Page 6 of Hero's Heart

So, he woke his computer and got started.

An hour later, paperwork was filed, incident reports written and reviewed, and Callum was officially off duty. Key in hand, he hopped into his cruiser and turned for home, but his mind was firmly in the past.

Before Oak Creek, he’d been on a law enforcement special forces team that ended high-profile situations almost before they began. Hunting potential terrorists, saving abducted ambassadors, removing intelligence agents who turned on their country—Omega Sector had done it all.

He’d seen the horrors of humanity, and it had changed him.

Then he’d come back to his beautiful wife and the home they’d built together and, while it hadn’t made everything okay, it certainly made him willing to go back out the next time and do it all over again.

Now, in Oak Creek, he rarely faced any horrors of humanity, but he also didn’t have a home to wash him clean again. Barely had a home at all, even seven years after moving here.

The old log cabin wasn’t much to look at, but it was at least functional. Over the years, he’d put on a new roof and new deck. He’d thought about some shutters so the place wouldn’t look like a total dump, but it wasn’t as if he ever had anybody out here. If he wanted to meet with any of his friends, he did it in town.

The place suited him fine—a couple miles outside of Oak Creek, surrounded by wilderness and a river he could fish on. A view of the Teton Mountains. Isolated. Nobody coming out here unless they were invited.

He liked being able to take a walk in the woods without running into someone or rowing on the river when his nightmares came calling. It was about as peaceful as he allowed himself to be.

Yet even all these years later, going inside his home with no one to greet him still sucked.

“Maybe I should get a dog,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his stuff from the cruiser. He wouldn’t, though. He wasn’t the type to give love to another creature. Not anymore.

No, he preferred being alone.

Stomping up the front steps, he let himself in and looked at all the things the outside walls covered.

The woodstove in the corner had been fixed at the same time as the roof, so despite its age, his place was always toasty inside.

But physical warmth was all it was.

There were no family photos on the walls, no timeline of a love story ended too soon. There were no shoes shoved into the coat closet where Amelia kicked them off in her hurry to get inside. No candles burning with that sweet evergreen scent she preferred.

He had a couch, a TV, an armchair that doubled as his bed some nights, and a kitchen so sparse, it looked like he never ate. The cabinets contained mismatched dishes and silverware. He didn’t bother with matching because, despite a second bedroom, he didn’t invite people over.

The cabin was the exact opposite of a home.

That was good, though. There were no bright colors to miss, no joy in those walls. He’d had that before, and then once it was gone, he’d needed the starkness, the empty. He needed thelack. It was what had driven him to Wyoming in the first place seven years ago after burying Amelia. He’d needed someplace where memories of his lost wife wouldn’t haunt him.

Oak Creek had seemed like the perfect place. He’d known damned near everybody in the town from various law enforcement missions over the years. He’d known the parents—men and women of Linear Tactical—although they’d been mostly a decade or more older than him. Then he’d gotten to know the kids as they’d grown up and become adults themselves—fine men and women.

But somehow, he slid right between the two generations without really fitting into either. He was a lone wolf. Which suited him fine.

After he changed from his uniform into workout gear, he went to the garage, where he’d converted half the space into a home gym. It was late, but it didn’t matter. These days, if Callum didn’t exhaust himself, he didn’t sleep. So that’s what he did now.

After the barest of stretches—which he’d pay for tomorrow—he put himself through his paces on the treadmill. Then he went for the dumbbells. When that wasn’t enough, he sat on the rowing machine and worked his body until his shirt was soaked in sweat and his limbs felt numb. Only then did he grab a snack, a water, and a shower before falling into his lonely bed.

He’d made it through another day. Sometimes that was the most he could hope for.

Then he’d get up again tomorrow and do it all again.

Chapter 3

Sloane wasn’t surprised Marissa flew first class to Paris while she was crammed into coach, nor that her sister breezed past baggage claim to a waiting limo, leaving Sloane to wrestle with their luggage and find a cab.

It was just another day in the Marissa show, and Sloane was the unpaid stagehand.

By the time Sloane made it to their rental unit, Marissa—well rested due to her seat that could be made up into a bed on the ten-hour flight across the ocean—was ready to go to brunch.

“I just need a couple hours of sleep.” Sloane plopped down on the couch, taking in their home for the next couple of weeks. The chic two-bedroom rental in downtown Paris boasted large floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the space with natural light and stunning views of the bustling cityscape.

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