The SEAL's Runaway by Theresa Beachman

Author:Theresa Beachman [Beachman, Theresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

22

Grace jolted awake as the rattle of the engine sputtered into abrupt silence. Blinking away the lingering fog of exhaustion, she peered through the windshield at the unfamiliar landscape. A vaulted sky stretched in a vast expanse of ink, broken only by the spark of stars.

“Where are we?” She fumbled with her seatbelt, her fingers clumsy with fatigue.

Caleb swung down from his seat and a blast of frigid air rushed the cab in his absence. In a few long strides, he rounded the hood and opened her door. “This is my brother’s place.” He extended one hand to help her down.

“Ryder?”

He shook his head. “Older brother. Wyatt.” His breath fogged in the icy night, mingling with her own ragged exhales. He must have read the worry on her face. “Don’t worry. He’s not around.” His lips twitched in the ghost of a reassuring smile. “He’s helping our folks with some…” His gaze cut away as he searched for the right word. “Renovations.”

Grace dropped to the frozen ground, pristine snow beneath her boots. A violent shiver wracked her frame, the events of the night heavy on her shoulders. It was too late to pull back now. After tonight? Caleb was involved.

Panic skated through her. Everything was threatening to fall apart.

She hugged her arms around herself, trying in vain to conserve what little warmth remained. The adrenalin that had sustained her during their frantic flight had long since burned away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. She was almost too tired to feel fear any longer. Did that happen? Could you run so long that eventually your body stopped reacting?

They were high above Aurora Cove. Dense forest blanketed the mountainside, the snow-laden boughs of evergreens stretching as far as she could see. “Won’t he mind us being here?”

Caleb hefted the weathered duffle bag he’d tossed in the truck bed earlier, slinging it over one broad shoulder. “Wyatt won’t mind. He keeps a small place down in Aurora proper, but this...” He gestured at the sprawling timber and glass structure behind him. “This is his bolt hole.”

Grace fell into step beside him as he strode toward the front door, her shorter legs struggling to match his ground-eating pace. “Do you have a key?”

Caleb raised one hand in a vague wave.

What the heck did that mean?

“Caleb—”

“Wait.” He mounted the shallow porch steps and pressed his palm flat against a small silver panel set into the wall. A bright blue light flashed, followed by the muffled thunk of heavy deadbolts retracting.

“Oh.” Understanding dawned, and with it, a flicker of unease. Just what sort of place was this?

“Wyatt’s always been a bit of a recluse. Likes his privacy.” Caleb shrugged, a twist to his lips.

As if to underscore his point, the massive front door swung inward on silent hinges, revealing only shadows. Grace hung back, uncertain. But Caleb’s hand settled at the small of her back, his fingers spreading across her hip in a touch that burned right through her jeans. “I’ve got you.”

As they crossed the

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