Page 30 of Close Protection

The soft patter of rain became a roar overnight, transforming from gentle background noise to an assault that jolted Ivy from sleep. She blinked in the gray morning light, momentarily disoriented until reality crashed back: the hotel, the safe house, the forest chase, and now this cabin where she was imprisoned with the woman she'd spent one reckless and beautiful night with.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and padded to the window. What she saw made her stomach drop.

The forest had disappeared behind a wall of water and wind. Tree branches bentat alarming angles, debris skittered across the clearing, and a relentless torrent transformed the ground into muddy rivers. This wasn't just rain; it was the kind of mountain storm that rearranged landscapes.

"Perfect," she muttered.

The bedroom door creaked as she pulled it open. Julia was already awake—unsurprisingly—and standing at the main window with the satellite phone pressed to her ear. She turned at Ivy's entrance, her shoulders communicating what her carefully controlled expression tried to conceal.

"Understood," Julia said into the phone. "Keep me updated." She tucked the device away. "Good morning."

"Is it?" Ivy gestured toward the window.

"The storm's worse than predicted," Julia acknowledged. "The road down the mountain is flooded in three places, and there's a mudslide blocking the main access point."

The implications settled over Ivy. "We're trapped."

"Temporarily contained," Julia corrected, as if terminology could improve their situation. "Morgan won't be able to reach us until the storm passes and the road crew clearsaccess. Could be twenty-four hours, possibly longer."

"And if Knox's people decide to take advantage of our isolation?"

"The same conditions preventing Morgan from reaching us also limit their approach options. The helicopter can't fly in this weather, and ground vehicles can't navigate the blocked roads." Julia moved to the kitchenette, where coffee percolated. "Detective Rivers confirmed there's been no unusual activity. We're as safe as we can be."

Ivy watched as Julia poured two mugs, her movements efficient and controlled. Everything about her was controlled—from her security checks to the careful distance she maintained. Only once had Ivy seen that control waver, and the memory of it made her body warm despite the cabin's chill.

"Here." Julia extended a steaming mug, careful to avoid any contact. "The power's still on, but I've prepared for outages. Wood's stacked by the stove and emergency lights placed strategically."

Ivy took a sip, surprised by the quality. "This is better."

"Morgan's supply drop included the essentials. Good coffee ranks high on that list."

Almost a joke. Ivy found herself smiling despite everything. "I'm glad we agree on something."

Julia didn't return the smile, but something in her expression softened fractionally. "The storm might be a blessing in disguise. If we're inaccessible, so is our location."

"A silver lining to being trapped with a person who can barely look me in the eye?" The words escaped before Ivy could filter them.

Julia's face closed immediately. "I'll check the perimeter. There's food in the kitchen if you're hungry."

And just like that, she was gone. Ivy stood in the middle of the cabin, frustration burning in her chest.

The enforced isolation was already crawling under her skin. She was accustomed to control—over her environment, her schedule, her interactions. Here, she had none of those things. She was at the mercy of weather, Knox's enforcers, and a department leak that could compromise them at any moment.

And Julia. Always Julia, with her irritating competence and maddening self-control.

Ivy began to pace, five steps one way, turn, five steps back. The cabin suddenly felt impossibly small, the walls too close, the ceiling too low. She'd never been good with confinement. As a child, she'd hidden in open spaces—libraries, parks, museums—to escape her parents' suffocating house. As an adult, she'd chosen an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, a visual escape even when work kept her physically contained.

Here, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to breathe.

Her mind raced through scenarios, contingencies, probabilities: Knox's next move, the department leak, the timeline for the grand jury. Calculating risk was second nature, a way to impose order on chaos. But this situation defied her usual analytical frameworks.

Not just the external threats, but her own responses to them—and to Julia.

Thunder crashed, rattling the windows. The door flew open, Julia stumbling throughon a gust of wind and rain. She secured it behind her, water streaming from her soaked hair and clothes.

"It's getting worse," she said unnecessarily. "We need to prepare for the possibility of extended isolation. The road down the mountain is completely washed out in sections."

"How extended?" Ivy demanded, renewed claustrophobia clawing at her throat.

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