Page 84 of Her Remarkable Protector

This feels almost worse than leaving her under her mother’s body. That time, I had no choice. But now? This time, I chose to let her go.

I dial Ethan.

“I’ve got to find Honor,” I say the moment he picks up. “Damon’s out.”

“That bastard!” Ethan growls. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” I counter firmly. “If you want to play boss, here’s your shot. Hold the fort while I’m gone.”

“Aye aye, sir,” he replies, no hesitation in his tone.

“Ethan, when she left the farm, did she say anything about where she was headed?”

“No. Just that she had a plan.”

“Did Oakley mention anything?”

“Nothing. Sorry, Chase.”

“All right,” I sigh. “I’ll call if I need backup. Keep the team on their toes.”

“You just get to Honor,” Ethan says, his voice weighted. “We’ll be ready.”

* * *

Time has passed.She could be anywhere. North—that’s the only lead I’ve got. She went north.

Knowing her, there’s only one place that makes sense: Kalispell. The place where it all began. The thought lodges in my mind, stubborn and immovable. If she’s searching for answers, or running from the Circle, Kalispell is where she’ll be. I just pray Damon hasn’t pieced it together. He was never one for details—names, places, they slipped past him when he was a bulldozing debt collector. Even now, sitting at the top of the chain, I hope his ignorance hasn’t changed.

I drive through Kalispell’s quiet streets, my eyes scanning every face, every car, every shadowed corner. No sign of her. Not that I expected any. Honor wouldn’t risk being seen—not if she’s lying low.

This won’t be easy. It never is.

The town’s busier than I remember, yet it carries a weight of history I can’t ignore. It’s tied to her in ways I’ve barely begun to understand. And to find her, I’ll have to go back—to the darkest moments of my life.

But for her, I’ll do it.

I park the truck on the curb, stepping into the local library. The smell of aged paper and polished wood hits me, a familiar scent that brings a fleeting sense of calm. The librarian points me to the back corner, where I find the archives.

It takes time—longer than I’d like—but patience is a SEAL’s weapon, one I’ve relied on more times than I can count. Finally, the headline jumps out at me like a slap to the face.

Tragedy in Kalispell: Couple Murdered in Shocking Home Invasion.

I skim the article, the words colliding with my own memories and stirring a guilt I can’t shake. But I push it aside, forcing myself to focus. Dalton Deveraux. Bree Deveraux. Honor’s parents. The incident wasn’t just a tragedy—it was a scar frozen in time.

The house. My stomach churns as the black-and-white photo stares back at me from the page. I don’t need to see it to know every detail—I might as well be standing in front of it now. It’s burned into my mind, a haunting image of loss no child should ever have to endure.

I push myself up and head back to the librarian. “I need a printout of this.” I point to the article still illuminated on the machine’s screen.

“Of course,” she says, moving with efficiency as she prints the page. “Anything else?”

I hesitate. “If there are any other articles about this case, I’ll need those too.”

“I’ll pull what I can.”

The librarian processes my request quickly, offering a polite nod as I leave. The printouts are folded neatly in my jacket pocket. I start the engine, the rumble signaling a point of no return. Back to where it all began.

The neighborhood hasn’t changed much—same quiet streets, same big trees leaning over the sidewalks like they’re watching everything unfold. The house itself looks ordinary. Just another home with a fresh coat of paint and a neatly trimmed lawn.

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