Chapter 8

Caroline woke up to the smell of coffee.

She lay in bed for a moment, disoriented. The room was bright with morning light, and the sheets were soft. For a second, she didn't remember where she was.

Then it all came rushing back. The attack, the fall, the cafe, the Colonel.

She sat up, her heart racing. She looked around the room. It was the same impersonal guest room. She was still wearing the borrowed sweatpants and t-shirt.

She got out of bed and padded down the hall. The apartment was quiet. The living room was empty, the blanket she had used the night before folded neatly on the couch.

She walked into the kitchen. A pot of coffee was brewing on the counter, and a note was propped up next to a mug.

Had to go to the Pentagon. Make yourself at home. K.C. is downstairs. - J.

Caroline stared at the note. It was written in a sharp, angular script. She ran her finger over the 'J', a strange feeling fluttering in her stomach.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen island. The apartment felt different in the daylight. Less sterile, more like a fortress. She could see the security cameras mounted in the corners, the reinforced glass on the windows.

She sipped her coffee, her mind wandering. She needed to go home. She needed to go to work. She needed to face her mother.

But she didn't want to.

She wanted to stay here, in this quiet, safe bubble, where no one could yell at her or try to kill her.

Her phone buzzed. She had left it in her purse by the door. She walked over and dug it out.

Twelve missed calls from her mother. Three from Brenna. And a text from an unknown number.

This isn't over, Caroline. You can't hide forever.

Caroline's blood ran cold. It was Preston's number. She had given it to him when they exchanged contacts before the first date.

She deleted the text and blocked the number, her hands shaking. She couldn't deal with him right now.

She called Brenna.

"Caroline! Oh my god, are you okay? I've been calling you all morning!"

"I'm fine," Caroline said, though her voice was hollow. "I'm... staying at a friend's place."

"A friend? What friend? I thought you were going home."

"I didn't go home," Caroline admitted. "I ran into Colonel Romero. He... he brought me to his place."

The line was silent for a full five seconds. Then Brenna let out a squeal so loud Caroline had to pull the phone away from her ear.

"He took you home?! Oh my god, Caroline! That's huge! That's like, romance novel huge!"

"It's not like that," Caroline said, her cheeks flushing. "He was just being protective. He said I was under his command."

"Under his command," Brenna repeated, her voice dripping with innuendo. "I bet he did. So, what's his place like? Is it a bachelor pad? Does he have a hot tub?"

"It's a fortress," Caroline said, looking around at the security cameras. "And there's no hot tub. Just a lot of guns."

"Even better," Brenna said. "When are you going back to work?"

"I don't know," Caroline said. "I need to talk to Cromwell. He was pretty mad yesterday."

"Screw Cromwell," Brenna said. "Romero put him in his place. You should have seen him, Caroline. He looked like he was going to rip Cromwell's head off."

Caroline felt a small smile tug at her lips. "He did look pretty scary."

"Scary hot," Brenna corrected. "Okay, I have to go. Call me later with all the details!"

Caroline hung up and poured another cup of coffee. She took a shower, washing off the grime and the fear of the last two days. She put her own clothes back on, since the borrowed ones were too big, and sat down on the couch to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. At noon, the front door beeped and Jarrod Romero walked in.

He looked slightly better than the night before. He had shaved, and his hair was damp. But his arm was still in the sling, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

He stopped when he saw her sitting on the couch. "You're still here."

"You told me not to leave," she said, standing up. "I didn't want to get shot by your security team."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was gone in an instant. "We need to talk."

Caroline's stomach clenched. "About what?"

He walked past her into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge with his good hand. "About your situation."

"My situation?"

He turned to face her, his expression serious. "You have a target on your back, Caroline. The man who attacked you is still at large. And he knows what you look like. He knows where you work. Lieutenant Petersen is the key witness from Operation Atlas, which dismantled a major domestic terror cell. That's why he's a target, and because you were there, because you've seen the assassin's face, you're a target, too."

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you can't go back to your life. Not right now. Your apartment is not secure. Your hospital is compromised. And your family..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Your family is a liability."

The words stung, but she knew he was right. Her mother would invite the killer in for tea if she thought it would land Caroline a rich husband.

"So what do I do?" she asked, her voice small.

Romero set the water bottle down and took a step toward her. "You stay here. With me."

Caroline stared at him. "Here? With you?"

"It's the only safe place," he said. "I can protect you here."

"For how long?" she asked. "I can't just hide in your apartment forever."

"No," he agreed. "You can't. Which is why I have a more permanent solution."

Caroline's heart started to pound. "What kind of solution?"

He met her eyes, his gaze steady. "Before we proceed, I need to create a maximum security protection file for you. That requires your full legal name, date of birth, social security number... I need your driver's license."

Numbly, Caroline retrieved her purse and handed him her license. He took a quick, clear photo of it with his phone. "Thank you," he said, his expression unreadable as he handed it back.

He looked at her, his gray eyes intense. "A legal one. One that will give you my name, my protection, and the resources of the entire United States military behind you."

Caroline's breath caught in her throat. "Are you... are you asking me to marry you?"

"I'm not asking," he said, his voice firm. "I'm telling you. It's the only way, Caroline. If you are my wife, you are a military dependent. You have access to bases, to hospitals, to security details. No one will be able to touch you."

Caroline felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."

"We know enough," he said. "I know you are brave. I know you are loyal. And I know you need help."

"That doesn't mean I should marry you," she said, shaking her head. "Marriage is supposed to be about... about love."

"Love is a luxury," Romero said, his voice hard. "Survival is a necessity. I am offering you survival, Caroline. Take it."

Caroline looked at him, standing there in his kitchen with his arm in a sling and his eyes like steel. He was offering her a way out. A way to escape her mother, her stalker, her dead-end life.

It was insane. It was reckless. It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

But she was so tired of being afraid.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it."

Romero nodded, his expression unreadable. "Pack your things. We're going to the courthouse."