Page 62 of Hero's Heart

Or at least that’s what he told himself every night as he dreamed about her.

With effort, Callum dragged his attention back to the stolen bike report. It was mundane work, sure, but the routine grounded him. He scanned the statement from the complainant—Billy Harris, age nine—trying not to let his thoughts slip back to the past.

Then the sensor alert chirped.

Callum’s head snapped up, the faint hum of adrenaline replacing his quiet stupor. The security system he’d set up around his property was state-of-the-art—a habit from his days as an Omega Sector operative. It wasn’t the first time the alarm had tripped; local teenagers had been known to mess around near his land, thinking it funny to test the sheriff’s patience.

Except this was different.

The monitor showed the sensor tripped at the northeast corner of the property—near the woods. Callum’s gut tightened. Yesterday, he’d found odd footprints in the frost-damp dirt. He’d set the sensors earlier today as a precaution.

Now, they were paying off.

Callum rose, his instincts sharp and ready. He grabbed his jacket and slid his sidearm into the holster at his hip. His movements were fluid, efficient. Years of training had taught him not to waste time imagining possibilities.

Assess the threat. Neutralize it.

Outside, the fall Wyoming night wrapped around him—cold, silent, and unnervingly still. He moved quickly, taking a flanking route through the trees rather than walking straight toward the triggered sensor. The wind cut through the pines, and Callum let it guide him, masking his approach.

Every step brought his senses higher. His boots crushed damp leaves underfoot, and he recalled the tracks he’d found yesterday: deep indents, as if someone had planted themselves to do some sort of reconnaissance. Could’ve been a vagrant—or someone worse. His thoughts darkened.

Maybe it was Nikola Kozak.

In some ways, Callum wished it would be that bastard. He’d take great pleasure in beating the shit out of the other man. But there hadn’t been any indication that the Kozaks were doing anything except hiding out from law enforcement entities attempting to hunt them down back in Eastern Europe since their network had been broken up.

Callum reached a thick cluster of evergreens and crouched, his eyes narrowing on the faint glimmer of a shadow moving near his house. The person was crouched low, creeping toward his back window.

A small guy, but not a kid. Could still be a local teenager; some of those guys were man-sized. Callum’s pulse kicked up, though his movements remained slow and controlled. He slid his gun from the holster and flicked the safety off, his footsteps soundless as he approached.

The intruder—dark-clad and cautious—had no idea he was coming. Definitely wasn’t someone with formal or military training. They were leaving their back way too wide open.

He stepped into position behind them, his boots brushing against the dirt just enough to draw attention. The figure froze, head snapping up, as if they could sense him.

Too late, you bastard.

Callum lunged. He tackled the intruder to the ground, realizing midair that he’d made a mistake… This wasn’t a small man at all.

It was awoman.

He twisted his body as they flew to absorb as much of the impact himself as he could. He hit the earth hard, knocking the air from his lungs, but his grip was unrelenting as he pinned the figure beneath him.

A woman could be just as deadly as a man, and Callum wasn’t letting down his guard until he found out why she was there.

But the second his hands pulled away the hood covering the intruder’s face, the world stopped as clear blue eyes—familiar and terrified—met his.

“Sloane?” he rasped, her name torn from his throat in disbelief.

Her name tasted strange on his tongue after so long, but there was no mistaking her—delicate features, pale skin, and those striking blue eyes that now stared at him, wide with surprise. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she slumped against the damp grass with a soft sigh.

She’d fainted.

“Shit,” he growled, instinct overriding his shock as he rolled her over to the side, fingers already pressing against the hollow of her throat.

Pulse: steady. Thank God. He shifted his hand to hover near her mouth, warmth confirming she was breathing. He exhaled a curse under his breath, tension bleeding from his chest.

He stared down at the state she was in. Her clothes were rumpled, jacket way too thin for this weather. There wasn’t a damn bag or car in sight. “What the hell is going on here, angel?”

Still unconscious, Sloane offered no answers.

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