I woke up to the smell of coffee and wet wood.
For a moment, I had no idea where I was. The ceiling above me was wooden, not plaster, and a fire crackled somewhere close. My head throbbed, and every bone in my body felt like I'd gone twelve rounds with a truck—which, technically, I had.
Then it came rushing back: the crash, the gunfire, the man on the motorcycle. Cole.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," a low voice said.
I turned my head too fast and winced. Cole was by the fireplace, crouched over a dented kettle. His hair was damp and messy, his black shirt clinging to his shoulders. He looked annoyingly composed for someone who'd jumped off a bridge with me last night.
"Where are we?" I asked, my voice raspier than usual.
"Old hunting cabin. Been empty for years. We'll stay until it's safe to move."
I pushed myself upright on the narrow couch. "How long was I out?"
"About five hours. You've got a mild concussion, nothing worse."
He poured coffee into a chipped mug and handed it to me. "Drink slowly."
I took it, staring at him over the rim. "You're very… calm about all this."
He shrugged. "I've had worse nights."
"Really? Because mine involved people trying to shoot me off a cliff. That's not normal."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Depends on your definition of normal."
I set the cup down on the table beside me. "Who were they, Cole? You said they wanted leverage against my father. Why?"
He sat on the armchair opposite me, resting his elbows on his knees. "Your father's company has enemies. Financial ones. Political ones. Some of them play dirty."
"So they try to kill his daughter? That's playing more than dirty."
"Maybe they thought he'd pay to get you back."
I felt my stomach twist. "Ransom. That's what this was?"
He didn't answer directly. "Could've been. Or something worse."
"You're supposed to protect me, right? Isn't that your job?"
"Was."
"Was?"
He met my gaze. "I was hired weeks ago to shadow you, keep an eye from a distance. Your father didn't want you to know. When the attack happened, I moved in."
I blinked at him. "You were spying on me?"
"Guarding," he corrected.
"That's not better."
He leaned back, watching me with that unreadable calm again. "Look, Ms. Blake—"
"Ariana," I cut in automatically.
"Fine. Ariana. You don't have to like it. You just have to stay alive."
"I'd prefer both."
His mouth twitched again, almost a grin, before he stood and checked the window. Outside, the light had softened into early morning gray. Trees. Mist. No sound of cars or sirens—just birds.
"Where exactly is this cabin?" I asked.
"About twenty miles from the river. Deep enough that no one stumbles across it."
"And you're sure they can't find us?"
"Not unless you sent an invitation."
I glared. "That's comforting."
He turned back toward me, expression suddenly serious. "I meant what I said last night. Until we know who's behind this, we treat everyone as a threat. No calls, no social media, nothing."
I gestured toward the empty room. "Do I look like I have a phone? Yours is at the bottom of the river, remember?"
"Good. Then we're off the grid."
I studied him, trying to piece him together. The way he moved—quiet, efficient—wasn't something you learned from corporate security. "You said you're a bodyguard. What were you before that?"
He hesitated, just a second, before answering. "Army. Special operations."
That explained a lot—the reflexes, the precision, the lack of panic when the world exploded.
"Why'd you quit?" I asked.
"Too many people stopped coming home."
The way he said it—flat but heavy—shut me up for a moment.
He noticed my silence and added, "I took the job with your father because it was supposed to be easy. Watch a spoiled heiress for a few months. No bullets, no cliffs."
"I'm not spoiled."
"Sure you're not," he said, teasing just enough to irritate me.
I picked up the mug again, mostly to give my hands something to do. "So what's your plan, soldier? Hide here forever?"
"Long enough to regroup. There's a contact of mine nearby who can get us supplies."
"Us?"
He shot me a look. "You think I'm leaving you alone out here?"
I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, a soft crack echoed outside—like a twig snapping.
Cole froze.
The air in the cabin seemed to tighten. He moved silently to the door, glancing through a slit in the curtain.
"What is it?" I whispered.
He raised a hand for silence. Then he mouthed, Stay here.
My heart climbed into my throat as he slipped out onto the porch, gun drawn.
