Page 65 of Beyond Protection
Mac:I'm scared
The words were honest and straightforward.
Eamon:Me too
Mac:But you're still coming back
Eamon:Always
I stared at the word on the screen. One word that meantI'm coming back tonight,I'm coming back tomorrow, andI'm coming back until this is over.
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Mac:Always is a long time
Eamon:Yeah, it is
Somewhere between the Roastery and Pike Place, keeping Mac safe had stopped being an assignment and started beingI can't lose him.
I set the phone down. Watched rain blur the windshield. Inside the rest stop building, vending machines glowed through fogged glass.
Twenty minutes. That's what I'd give myself. Twenty minutes to let the adrenaline drain before I drove north to whatever came next.
I leaned back against the headrest. Let my eyes close.
Luna's face appeared behind my eyelids. Brown eyes steady. Tail wagging. Choosing to trust despite every reason not to.
Good instincts, I'd told Michael.
Maybe it was time I listened to my own.
My phone lit up—unknown number.
Lovely evening for reflection, Eamon. The rain does make people contemplative. I've been contemplative too—about timelines, aboutproximity, about the way you look at him like you could protect him from me. You can't. Three weeks is now two.
I put the truck in gear. Rain and darkness. And a stalker who knew my name.
Chapter nine
Mac
My coffee had gone cold more than an hour ago. I'd stopped checking the time on my phone somewhere around four. At 3:30 AM, I'd given up on sleep and come downstairs to find the house already awake with worry.
Marcus was in the kitchen, loading his service weapon with the kind of methodical calm that made my stomach hurt. Someone had tried Ma's door at 3 AM, rattling the handle. They tested the lock.
And Eamon had been two hours away.
I sat by the living room window and stared into the gray. Fog turned the familiar street strange, dark, and foreboding.
My phone buzzed. Not a text—just the security app refreshing. All clear. All quiet. All wrong.
Then: headlights.
They cut through the fog like a promise, growing brighter, resolving into the shape of Eamon's rental truck. I was out the door in seconds.
The driveway was slick under my feet, the cold cutting through my sweatpants. I should have grabbed shoes. Should have kept some dignity and let him come to the door while I played it cool.
Fuck cool.
