Page 31 of Protector of Talon Mountain

I scan the timestamps. Four nights ago, both cameras logged motion within minutes of each other. Sadie never mentioned anyone in the alley. But there’s movement in the footage—a figure just outside frame. And then nothing.

I scrub forward. A gap. Two hours of dead feed. Like someone jammed it or disabled the power source. I check the other feed—same thing. Same window.

Whoever left that note knew where the blind spots were. That means this isn’t random. It’s tactical. Someone’s planning something bigger, and they’re getting too damn comfortable.

I lean back in my chair, jaw tight. I can’t be everywhere at once. But I can make damn sure whoever’s watching her knows they’re being watched right back.

I grab my jacket, lock up the footage with a digital watermark, and head back out.

If Joe’s in this, he won’t be alone.

* * *

The sun’s gone by the time I make it back into town, shadows stretching long over the ridge as the wind cuts colder. The kind of cold that sinks into bone. I don’t mind it—it keeps me sharp. Keeps me present. But tonight, it’s got a bite, and I don’t like what it’s trying to warn me about.

Joe’s garage didn’t give me what I wanted—not in words. But his silence? The way his hand shook when I stepped too close? That told me plenty. His tread matches what I found near Sadie’s. Same wear pattern. Same unique chunk missing from the heel. The bastard was there, and unless he’s got an explanation for why he’s leaving boot prints behind her house in the dead of night, we’ve got a problem. Correction—we already do.

I pull my phone from my jacket and hit the encrypted number buried beneath a dummy contact. It rings twice before a voice answers, low and sharp.

“MacAllister.”

“Knox,” I say, adjusting my grip on the wheel. “You still breathing?”

“Barely. Some asshole shot at a grizzly a half mile from my camp last week. Spooked the sow, tore up a trailhead. What do you need?”

I glance at the buildings passing by—the diner, the post office, the lit-up bar where locals pretend their problems stay behind with the empties. “A second set of eyes. Quiet ones.”

There’s a pause. The kind where you can hear someone lean forward through the line, like distance doesn’t matter when someone like Caleb Knox is thinking. “You onto something?”

“Not sure. It feels like someone’s circling. Not random. I need someone who can move in the trees without leaving a shadow.”

Another pause. Then, “Who’s the girl?”

I don’t ask how he knows. He always knows.

“Her name’s Sadie Callahan. Owns and runs the café. She’s smart. She’s not soft, but she’s alone. And someone’s targeting her.”

Knox’s breath comes through the line, slow and controlled. “You like her.”

“Not the point.”

“Bullshit. That is always the point… and the only one that counts.”

I don’t answer that. Instead, I say, “I’ve got tracks. A known player. A green truck. The night she found a note, one of my cameras behind her house was disabled. I don’t like coincidences.”

“You want me to shadow?”

“Just observe. Quiet. You see anything move that shouldn’t, I want to know.”

There’s a long beat. Then Knox says, “I’ll be on the ridge by dawn. Don’t bother trying to find me.”

He hangs up before I can thank him. Typical. I don’t need pleasantries from the man—I just need his eyes. And if there’s anyone better at vanishing into the mountain than me, it’s Caleb. Reclusive as hell, sharp as broken glass, and loyal to the last breath.

By the time I swing back toward Main Street, the café’s mostly dark. One light still burns in the kitchen window. She’s still inside.

I park behind the alley, cutting the engine before it echoes. My boots crunch against the gravel as I approach the back entrance, and I don’t knock. I never knock. I walk in like I belong there—because tonight, I do.

Sadie’s wiping down the front counter, back to me. Her hair’s tied up in a messy twist, a streak of flour at her jaw. She doesn’t turn when I come in—she doesn’t need to. She knows it’s me. Her shoulders shift like she’s bracing for something she doesn’t want to admit she wants.

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