The living room was dark except for the glow of the security camera feed on her phone. Her heart pounded as she replayed the footage—grainy but clear enough. A man, hood up, had tried the back door, jiggled the handle, and then disappeared into the night when the motion light flared on.

She swallowed hard and texted her husband.

’You need to come home. Now. Some guy tried to get in. I saw him on the cameras.’

The message delivered. Three dots appeared immediately.

Then nothing.

A minute passed.

Then another.

And then—

The front door swung open, not violently, not carelessly, but with the controlled precision she recognized instantly.

He stood there, still catching his breath, combat boots planted on the floor like he was ready to kill someone. His uniform was slightly wrinkled from the rush, his tactical vest strapped tightly over his chest, and his rifle slung over one shoulder. His eyes were sharp, scanning the house before locking onto her.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, intense.

She nodded, but damn, she was staring.

He looked—

Hot.

Not just in the “my husband is handsome” way, but in the “this man could kill for me and I’d say thank you” way.

“You got here so fast.”

“I ran every red light,” he admitted, stepping closer. He smelled like gunpowder and adrenaline, like the night air and sweat. “Where did you see him?”

She lifted her phone to show the footage, but he didn’t even glance at it—his focus was still on her, scanning her face, her body, like he needed to see for himself that she was unharmed.

“I checked the perimeter before coming in. No signs of forced entry, no movement outside.” His hand came up, fingers brushing her jaw, his touch both protective and possessive. “If he comes back—”

The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.

If he comes back, he’s not leaving in one piece.

She swallowed. “You should wear this home more often.”

He arched a brow, lips twitching into a smirk. “The gear?”

“And the gun,” she murmured, dragging her fingers along the strap of his vest.