"Or maybe they're the ones who shot me." His jaw tightens. "Until I know who put bullets in me and left me to die, I'd rather no one knows I'm here."
"But you can't hide forever."
He takes the coffee I offer, his fingers brushing mine. Even that small contact sends electricity up my arm. "I've gotten pretty good at it over the past few weeks."
He winks, but I shake my head, opting for seriousness instead of play. "That's different. You didn't have a choice." I lean against the counter, studying him. "Now you do. You could go into town and see if anyone recognizes you. Maybe get some answers."
He's quiet for a long moment, his gold eyes distant. I can see him working through possibilities, calculating risks. It's fascinating to watch the way his mind moves behind those eyes.
"You might be right," he finally says. "Maybe it's time to stop being defensive and go on the offensive."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we go into town. We look around. We see if we can spot whoever's looking for me." He sets down his coffee with deliberate care. "If they want to find me, let's make it easy. But on our terms, in a public place where they can't just put a bullet in my head."
The casual way he talks about being shot makes my stomach twist. "That's a terrible plan."
"You have a better one?"
I don't. And the truth is, sitting here waiting for something to happen is driving me crazy. At least this way, we're doing something.
"Fine," I say. "But at the first sign of trouble, we leave."
"Deal." He moves toward the bedroom. "I'm going to change. You should, too. Something that doesn't scream 'hermit who lives in the woods'."
I playfully smack his arm as punishment as he walks past me.
Twenty minutes later, we're in my truck heading down the mountain. I've traded my usual thermal layers for jeans that actually fit and a sweater that's not covered in wood stains, plus my jacket, scarf, and gloves.
"Stay sharp," he adds, his tone shifting back to business. "We don't know what we're walking into."
The town appears through the trees, and I feel my shoulders tense automatically. Sasha notices, his hand reaching over to squeeze my knee once before pulling away.
"Relax," he says. "We're just two people getting lunch."
"Right. Lunch. With a side of reconnaissance and potential assassination attempts."
"See? You're getting the hang of this."
I park on Main Street, and we climb out into the cold afternoon air. The town is busier than usual, locals doing their weekend shopping and a few tourists who got lost on their way to the ski resorts.
We're walking toward the diner when a woman steps directly into our path.
She's maybe fifty, with perfectly styled hair and a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. I recognize her vaguely from the general store, one of those women who seems to know everyone's business.
We reach the diner, and Sasha holds the door open. The smell of coffee and frying bacon hits me immediately, along with the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes turning to stare.
We slide into a booth near the back, and I'm acutely aware of the whispers starting up around us. Sasha seems unbothered, his attention focused on the street outside, those gold eyes scanning every face, every vehicle.
"See anyone?" I ask quietly.
"Not yet."
The waitress appears. We order coffee and sandwiches, and she leaves with one more curious glance at Sasha.
His gaze shifts back to the window, and suddenly, his entire body goes rigid. "Don't look now, but there's a guy across the street. Dark coat, standing by the hardware store."
Of course I look. I can't help it.