The evening air was heavy when Sue finally left the building, her bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion in every step. She hadn’t noticed the man leaning against the lamppost until his footsteps echoed behind hers. “Pretty late to be walking alone,” he slurred, his grin sharp in the dark. Sue’s pace quickened, heart pounding, but before she could reach her car, his hand shot out to block her path.

A shadow moved faster than her fear. Cole Mercer’s hand clamped around the man’s wrist, twisting it back with a precision that spoke of years of training. “You’ve got three seconds to disappear,” Cole’s voice was low, controlled — the kind of tone that didn’t need to rise to be deadly. The man stammered something and bolted, stumbling into the night. Cole didn’t even watch him go; his eyes were fixed on Sue, scanning her face for signs of fear.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone at this hour,” he muttered, his hand hovering near her arm but never forcing the contact. Sue, still trembling, managed a whisper: “I didn’t think—” “Exactly,” he cut in gently, softening his tone now. “That’s why you need someone to think for you when danger shows up.” And when he walked her to her car, his solid frame between her and the shadows, Sue realized Cole Mercer wasn’t just the man who ran security — he was becoming her security, whether she asked for it or not.