Page 54 of Protector of Talon Mountain

Wren stares at me for a long moment. Then, “She knows how to shut up and follow directions?”

“Better than most men I’ve worked with.”

Wren’s mouth twitches. “She cook?”

I grin. “Better than anyone.”

“Then she can stay.”

I walk back to the truck, open the passenger door. Sadie looks up at me, eyes searching. I just nod.

“She’s good. You’ll be safe here.”

Sadie hesitates. Then reaches out, her hand slipping into mine. “You’ll come back?”

“Every damn time,” I say. Then lean down, brushing her mouth with mine one more time. “Don’t get comfortable. This is just a pause. Not the end.”

As I watch her disappear into the house with Wren, my phone buzzes in my jacket. Caleb. I answer, already turning back toward the truck.

“Signal’s stronger. Moving west toward the ridge near the old fire road.”

“You think they know we’re listening?”

“I think they want us to follow,” Caleb says.

I grip the wheel, heart thudding once, hard. “Then let’s not disappoint them.”

* * *

The southern ridge smells like pine sap and powder. Caleb is already crouched in the tree line to my left, one eye on the narrow trail below. We’ve got the decoy load packed in the back of my rig—empty crates, a staged signal broadcast from an old smuggler’s radio, and enough false chatter to make anyone listening think we’re dumb enough to be running product through the old trails.

They took the bait.

I hear them before I see them—two ATVs riding staggered, engines chewing up the ground like they’re chasing time. One front, one rear. Classic flanking pattern. It’s them. Has to be.

“They’re moving fast,” Caleb murmurs through the comms. “One’s got a different frame than before—added weight.”

“That’ll be Brent.” I rest my hand over the butt of my sidearm, keeping my pace even as I cut through the trees. “We flank them at the hollow bend. You take Adam. I want Brent breathing when this is over.”

“Copy. Just say when.”

I give the signal and move to intercept, boots crunching the frost-bitten underbrush. The wind howls through the pines, covering our sound, but the birds have gone silent. That’s how I know it’s time.

The second the ATVs curve into the clearing, I step out from behind the stacked crates, my weapon drawn, stance wide.

“End of the line, Brent.”

The ATV screeches to a stop. Brent jerks the helmet off, his face gaunt and angry. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

“I know enough.” I keep the barrel of my gun trained on his center mass. “You’ve been laundering money through Sitka fronts. Adam’s been your errand boy. Joe Hanley was cleanup, and when that got messy, you tried to torch the evidence. You were sloppy. I’ve got it all.”

From the tree line, Caleb appears behind Adam like a ghost, rifle at the ready.

Brent’s lip curls. “You think this ends with a little paperwork and a gun show?”

“I think it ends here if you don’t drop that sidearm tucked behind your belt.” I tilt my chin, and he knows I see it. “You brought this fight to Glacier Hollow. That was your first mistake.”

Brent laughs—bitter and ragged—and slowly pulls the weapon free. But instead of tossing it aside, he raises it.

---