Chapter 3

Ranger

The woman standing before me is nothing short of a dream. A pure, untouchable vision. Her silky blonde hair cascades down her shoulders in waves that catch the sunlight, making her look like she’s stepped out of some ethereal painting. Her big, baby-blue eyes lock onto mine as she places her tiny hand in mine. Her touch is warm, delicate. Innocent.

The sheer contrast between her softness and the hard edges of my world makes something primal stir deep inside me. I fight the urge to growl as her fingers brush against my calloused palm. My grip tightens slightly—not enough to hurt her, but enough to let her know I’m here. Solid. Strong. Hers. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Her father’s voice drifts into my consciousness, but I barely hear him as he introduces us. Fredrick Malser. A genius in his field, but all I care about is the angel he’s entrusted to me.

Tory. Her name tastes sweet even in my thoughts.

And already, I want her. I want to scoop her into my arms, take her to the safe house, and claim her in every way imaginable. I want to erase the doubt in her eyes and replace it with trust—trust in me. But I’m not a fool. I’ve been in this business long enough to know better.

This is a job.

I must remain professional.

At least for now.

But the moment this job is over, the moment she’s safe, she will be mine.

“I’ll keep her safe, sir,” I say, my voice firm and steady as I look her father in the eye. My words aren’t just a promise—they’re an oath, and I don’t make those lightly.

Fredrick nods, satisfied, and we get to work transferring Tory’s belongings from their car to my truck. She has more bags than I anticipated—small, feminine things that don’t take up much space but somehow feel significant. Each one feels like a glimpse into her life, into the things she values. I tuck them carefully into the back of the truck, securing them as if they contain treasures.

When the last bag is loaded, I turn to see Tory hugging her father. The sight stirs something unexpected in me—a pang of emotion I quickly suppress. I don’t have room for sentimentality in this line of work, but watching her cling to him, seeing the protective way he pats her back, reminds me why I do this. Why I keep people like her safe.

But it’s not just about duty. Not this time.

When she pulls away from him, there’s a vulnerability in her expression that makes my chest tighten. She’s trusting me now. Trusting me to keep her safe.

I stride over to the passenger door and pull it open, holding out my hand to help her in. She hesitates for the briefest moment before taking it, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. I steady her as she climbs into the seat, her body moving with a natural grace that only makes her more captivating.

“You ready?” I ask, my voice a little gruffer than I intended. I’m already struggling to keep the edge out of it, to keep from letting her see how much she’s affecting me.

She turns those impossibly blue eyes on me, studying me in a way that feels almost too intimate. It’s as if she’s peeling back the layers, trying to figure out who I am and whether I’m worthy of her trust.

“I am,” she says softly, her voice carrying a quiet strength beneath the nerves.

I nod, closing the door behind her and circling to the driver’s side. As I settle into the seat and start the engine, I glance her way again. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight but not stiff. She’s trying to be brave, but I can sense the tension in her.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s safe with me. Safer than she’s ever been. And by the time this is over, she’ll know it too.

She’ll know she belongs with me.

Her father fades into the distance in the rearview mirror as I navigate the city streets, heading toward the safe house. Tory sits quietly at first, staring out the windshield, her delicate fingers gripping the strap of her small backpack-purse. She hugs it to her chest—her glorious chest—and I quickly snap my gaze back to the road.

I force myself to focus. The thoughts swirling in my mind are anything but professional, and I can’t afford to let them linger. There will be time for that later— after the mission. Once I’ve ensured she’s safe, I’ll allow myself to consider how much I want her, how much I want to claim her in every way. But not now. Not yet.

The streets are bustling with midday traffic, and I take several intentional detours, weaving through back roads and making random turns to ensure we aren’t being followed. It’s standard protocol, though I’m aware it’s adding unnecessary time to the drive. What should’ve been a quick twenty-minute trip has stretched into over an hour.

To her credit, Tory doesn’t complain. Instead, she fills the time by talking—endlessly.

It’s not mindless chatter, either. She launches into her life story with an enthusiasm that catches me off guard. She talks about her studies, her love for molecular biology, the intricate jewelry pieces she designs in her spare time. There’s something charming about the way her words tumble out in a steady stream, her voice light and animated. I find myself captivated by her energy, the way her hands occasionally gesture as she emphasizes a point.

