Page 17 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

“Gus Monroe,” Tyler calls, footsteps creaking across the entryway. “Survival expert, ex-Delta… impressive résumé. Too bad you picked the wrong girl to play hero for.”

Another sound—boots scuffing, furniture scraping. Then Gus’s growl, low and lethal: “Step away from that threshold and you might walk out of these mountains alive.”

Tyler laughs, a sharp, ugly bark. “Come now, we both know that’s not your plan.”

Silence swells. I canfeelthem measuring distance, angles, intent. My pulse hammers so loudly I’m sure they can hear.

A single gunshot cracks, deafening in the enclosed space. Glass shatters. I bite down on a scream and flatten behind the island.

Gus shouts, “Lola, panic room! Now!”

I scramble toward the pantry, forcing stiff legs to move. A second shot booms, chips of pine zinging off the doorframe above my head. I dive through the pantry doorway, slamming the hidden panel. Darkness swallows me.

The latch clicks. I engage the steel bar, then fumble for the small monitor linked to the cabin’s cameras. The infrared feed flickers to life: the living-room outline rendered in heat-map whites and grays. Two figures circle each other—Gus broader, steadier; Tyler wiry, quick.

Tyler lunges. Gus pivots, delivering a brutal elbow that sends Tyler crashing into the coffee table. Wood splinters. Tyler rises, blood hot on his face, and fires again. Spark flares off the fireplace grate; Gus rolls, returns fire, the muzzle flash white lightning.

I can’t breathe. Each second stretches like wire, taut and slicing. My fingers hover over the red beacon button that will summon Mason’s team, but Gus asked for time. I owe him that.

On-screen Tyler darts behind the couch, ripping a lamp cord free, swinging the base like a club. Gus advances, rifle in one hand, sofa between them. Tyler hurls the lamp; it smashes against the hearth.

Then they’re on each other—rifle knocked aside, fists and knees and fury. Gus drives Tyler into the stone mantle; the impact vibrates through the feed. Tyler claws for his waistband—knife glinting.

My scream echoes against steel walls: “Gus!”

He twists, the blade skimming his ribs, crimson blooming on his shirt. Instead of retreating he surges forward, trapping Tyler’s knife arm, head-butting him with a sickening crack. Tyler staggers. Gus wrenches the knife free, flips it, and pins Tyler’s wrist to the mantle with the blade buried through the cuff of his jacket.

Tyler howls.

Gus steps back, chest heaving. “It’s over.”

Tyler laughs through blood-stained teeth. “For you maybe.” He yanks a small remote from his pocket, thumb poised. “You’re not the only one who planned ahead.”

The color drains from Gus’s face. I know what Tyler means—booby trap, car bomb, something outside… my vision tunnels.

Before Tyler can press the button, Gus drives a knee into his gut. The remote skitters across the floor. Gus tackles him, grappling, wrenching Tyler’s free arm behind his back until bone pops. Tyler screams, going limp.

Sirens wail in the distance—an avalanche of relief. Mason must have triggered the sheriff’s net when the perimeter alarms tripped.

Gus drags Tyler to the center of the room, boot on his spine, rifle trained. The front door bursts open—blue lights strobing, deputies pouring in. In seconds Tyler is cuffed, the knife collected, the remote sealed in an evidence bag.

Only when the room clears do I unseal the panic room. The moment the panel swings wide, Gus is there, blood seeping through his shirt but eyes blazing with desperate worry.

“Lola.” My name is a prayer on his lips.

I throw myself into his arms, gripping him hard enough to bruise. “You’re bleeding.”

“Graze.” He brushes my hair back, scanning me for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Tears blur my vision. “You kept your promise.”

He kisses me, fierce and trembling. “And I always will.”

Deputy radios crackle downstairs; EMTs call for blot dressings. Gus allows them to steer him toward the porch steps. I keep my hand locked in his the entire time.

While they tend his wound, Mason jogs up the drive, grin splitting his face. “Hell of a show, Monroe.” He nods toward me. “You okay, ma’am?”

“I am now.”

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