Page 112 of Shadow

“He knows you?”

He looked over at her. “Yeah, since I’m the owner.”

She blinked at him, turned back to the road.

Daphne pulled up in front of the main house. Stopped. Engine off. Silence settling.

For a moment, nobody moved. Just sat there. “This is your place?”

“Yeah,” Asher said and reached for the door.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Destiny got out, and Roger too. He stretched. Looked around. “How much land?”

Daphne got out as Asher answered.

“Thirty-five acres.”

Roger whistled. “Nice. Very nice.” He headed toward the porch. “I need a bathroom. And about twelve hours of sleep. And possibly a drink.”

Daphne wanted to roll her eyes.

Asher followed him, moving carefully, holding his ribs.

She and Destiny followed him in.

The interior of the house stole her breath.

Open-floor plan. Soaring ceilings with massive exposed beams—rough-hewn timbers that looked hand-carved. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, the kind you could stand inside. Hardwood floors in varied tones—rich browns and golds that gleamed under a massive chandelier when he turned on the lights.

Leather furniture and woven rugs surrounded the fireplace. The kitchen held modern appliances and a huge island made from reclaimed wood.

“Bedrooms are upstairs,” Asher said. “Four of them. Take your pick. Bathrooms on each floor. Kitchen’s stocked—Duke keeps it supplied.”

He moved toward the stairs. Slow. Painful, judging by the way his jaw tightened with each step.

“I’ll get them settled,” she said. “You should rest. Change those bandages. Take some ibuprofen.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

“I said I’m fine, Daphne.” He stopped on the stairs. Looked back at her. “Just—give me an hour. Then we’ll talk. Plan. Figure out what comes next.”

He disappeared upstairs before she could respond.

Daphne stood in the beautiful house, listening to his footsteps overhead. Listening to Roger’s and Destiny’s voices somewhere else in the house.

So, he was a man of surprises. Frankly, she didn’t know what to think.

She checked out the house, moving from room to room. Exits. Windows. Security.

Asher Morrison had built a fortress.

Reinforced doors. High-quality locks. Cameras at every entrance. Motion sensors on the perimeter. Multiple exit routes. Clear sight lines from the house to all approaches.

This wasn’t just a ranch. This was a tactical position. A defensible location.