For a few seconds, nothing. Only wind through the trees. Then a bird took off suddenly, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I waited, every nerve screaming, until his voice came through the doorway.
"All clear," he said. "Just a deer."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Great. Nature's out to finish the job."
He closed the door and holstered the gun again. "You'll live. Drink your coffee."
"Bossy much?"
I finished the coffee, even though it was strong enough to peel paint. It warmed me anyway, and I needed that more than taste. Cole had settled back into the armchair, quiet again, the way people go quiet when they've seen too much.
"You always carry a gun?" I asked finally.
"Usually."
"You sleep with it too?"
"Sometimes."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's… concerning."
He smirked faintly. "Depends on what side of it you're on."
I watched him for a moment, the way his eyes never really stopped scanning. "Do you ever relax?"
"This is me relaxed."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
I sighed and leaned back against the couch. "You know, most people who save someone's life usually get a thank-you dinner. Maybe a medal."
"I'm not most people."
"No kidding. What are you then?"
He didn't answer right away. The firelight flickered across his face, catching the faint scar along his jaw that I hadn't noticed before. "I'm the guy who keeps you breathing until we figure out why someone wants you dead," he said finally.
"Romantic."
"Wasn't meant to be."
"Well, you're doing a great job of it," I muttered.
He ignored the sarcasm and poked at the fire with a metal rod. "We'll stay put until nightfall. Then move."
"Move where?"
"Somewhere safer."
"You said this place was safe."
"It was last night. Things change."
The way he said it made the room colder somehow. I wrapped his jacket tighter around me.
He noticed. "You cold?"
"Just trying to figure out if I'm supposed to feel safe around you."
"You should."
"Because you're armed and grumpy?"
"Because I didn't let you die."
That shut me up again, though I hated that he had a point.
After a moment, he asked, "You remember anything about the attack? Any faces?"
"They wore masks. One of them shouted something, but it was too loud to hear."
"What about the car you were in?"
"Black SUV. Same one I always use. It just… exploded." My throat tightened. "My driver—Sam—he didn't get out."
Cole's expression softened a fraction. "I'm sorry."
"He had a daughter," I said quietly. "Eight years old. I used to bring her gifts when they visited the office. Now she's just—"
He reached across the table, resting his hand on mine for a second. "Don't go there yet. Focus on staying alive. You can grieve later."
I wanted to snap at him for sounding so cold, but when I met his eyes, I realized it wasn't coldness. It was experience. The kind of discipline that keeps people alive.
Still, my pulse jumped a little when he touched me. I hated that, too.
"Fine," I said, pulling my hand back. "What now, Commander?"
"Get some food in you." He nodded toward a small cabinet. "There's a few cans in there."
"Canned beans. How gourmet."
"Luxury dining in the wilderness."
I rummaged through the cabinet anyway, finding two cans and a rusted opener. As I worked, I asked, "Do you always talk this little?"
"I talk when it matters."
"That must be rare."
He gave a small grunt that might've been a laugh. "You don't like silence, do you?"
"Not when it follows gunfire."
"Fair."
We ate mostly in quiet, the crackling fire filling the space. Outside, the daylight had faded to pale gold. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I scraped the last bit from the can.
Cole stood, stretching slightly, the muscles in his arms shifting under the thin shirt. I caught myself watching and quickly looked away.
"You good?" he asked.
"Peachy."
"You look like you're about to pass out."
"Adrenaline hangover," I said. "Or maybe the five gallons of coffee."
"Lie down again. You need rest before dark."
"Are you going to watch me sleep?"
"Someone has to keep watch."
I hesitated, studying his face. He wasn't kidding. I should've felt creeped out, but instead, I felt—safe
. Which was weird.
"Fine," I said finally, lying back down on the couch. "But if you try anything, remember I bite."
He smiled for real that time. "Noted."
I turned away from the fire, pretending to close my eyes. Sleep didn't come easily. Every time the wind brushed the windows, I tensed. Somewhere behind me, I could hear Cole moving—quiet, steady, checking doors, watching shadows.
Eventually, exhaustion won. The last thing I remember was his low voice, almost to himself:
"Don't worry, princess. Nobody's touching you again."