Page 86 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Just Rodolfo Rojas,” I state firmly. “Ensure he’s safe. And yes, check if his U.S. passport is still valid.”

D’Souza’s voice is colder, more calculating now. “I’ll handle it. Where is he?”

I give him the details, swift and precise. “Codeword: Rodeo Rod.”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

I continue, “And one more thing. I’m flying to Bogotá tomorrow. I’ll collect him from the embassy. Make sure the paperwork names me as his official guardian.”

“Understood. He’ll be your responsibility,” D’Souza concedes.

“And never forget, his mother was a hero to your agency. It’s time you remember that,” I conclude, hanging up just as I pull up to the Mitchell’s residence.

I rap sharply on the door, bracing myself for the confrontation. The door swings open, and there stands Al Mitchell, his gaze sharp as flint. He sizes me up with a look that could curdle milk, and I’m reminded of the first time I encountered him, rifle in hand, authority personified, as he chased off an unwelcome visitor from his property.

“Al, please. I don’t have much time?—”

“Hell you don’t!” His voice booms, his presence just as formidable without the rifle.

“I need to see Savannah,” I press, knowing full well the kind of protective barrier he represents.

“Can’t do, Huxley,” he bars the doorway, his resolve as solid as the oak door behind him. “No one’s gonna hurt mySaltamontesand walk away without answering to me!”

I exhale, my resolve hardening. “Look, I know I messed up. I hurt her. But I’m here to make things right.”

Al’s stance doesn’t waver. He’s the immovable object to my unstoppable force. “Then you best turn yourself around before I make you.”

“Al, Savannah can hold her own. If she wants me gone, she’ll tell me herself.” Realizing a frontal approach won’t sway him, I step back, giving space, and call out with all the breath in my lungs. “Savannah!”

“She ain’t here!” Al’s reply is sharp, a mix of defiance and fatigue from the standoffs.

I pause, urgency spilling out of my throat. “Where is she, Al? I really need to talk to her.” My voice dips low, hoping for a sliver of cooperation.

Al sizes me up, his gaze piercing. After a long moment, he sighs, the rigid lines of his face relaxing. “She’s down at the stable, tending to Misty.”

Grateful for the lead, I nod slightly. “Thank you, Al. I’ll head that way.”

When I first met Savannah, my wish was for the wreckage of my existence to be reclaimed and renewed. And she did, in her own way. But today, I’m ready to take it a step further, to break myself open completely—disentangling each twisted fragment to reveal their true form, and presenting every piece to her—honest, raw, and filled with purpose.

34

SAVANNAH

Misty stands patiently near the barn door, her coat shining under the shafts of light.

“She’s all fine,” the vet announces after completing his thorough annual check-up, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

“Thanks, doc!” I reply with a relieved smile, happy to hear the positive report. I lead Misty toward the end of the barn. She’s earned some pampering after the long check-up. “You hear that? A clean bill of health.”

As I begin to brush Misty’s glossy coat, a figure appears at the entrance of the stable. Misty’s ears prick up before I even look up. Without needing a word, she turns and takes a few eager steps toward the visitor. I let her. My heart clenches slightly, mixed emotions bubbling up as I watch her greet him.

“Hey, girl. How are ya?” Huxley’s voice is calm as he pats Misty. The mare nuzzles into his hand, unmistakably pleased.

“She always has a soft spot for you,” I say, my voice flat, my feelings tucked away as if wrapped under a black tarp. Seeing him stirs both jubilation and annoyance within me, leaving my excitement tangled with apprehension.

I saunter toward him, my boots scuffing the straw-covered floor.

Huxley meets me halfway, his expression earnest. “Can we talk?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for an opening.

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