Page 29 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

Her gaze doesn’t flinch. “When are you going to tell me the rest of it? About Nick. About why you left. About what really happened.”

I stare at her. She’s not asking like someone fishing for gossip or reassurance. She’s asking like someone who needs it to breathe.

“In the morning,” I say.

She opens her mouth to argue. I raise a hand.

“Not because I’m stalling. Because once I tell you, there’s no going back. You deserve the truth. But you deserve it without half the town listening through walls, and not after… after…”

She watches me for a long moment, then she grins. “We had sex? I’ll grant you it was amazing, spectacular sex. Even so, I’d think a writer of your skill could find words.”

“You are enjoying this way too much,” I say, trying to sound grumpy but failing miserably. I don’t think I could do grumpy if my life depended on it.

The next morning as Abby lies asleep in the bed, I sit by the window, watching the town. The street is quiet. The snow blanket deepened overnight, muffling the sounds of life. That should be reassuring. It’s not.

I sip the coffee Clara left, then set it down and reach for the gear I stashed by the door earlier. Gloves. Rifle. Surveillance scope. I don’t plan on being gone long.

I slip out without waking her and head back to the ridgeline above my place. The wind cuts sharp, but I move fast. I check the trail leading down to my cabin, looping wide to avoid leaving a straight path.

Tracks. Not just animal.

Heavy boots. Deep. Someone was dragging something. No blood trail I can see, but the snow’s disturbed—too much movement for just cleanup. Someone had retrieved that body fast. That tells me two things: they were close when it happened, and they had a team.

I check my perimeter again. Then I do the thing no trained soldier would admit to doing—superstition or not—I scatter the rest of the dog food around the perimeter line. Wolves and other predators come through the woods all the time. But with that bait, they’ll come faster. Hungrier.

Anyone trying to sneak up on this place again is going to learn the hard way that nature doesn’t play fair.

When I return to the inn, Hank is waiting at the back door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s caught me doing something illegal.

“Don’t say it,” I mutter.

He hands me a towel for my boots. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But if I was, it would sound a lot like ‘you’re a moron for letting yourself get attached when we both know how this ends.’”

I glance at him. “She’s not just a mission.”

“I know.” Hank’s voice is soft now. “That’s why I’m worried. You’ve always been good at protecting people. Not so great at letting them in.”

“Maybe I’m changing.”

He snorts. “Or maybe she’s the exception.”

“Either way, I’m not letting her out of my sight until this is over.”

Hank tilts his head. “And after?”

I don’t answer. I don’t know.

Back in the room, Abby’s curled into the blankets, face relaxed in sleep. But I can tell it’s shallow. Her body shifts restlessly every few minutes, like even in dreams she can’t get comfortable.

I sit in the chair beside the bed, watching her.

The past is catching up faster than I planned. Nick’s death. The mission gone sideways. The betrayal that started this whole damn mess. And now Abby’s in the middle of it—unarmed, untrained, and entirely too willing to face danger with nothing but her gut and a sharp tongue.

She should terrify me. She does. Not because she’s reckless, but because she’s real. And because the second she walked into my cabin, I started wanting things I have no business wanting.

I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She shifts slightly, murmuring something under her breath, and presses closer to the warmth.

My throat tightens.

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