She’s adorable. And I’m not being sarcastic.

“We don’t have a tail,” she finally says when I merge onto the highway after one last detour. There’s a playful edge to her voice, as if she’s been humoring me this whole time.

I glance at her briefly, smirking. “Better safe than sorry.”

Her intelligence isn’t lost on me. She knew exactly what I was doing from the start, and she didn’t even need to ask.

“You probably think this is beneath you,” she says after a moment, twisting in her seat to face me more fully. Her tone shifts, quieter now, with an edge of vulnerability. “Watching over some science nerd.”

I glance at her again, longer this time, meeting her wide blue eyes. “I take all my jobs seriously,” I say firmly. “If your life is in danger, then that’s serious enough for me.”

Her lips part slightly, and she tilts her head, studying me. “I’m more worried about my father,” she says, her voice soft. “Do you think anyone would even bother coming after me?”

I frown, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I think it’s more than that.”

The file I reviewed before this assignment was clear—her father’s work has ruffled some powerful feathers, and a group opposing his appearance at the Summit has been making waves. If they’re as determined as the intelligence suggests, targeting Tory could be their way of silencing him.

“You do?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

She hugs her backpack even closer, her fingers absentmindedly picking at the strap. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and I have to fight back a groan at the sight. That lip is going to be the death of me if she keeps worrying it like that.

“Yes,” I say, my voice low. “I think there’s more to this than your father’s overprotectiveness.”

Her brows knit together, and she looks away, her gaze falling to the dashboard. I can see the unease settling into her features, the weight of what I’ve just implied.

“Do you really think someone would try to hurt me just to get to him?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I glance at her again, this time softening my tone. “It’s a possibility,” I admit. “And it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

She nods, her throat working as she swallows. The conversation dies down after that, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. She turns back toward the windshield, hugging her backpack like a lifeline, and I let the silence stretch, giving her space to process.

But as I drive, I can’t help stealing glances at her. There’s a quiet strength in the way she carries herself, even when she’s unsure. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to protect her even more—not just because it’s my job, but because I need to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll keep her safe with my life. Whatever it takes.

I don’t want to make her more afraid than she already is, so I try to lighten the mood. “So, what do you like to eat for breakfast?” My tone is casual, but my focus remains split between the road ahead and the subtle tension in her posture.

Dean had assured me the safe house was stocked with all the essentials, but if she wants something specific, I’ll make it happen. Small comforts matter, especially when someone’s world has been upended.

“Blueberry pancakes are my favorite,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “Although, I’ll eat anything you have.”

“We can make blueberry pancakes,” I reply, already calculating how quickly we can grab what we need.

She laughs, a sound that catches me off guard. It’s soft and sultry, with an underlying sweetness that hits me somewhere deep. “No, seriously, it’s okay. I’ll eat anything. As long as it’s not moving, I’m up for it.”

I glance at her briefly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I appreciate a woman who likes to eat.”

Her laughter fades, and the car falls into a comfortable silence as I pull off the interstate, the glowing sign of a nearby grocery store coming into view. I don’t detect anything suspicious, no cars trailing us or anyone lingering where they shouldn’t, but my guard never drops.

After parking the truck, I shut off the engine and swivel slightly in my seat to face her. “When we’re in the store, you stick close to me. No wandering off.” My voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

She nods quickly. “Okay.”

I watch as she opens her door and slides out of the truck, her movements fluid but cautious. She’s trying to act nonchalant, but I can tell she’s uneasy, her head turning just slightly as she takes in her surroundings.

I step out as well, scanning the parking lot one last time before motioning for her to follow me. My hand hovers near the small of her back as we walk, not quite touching but close enough that she’ll know I’m there.

Inside the store, the bright fluorescent lights and cheery holiday music feel like a stark contrast to the unease simmering beneath the surface. I grab a cart and keep a steady pace as we navigate the aisles, my eyes darting between her and the people around us. Most are harmless—parents wrangling kids, an elderly couple debating which cereal to buy—but I don’t take chances.

Tory walks beside me, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the cart as if grounding herself. “Do you always do this?” she asks, glancing up at me with those big blue eyes.

“Do what?”

“Look at everyone like they might be a threat.”

