Page 9 of The Maverick

She lifted a brow. “Is that where you sleep?”

“No, I’m across the hall.” He crossed to the kitchen, tugging off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. “You hungry?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

She gave him a look. “You offering me a snack and a nap like I’m a child?”

“I’m giving you options. You’ve been on edge for hours. You need rest before we get to work.”

She folded her arms tighter. “You still think I’m a delicate, fragile little thing?”

“I think you’re wired too tight to think clearly, and you don’t have the luxury of falling apart. That means we regroup, we plan, and we find the bastard who got into your house.”

Vanessa turned away. Walked toward the stone fireplace, then back, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or sit down.

“You’ve already decided how this plays out,” she said. “You’ve already mapped out the next seventy-two hours.”

He didn’t deny it. “I don’t operate without a plan.”

She faced him again, expression unreadable.

“And if I refuse to play by your rules?”

He crossed to her slowly. Stopped just a few inches away. “Then I’ll remind you how good it can feel when you don’t.”

Her eyes flashed. That challenge. That anger. That heat. It was still there. Still simmering, even now. She didn’t step back. She never had.

“Don’t make this about the past,” she whispered.

“It’s not. But I’m not pretending we don’t have one.”

Vanessa looked up at him, and in that moment, she wasn’t just guarded or combative. She was scared. Pissed. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

And he was all in.

“You’re staying,” he said, voice firm. “Until this is over.”

Her lips parted, ready to argue.

He leaned in. Not touching. Not teasing. Just close enough that she could feel what was between them.

“And while you’re here, you follow my lead. No games. No fighting me for the sake of it. You do that, I keep you safe. That’s the deal.”

She stared at him for a long, pulsing second.

Then she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“You don’t have to like it,” he said. “But you’re here now. And I’m not giving you room to run.”

Her voice softened. Just barely. “Is that what you think I did? Two years ago?”

He looked at her, really looked. Hair wild from the wind. Face pale from exhaustion. But still proud. Still defiant.

“You didn’t run, Vanessa. You walked. Calm. Controlled. Dead behind the eyes.”

She looked away. “I had my reasons.”

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