“Mason?” I stop mid-step. “You’ve heard from him?”
“Brief transmission about twenty minutes ago,” she confirms. “He and Ryan are en route. ETA tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
Relief crashes through me with such force that my knees nearly buckle. “He’s okay? They’re both okay?”
“Apparently,” Skye’s expression softens. “Mason Blackwood is notoriously hard to kill. Now, let’s get you settled.”
The suite is larger than any hotel room I’ve ever stayed in—a sitting area with plush sofas, a bedroom with a king-sized bed, and a bathroom featuring both a massive shower and a deep soaking tub. Fresh clothes wait on the bed, and a tray of food sits on the coffee table.
“Everything you need should be here,” Skye says. “If not, just use the intercom. Someone will come.”
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate for what these people have done for me—risking their lives, creating this elaborate escape network, and treating my wounds, both visible and hidden.
Skye pauses at the door. “Oh, Mitzy will be by in about an hour. She’s our tech specialist. She’ll want to discuss the flash drive.”
With that reminder, my hand immediately goes to my pocket, confirming the small device is still there—three years of evidence, of suffering, of careful documentation.
“Get some rest,” Skye advises, then closes the door softly behind her.
Alone for the first time in what feels like days, I sink onto the edge of the bed, emotions finally catching up with me. Bear immediately jumps up beside me, his massive weight making the mattress dip dramatically. He settles with his head in my lap, eyes watching me with what seems like genuine concern.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, though the tears now falling freely suggest otherwise. “We’re safe.”
Bear whines softly, shifting to press more of his warm bulk against me. His steady presence anchors me as I finally allow myself to fully feel everything—the terror of the past days, the grief for years lost to Steffan’s abuse, the strange, fierce hope that bloomed in Mason’s arms. The fact that I think I might be in love with a man I’ve known for barely a handful of days.
I don’t know how long I sit there, crying, while Bear offers his silent comfort. Eventually, the tears slow, then stop altogether, leaving me hollow but somehow lighter.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the dog, who responds by licking my hand once, then jumping down and padding to the bathroom door, looking back at me expectantly.
“Good idea.” I manage a watery smile. “A shower would help.”
The hot water is glorious, sluicing away the physical remnants of our journey—the sweat, the dirt, the lingering scent of fear. I stand under the spray until my skin pinks, letting the heat soak into muscles I didn’t even realize were tense.
By the time I emerge, wrapped in the plush robe provided, I feel almost human again. Bear has made himself comfortable on the bed, massive body sprawled across the crisp white duvet, but he immediately sits up when I appear.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I tease, thenormality of the moment striking me as both absurd and precious.
I dress in the clothes provided—soft leggings, a cashmere sweater, thick socks—all in my exact size. The attention to detail is both impressive and slightly unnerving. How much does Guardian HRS know about me?
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Bear is immediately alert and moves to my side.
“Who is it?” I call, one hand automatically going to the dog’s thick scruff.
“Mitzy,” comes the response. “Here about the flash drive.”
I open the door to find a woman with startling blue, purple, and black hair cropped in a pixie cut smiling at me. Her eyes carry the spark of intense intelligence, but her smile is as genuine as it gets.
“Willow, right? I’m Mitzy.” She extends a hand. “Head of tech operations here at Guardian HRS. May I come in?”
I step aside, and she enters, immediately dropping to one knee to greet Bear. “Hey, big guy. Long time no see.” Bear accepts her affectionate ear scratches with dignified patience before returning to the bed.
“You know Bear?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh yeah. Ghost brings him whenever he visits. That dog’s had more security clearance than most agents.” She straightens, her expression turning serious. “So, the flash drive. Mason mentioned it contains critical evidence.”
I nod, retrieving it from my pocket. “Three years’ worth. Financial records, witness tampering, weapons deals with terrorist organizations, and offshore accounts. Everything needed to bring Steffan down.”
Mitzy whistles low. “No wonder he wants you dead.” She produces a sleek laptop from her messenger bag. “Mindif we take a look? I’d like to make multiple secure backups immediately.”