Her observation is sharper than I expected, and I let out a low chuckle. “It’s part of the job. Being prepared for anything.”

Her lips press into a thoughtful line, and she doesn’t push further, her attention shifting to the shelves lined with pancake mix and syrup. I grab a box of her beloved pancake mix and toss it into the cart, along with a few other staples.

When we pass the bakery section, her gaze lingers on the display of muffins, and I catch the faintest flicker of longing. Without a word, I grab a pack of blueberry muffins and add them to the cart.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs, her cheeks turning pink.

“Figured you might want a snack before breakfast,” I reply casually, though the sight of her blushing makes something tighten in my chest.

As we approach the checkout, I remain hyper-aware of our surroundings, scanning the area for anything out of place. It’s a routine I’ve perfected over years in this line of work, but with Tory, it feels different. More personal.

Once we’re back in the truck and on the road again, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s quiet, her hands resting on her backpack, but there’s a softness to her expression now, a trace of gratitude or maybe even trust.

I’m positive we weren’t followed, but I still won’t let my guard down. Not here. Not ever. And especially not with Tory.

The crazy part is, she’s already more than a job to me. I don’t know how or when it happened—maybe the moment I saw her, or maybe it’s been building since she started talking about her life with that mix of passion and vulnerability. Either way, I know this isn’t just about protecting her anymore.

It’s about keeping her safe because she matters—to me. More than she probably ever will realize.

By the time we arrive at the safe house, the sun hangs lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the ocean that stretches endlessly behind the property. The house itself is impressive—a sprawling structure perched on a bluff, its white stucco walls and terracotta roof blending perfectly with the tropical surroundings. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, framing the house like a postcard.

“Wow,” she breathes, her voice laced with awe as she steps out of the truck. Her big blue eyes widen, taking in the grand facade of the house and the shimmering ocean beyond it.

Not as wow as her.

I grab her bags from the back of the truck, slinging them over my shoulder before motioning for her to follow me. “This is home for now,” I say, leading the way up the stone steps and unlocking the front door.

Inside, the cool air greets us, and her footsteps echo softly against the tiled floors of the expansive foyer. The space opens into a great room, its design modern but inviting, with long white couches flanking a glass coffee table. The back wall is made entirely of sliding glass doors, revealing a lanai that overlooks the ocean. Beyond it, the waves crash rhythmically against the shore, the sound soothing yet powerful.

Her gaze bounces from the furniture to the view, her lips parting slightly. “This is beautiful,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief, as if she can’t quite process the elegance of the place.

“So are you.” The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I clamp my jaw shut and force myself to look away before I say something I can’t take back. Instead, I head toward the hallway, my boots scuffing lightly against the tiled floor. “Come on,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ll show you your room.”

She follows me down the hallway, her steps hesitant as she takes in the artwork lining the walls and the subtle scent of salt lingering in the air. When we reach the master bedroom, I push the door open and set her bags down on the massive king-sized bed. The room is just as impressive as the rest of the house, with white furnishings accented by pops of blue and yellow. Large windows frame another breathtaking view of the ocean, and the en-suite bathroom is visible through an open door, its marble finishes gleaming.

“I figure you can have the master,” I tell her, gesturing to the room.

“Oh, I don’t need the master,” she protests, shaking her head as her eyes dart around the space. Her fingers brush over the edge of the bedspread, her touch light and tentative. “This is too much. Really.”

“Nonsense,” I reply, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “You need to be comfortable.”

Comfortable. With me. On top of you. Screaming my name until the walls shake.

I shake my head sharply, forcing those thoughts out before they spiral further. My gaze falls on her again, and I’m struck by how perfectly she fits here—her golden hair catching the soft afternoon light, her curves accentuated by the way she stands, slightly unsure of herself but utterly captivating.

This is going to be torture. Pure, unrelenting torture.

“You sure this is okay?” she asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“It’s more than okay,” I say, my voice gruffer than I intend. “This is your space for however long we’re here.”

I turn toward the doorway, needing to put some distance between us before my control snaps. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything,” I add, my back to her. “Get settled in. I’ll start dinner in a bit.”

As I leave the room, I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the image of her in that room, her soft curves against the stark white of the bedding.

I hope this time goes by quickly because every second in this house with her is a battle against my own desires. And I’m not sure how long I can keep winning.