“Let’s get inside,” he said, and he shut the garage door.
The cabin’s interior reminded Avery a lot of Jackson’s, practical and masculine, all clean lines and warm wood. A small kitchen opened into a living area with leather furniture and a stone fireplace. The air smelled faintly of cedar and oil from the gun cabinet in the corner.
She moved through the space, taking it in, the quiet pressing around them after hours of noise and adrenaline. Jackson was still checking the windows, making sure the locks and sensors were set.
It should have felt safe.
But safety, she’d learned, didn’t last long. That reminder made the adrenaline drain, leaving her cold and trembling.
Jackson crossed the room and crouched beside her. “Hey,” he said softly.
Before she could answer, he pulled her into his arms.
The warmth of him hit first. Solid, steady, familiar. She let herself lean into it, body to body, his heartbeat strong and sure under her cheek. For a moment, she just breathed him in and tried to remember what calm felt like.
Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her.
It started slow, careful, like he was giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. She felt the tension in him, the control he fought to hold, and she met it with her own need to feel something that wasn’t fear.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His voice was low and rough. “I’m sorry. I should’ve prevented the attack.”
She kissed him again before he could say more. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You’re not the one who should be sorry. You’re in danger because of me.”
His thumb brushed her cheek. “That’s not how I see it.”
Her chest tightened. She wanted to believe him, but the truth sat heavy between them. He was risking everything for her, and she didn’t know how to stop it.
Still, in that moment, wrapped in his arms, she didn’t want to.
Avery kept holding him, her hands resting against the solid warmth of his back. She didn’t want to let go. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t cold.
Jackson’s breath stirred against her hair. “We’re playing with fire,” he said quietly.
She knew he was right. The heat between them was sharp and dangerous, something that could burn if they let it. They’d always known that.
She thought about all the reasons they’d kept their distance after Evan’s death. Guilt. Loyalty. Fear of making something already complicated even worse. She’d told herself that keeping away from Jackson was the only right thing to do.
But standing here now, with his hands still on her waist and his heartbeat steady against hers, it felt unnecessary. Wrong, even.
They had already been through hell together. Pretending there wasn’t still something between them seemed pointless.
Then reality cut through the haze. The danger outside. The people hunting her. The need to stay focused if they wanted to survive this.
Avery stepped back, forcing herself to break the contact. Her chest ached from the loss of his warmth.
Jackson’s eyes stayed on her for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick with everything they couldn’t say.
Finally, Avery turned away, needing the distance to catch her breath.
They might be playing with fire, but she couldn’t afford to get burned. Not now.
Jackson cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We can use Garrett’s office,” he said. “See if we can figure out a way to nail the Brotherhood for what they’ve done.”
Avery nodded, grateful for the shift back to something practical. “All right. Let’s do it.”
They crossed the cabin to a small room off the main hall. Garrett’s office was neat and organized, just like everything else about him. A large desk sat beneath a window that looked out toward the creek, sunlight glinting off the slow-moving water.Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, maps, and gear. A high-end computer setup took up most of the desk space, along with a pair of monitors and a thick notebook full of field notes.
Jackson powered on the computer and motioned for her to sit. “Go through the podcast you did on Melissa,” he said. “See if there’s anything in your notes or recordings that could point to Darian or Charlotte being involved in her death.”