Page 57 of Her Remarkable Protector

Her breath hitches slightly. “Did he… did he know about Laramie? That she’s a girl?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He kept talking about ‘his sons.’ It’s like he assumed without even asking.” Now it’s clear, that Damon did expect that both Oakley and his newborn were here in the same roof.

Her voice drops. “Then why did he want to kill me?”

“I don’t think he did,” I say, rubbing her back gently. “The gas wasn’t deadly—it was meant to flush you out, force you to leave the house. You’d have been alive when you stepped out, but his men would’ve been waiting for you. That’s how he wanted it to go.”

“But they made it impossible to get out!” she says, her voice trembling with frustration.

“I know,” I admit, frowning. “Something doesn’t add up. Maybe his men botched the plan,” I trail off, the loose ends tangling in my mind. “I don’t know. But it didn’t go the way he wanted, that’s for sure.”

Honor shifts slightly, her eyes searching mine. “The lights flickered, like there was a power surge. It didn’t last long, but it was weird. And then Huxley showed up.”

“That could’ve been their attempt to override the security system,” I say, more to myself than her. “Whatever Damon planned, I’m sure he didn’t want to kill you or Laramie. He wants you back, and he’s delusional enough to think reclaiming his ‘sons’ will fix everything. Something went wrong when his men tried to deliver the gas. That’s why it ended the way it did.”

I rub slow circles on her back, trying to ease the tension I can feel in her. “Hey, don’t think about that now, okay? Laramie’s fine, and she’s going to need her mama to be strong for her. She’ll need some extra TLC, and you’re the only one who can give her that.”

Honor’s lips curve into a faint smile, her first real one since the chaos began.

“And,” I add, leaning closer, “mama will get some extra TLC from yours truly.”

She lets out a light laugh. “Stay with us, Chase.”

I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And then I kiss her, light and lingering, like a promise I’ll never break. She kisses me back, no hesitation, no fear. This isn’t just a moment borne of adrenaline or desperation. This is us—starting something real, something worth fighting for.

22

CHASE

The hospital gave Honor and Laramie a clean bill of health. Relief was an understatement, but I didn’t have the luxury of letting my guard down. I moved them to Mark’s city house—safer, more secure. Mark runs a tight ship, and his place is as fortified as a high-end bank vault. Still, I don’t trust anything to chance.

This morning, we’re on the road again, heading to Red Mark HQ in Helena. Mark rides shotgun, on the phone to his son Ethan who’s still babysitting Oakley at the llama farm. In the backseat, Honor and Laramie are buckled in, whispering between themselves. Huxley follows us in his truck, probably using the time to go over his mental checklist of who to punch first.

“All good?” I ask, glancing at Mark as he ends the call to his son.

“Yeah. All llamas are accounted for,” he says, deadpan. Then his tone shifts, more serious. “No, really. No suspicious activity.”

When we reach HQ, my other boss, Sam Kelleher is waiting for us in the main conference room. Ethan’s voice crackles through the speaker. He’s out in the very rural area of Montana, but doesn’t miss a beat joining the conversation. The team’s all here. Time to get to work.

I start with what we know so far, laying it all out for the team. “The Bozeman Fire Department report confirmed the type of gas used—commercially available, nothing sophisticated. Whoever did this wasn’t looking to get fancy, just effective. They used crude methods, which could’ve been a mistake or laziness.”

I pause, scanning the room. Mark and Sam are all ears, while Huxley leans back in his chair, arms crossed, like he’s seconds away from demanding names. Laramie is sleeping in the infant carrier, Honor guarding her.

“We pulled footage from the CCTV at my house,” I continue, playing the clip. “Two guys in black ski masks hovered around the perimeter, looking for something. Then they started cutting into the ventilation system. From the looks of it, they screwed up—badly. Whatever they sliced must’ve backfired, jamming the door. After that, they shoved a few gas canisters into the vents. They didn’t stick around to admire their handiwork, leaving right before Huxley arrived.”

Huxley mutters something under his breath—probably colorful, definitely aimed at the masked men. “Amateurs.”

“Yeah, it was sloppy,” I agree, my voice hardening. “But sloppy doesn’t mean harmless. They knew where to hit and how to force us to scramble.” I glance around the room, letting the weight of my words settle.

“There’s another man,” Huxley points out. “Look! It seems that he arrived late.”

“That could be Patch,” Honor says. “Damon Stone’s lieutenant.”

“Huh!” Chase says. “He looks pissed. So this Mr. Patch knew the men had botched the mission.”

Sam leans forward, elbows on the table. “What’s the next move?”

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