dense forest that seems to swallow us whole. After nearly an hour of relentless ascent, we round a final curve and the “safehouse” comes into view.
“Whoa,” I breathe, taking in the sprawling structure.
“Guardian HRS doesn’t mess around,” Jackson says with evident pride. “This is one of their premier facilities. Completely off-grid, self-sufficient, and virtually impenetrable.”
The “safehouse” is more like a fortress disguised as a luxury mountain retreat—a massive log structure nestled into the mountainside with commanding views of the valley below. Solar arrays gleam on the expansive roof, and I spot what looks like a helipad partially concealed by trees on one side.
“Home sweet home, at least for now.” Martinez offers me a hand as I exit thevehicle.
Bear is out before the engine fully stops, bounding up to the porch where he’s greeted warmly by a petite woman with a long brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“Bear! You handsome devil,” she exclaims, kneeling to receive his enthusiastic greeting. “Where’s your daddy, huh?”
“Ghost’s on his way,” Jackson answers, helping me from the truck. “Willow, meet Skye Summers, co-founder of Guardian HRS and head of their medical division.”
Skye straightens, her green eyes sharp as she assesses me with professional interest. “Mrs. Reynolds. Welcome.”
“Just Willow, please.” The sound of Steffan’s name makes my skin crawl. “I’m not his wife anymore. Not in any way that matters.”
Understanding flashes across her face. “Willow, then. Let’s get you inside.” She turns to Martinez and Jackson. “Just got an update on Cooper. He’s in surgery and he’s going to be fine.”
“That’s great to hear.” Jackson and Martinez exchange a relieved look.
“Well, come inside.” Skye looks up. “We aren’t tracking anyone in the air or the woods, but best not to hang out here for too long.” She turns to me. “You’ll get a full safety briefing later, but rule number one is no going outside where anything flying, or spying, can confirm your identity.”
“Makes sense.” I follow her inside.
The interior of the mountain retreat is even more impressive than its exterior, featuring soaring ceilings, massive windows that overlook the valley, and state-of-the-art security systems that blend seamlessly with rustic luxury. Despite its size, the space feels warm and welcoming in a way I hadn’t expected from a high-security facility.
“This way.” Skye leads us through what appears to be a great room toward a hallway lined with doors. “We’ve prepared a suitefor you. You can rest, shower, eat—whatever you need. Bear can stay with you if you’d like.”
At the mention of his name, the massive dog trots to my side, looking up at me with those soulful eyes that seem to understand everything.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I’d like that very much.”
Skye smiles. “I thought so. Mason mentioned he’s taken quite a shine to you.”
