Page 62 of The Maverick

“You will.”

“With you.” She moved to get up, and he slid his arms beneath her. Lifted her like she weighed nothing.

“Hawke…”

“Don’t argue.” His voice was low, firm, final. “You’ve done enough. Now I take care of you.”

He carried her out of the alley, past the broken lights, past the trail of blood and fractured delusion Miles had left behind.

Gavin met them at the van, eyes scanning Vanessa first, then the bruises on Hawke’s jaw.

“He alive?” Gavin asked.

“Barely.”

“Want me to call it in?”

Hawke looked down at Vanessa. Her lashes were damp, her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

He answered for both of them. “Yeah. It’s time.”

They retrieved and secured Miles into the second vehicle, cuffed and unconscious. Reed had already wiped the external cameras, and he would back up the surveillance onto a secure drive.

The nightmare was almost over.

Hawke climbed into the van, Vanessa still in his lap, and let the door shut behind them. She curled into his chest again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened around his hand. He would let her rest tonight. Tomorrow, they’d deal with the fallout. Tonight, he would hold her.

And nothing—nothing—would ever touch her again.

15

VANESSA

AFew Weeks Later

The coffee on the table had gone cold, but Vanessa didn’t care. The mug had been warm enough when Hawke set it down two hours ago, kissing her bare shoulder and ordering her to eat something, then disappearing into the woodshed to split firewood. She hadn’t moved since. Not because she was frozen, but because she felt free.

Her laptop sat open in front of her, the cursor blinking in rhythm with the beat of her thoughts. The chapter title was done. The first line had come easily. Then the second, and the third. Now she sat curled in the window seat of Hawke’s cabin, wearing one of his flannels, her legs bare and tucked beneath her, typing steadily. Her bruises were gone. The nightmares had dulled. Her voice had returned.

Outside, the trees swayed gently; the sky stretched wide and low, painted in warm pastels—pale blue brushed with streaks of peach and gold, as if the sun was having a lazy morning. The breeze carried the faint scent of mesquite and sunbaked earth, stirring the live oak leaves just enough to make them whisper. Itwas cool, and the air moved with a kind of quiet comfort. Light filtered in from the east, casting everything in a hush of early morning calm.

Hawke’s land stretched around her like a fortress. She’d started calling it ‘the compound’ in her head, half-teasing, but there was something sacred about it now. The alarms, the private security uplink, the locked gate three miles from the cabin where the driveway left the road—it wasn’t just overkill.

It was caring. His caring. His way of saying she mattered, she was his, and no one—but him—would ever touch her again. Vanessa reached for the mug, took a sip out of habit, grimaced, and set it back down. She slid the cursor to the end of the paragraph and reread the last line.

Nothing had broken her. Just badly written. And now she was taking the pen back.

Satisfied, she hit save and closed the laptop. Her fingers flexed once, her wrists still bearing the faint calluses from the cuffs Brenner had used. Hawke said they’d fade. She didn’t want them to.

Her phone buzzed across the table. She almost ignored it—she wasn’t sure she was quite ready to deal with the outside world. But the name flashing on the screen made her sit up straighter.

Connie—Agent

She answered on the second ring.

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