Chapter 7 - The Safe Haven
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The heavy oak doors of the manor swung closed behind them, shutting out the biting wind with a resolute, heavy click.
Inside, the foyer opened into a grand hall with dark timber beams, heated stone floors, and a roaring hearth that filled the air with the scent of burning birch.
Atlas immediately trotted over to a massive woven rug beside the fireplace, circled twice, and collapsed with an enormous sigh of satisfaction.
Yet his amber eyes remained locked on Holly, tracking every step she took across the polished floorboards.
Holly stood awkwardly near the entrance, still holding her worn canvas bag against her chest like an armor.
The opulence of the house made her feel terribly small and painfully out of place in her faded waitress sneakers.
An older woman in a charcoal sweater emerged from the hallway, carrying a warm wool blanket and a silver tray with two steaming mugs.
“Good evening, Brennan,” the woman said softly, offering a warm, motherly smile that immediately cut through the tension.
“Good evening, Martha,” Brennan replied, shrugging off his heavy overcoat and hanging it by the door.
“This is Holly Lawson.”
“I know who she is,” Martha said, her eyes glistening with an emotion that caught Holly completely off guard.
The older woman set the tray down on a low mahogany table and stepped directly toward Holly, extending two warm, gentle hands.
“We have prayed for two years to find the soul who brought this dog home to us,” Martha whispered, squeezing Holly’s fingers with immense gratitude.
“You gave this boy his reason to keep living after we lost Liam.”
Holly swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the sudden warmth of the house seep into her chilled bones.
“He’s a good dog,” Holly offered quietly, feeling her cheeks flush.
“He’s family,” Martha corrected gently before turning back toward the kitchen.
“I made beef stew and herb bread; it’s on the stove whenever you are ready.”
Brennan waited until the housekeeper’s footsteps faded down the corridor before turning to face Holly.
He had removed his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to reveal strong, corded forearms marked by a thin scar near the wrist.
He looked less like an untouchable titan of industry now and more like a man exhausted by the weight of an unresolved war.
“Sit down by the fire, Holly,” he said, his voice gentler than she had heard it all night.
“You’re still shivering.”
Holly hesitated for a second before walking over to the hearth and sinking into one of the deep leather armchairs.
Atlas instantly crawled across the rug on his belly, resting his heavy chin squarely across the toes of her sneakers.
Brennan handed her one of the mugs, which was filled with rich, spiced tea that smelled of cinnamon and honey.
“I’m sorry about your routine,” he said, taking the armchair opposite hers.
“I know you value your privacy.”
“I value not having people with guns waiting outside my window,” Holly retorted, though there was no real bite left in her words.
She took a sip of the tea, letting the sweet heat thaw her frozen senses.
“What happens now, Brennan?” she asked, looking across the flickering firelight at him.
May you like
“Now, we examine the micro-drive your scarf protected for twenty-four months,” Brennan said, pulling the leather collar strap from his pocket.
“And then we make sure the men who killed my brother never see the light of day again.”
