She’d spent months at The Farm and later been dropped in the middle of Germany for survivalist training. Spent time in the desert and Arctic. She’d seen it all, which made the idea that she needed a bodyguard to watch over her so strange. Early in her career she had played that role. Once she came out of the field and took an administrative job at the CIA, she watched over her team. From a distance, but she still thought of them as her responsibility and did anything to keep them safe, which was how she ended up getting fired. With all that time acting as the protector it was difficult to switch roles and accept being the protected.

Not that she could see her supposed bodyguard right now. His ability to blend in surprised and impressed her. He wasn’t exactly small. He had the big, burly, bearded thing down. Not her usual type. Not even a little, which made her wonder why the look worked for her now. Or did before he drugged her . . . the jackass.

Blocking out the mental image she’d stored of Gabe and the fogginess in her brain, she wrapped the oversized flannel shirt around her and reached for the doorknob. It turned in her hand, which both stunned her and didn’t. Leave it to Gabe to keep her guessing. To act as if she were free to go but trap her in a place that made leaving nearly impossible . . . or so he thought. Looked like he underestimated her. Good. She hoped he kept doing that.

The snow now bordered on sleet and made a clicking sound as it fell to the ground. Ice crackled in the trees. People who loved winter would appreciate this scene. She didn’t. She grew up in the south and craved heat. After years in D.C.’s humidity, venturing out in several feet of snow just added to how much she hated what her life had become.

She stepped out on the small porch. The frigid air blew around her, whipping through her clothes and chilling her skin. It took only seconds for her to know that the drugs really had dropped her body’s defenses, ratcheting up the shock against her skin. A thought tugged at her, that she should stay inside, but she blocked the tiny voice in her head. She’d been in deep-freeze shooting situations. Owned special gloves. She didn’t have them on her now, but she had skills.

The bitter cold cut through her as she moved around, going down one step then the next, from the porch to what probably constituted a lawn in non-snow season. Her boots crunched against the layer of ice covering mounds of white. Snow pelted her face. She glanced around, checking for any sign of her protector, the former sniper turned bodyguard she didn’t want. Only the quiet sounds of the forest echoed back to her.

She took a few more careful steps and rounded the cabin to peer into the wall of trees crowding around the side of the building and stretching out as far as she could see. Her hand tightened around the Glock. Numbness settled in her fingers. She flexed them to keep the blood running, careful not to touch the trigger. She’d seen more than one blood-soaked accident caused by fingers contracting, poor gloves or a bad grip. The cold brought death.

The eerie quiet had her on edge, waiting. A wave of tension crashed over her. She’d insisted the CIA wouldn’t come after her now that she retired, but she never believed it. She only shared those denials to keep from getting stuck with a bodyguard. That didn’t work out so well. But on her own she’d be faster. In charge. Not beholden to a six-foot-two mountain man.

She ignored the biting cold and took a few more steps. Then froze. The slide of footsteps echoed back to her. She heard . . . something. Faint. Almost like a scratching. Her body snapped to attention and her brain switched to analysis mode. If they were coming, if people wanted to take her out, they’d go down with her.

A heavy thump sounded behind her and she spun around. She tried to lift the gun but her muscles suddenly weighed too much. A hit knocked her wrist and the weapon flew. Her instincts kicked in and she switched to autopilot. The world blurred around her. She concentrated on the figure moving into her view, not focusing on a face but, instead, seeing a target.

Adrenaline pumped through her, making her forget about the chill and the drugs still slowing her mind and her movements. She landed a roundhouse kick then pulled back and slammed her foot into a hard stomach. A heavy grunt registered but she didn’t let up. Fighting off the lethargy weighing her down, she struck out with the heel of her hand, aiming for a chin. Knowing she suffered from a height and weight disadvantage, she readied to launch a quick third attack.

Before she could raise her head and size up her attacker, he crashed into her. Strong arms wrapped around her in a crushing hold. The band tightened across her chest as her body took flight. A blanket of white whizzed by her and she saw the ground coming. Knowing didn’t lessen the hit. Her body slammed into the packed snow. Actually bounced.

The air left her lungs as hundreds of pounds of furious male pressed her deeper into the cold snow. Determination fueled her muscles. She thrashed and hit and kicked.

Hands tightened around her wrists and trapped them against the ground. “Natalie, enough.”

The rough voice stopped her, and the haze cleared. She looked up into the dark eyes of Gabe MacIntosh, the man charged with protecting her. His broad shoulders blocked the view of the world around her.

Black hair, slightly too long with a bit of curl at the edges. The brooding expression and quiet dignity that matched the mystery winding around him. Retired military, current owner of a security company. Right now with the rich scruff around his mouth he looked more lumberjack than professional rescuer.

And she hated that she noticed any of it.

“What’s wrong with you?” She spit out the question over the rage building inside her.

His intense glare didn’t let up. “You pointed the gun at me.”

He had to be kidding. She tried to lift her hand and punch him, but he had her arms pinned to the ground on either side of her head. The landscape came into focus as the killing frenzy pulsing through her eased. But the anger still simmered. “Because you snuck up on me.”

Those dark eyes narrowed. “Are we really doing this?”

Sometimes he used too few words and she had no idea what he was saying. “What?”

“Fighting about nothing.”

The minutes ticked by and she became aware of the hard body balancing against her and the scent of the outdoors on his skin. She stood five eight in bare feet and up until recently held a position that required her to stay fit and battle-ready at all times. Not exactly petite and certainly not weak. Still, he overwhelmed her. Being this close to him set off a battle between her brain and her body. He was a distraction. He tried to be helpful, but deep down she still believed heading out on her own and going into hiding without any contact with her old life was the only way to survive.

She struggled to remember what she was saying. “You are the one who—”

“You wouldn’t have heard me if I wanted to sneak up on you.” His frown eased. “I let you know I was coming.”

“A normal person would have called out my name in warning.”

“Never said I was normal.”

“No argument there.” She’d known him for about five weeks, and he’d been anything but.

At first, he followed her around as her lawyer, Sebastian Jameson, negotiated her extraction agreement with the CIA. Gabe never said a word back then. He slid into the background and watched until she could sense him. Until his presence made her jumpy. But Bast had insisted on the extra layer of protection.

Those days passed with each one stretching longer than the one before. The more Gabe hovered, the more she’d fought her awareness of him. The towering frame. The rough exterior. That face and those eyes that followed her everywhere.