Page 97 of Grumpy on the Mountain
"Fuck off. He's not my brother," I say flatly. "Not anymore. And I'm certain he's been tracking her social media posts. Every location, every routine, every detail of our life here. He knows exactly where to find her."
Jamie nods grimly, setting the papers aside. "Classic stalker playbook. Psychological warfare first, then escalation." He pauses, studying my face. "Good to see you've still got those old military instincts, Big Guy." He leans forward, a tiny smilecrawling along his lips. "Hey, you remember that time in Afghanistan when you sensed that ambush three clicks before anyone else? You saved our entire unit, you know."
The memory hits me like a freight train.
Jamie Striker, the man sitting right in front of me was twenty pounds lighter and a decade younger, crouched behind a crumbling wall while insurgent fire peppered the building around us. Me, gut churning with that familiar wrongness that meant we were walking into a trap.
"I remember," I say quietly.
"You always could read a situation better than anyone I served with."
Jamie's voice carries the weight of shared history, shared survival. His scars don't run as deep as mine, but I know they're still there.
"I trust you, Beau. If you think he's coming, he's coming."
The relief of being understood, of having someone take my concerns seriously instead of dismissing them as paranoia, makes something tight in my chest loosen for the first time since I opened that package.
"So what's the play?" Jamie asks, already reaching for a notebook.
"I need to know what resources we have if things go sideways. Backup plans." I pause, hating what I'm about to ask. "And I need to know if the team will have my back if I have to choose between following protocol and protecting what matters most."
Jamie's grin is sharp and completely reassuring. "Brother, you've been part of this team since the day you moved to Stone River. You just haven't been ready to admit it." He flips open the notebook. "Now, let's plan how to handle your psychotic sibling."
We spend the next twenty minutes going over contingencies, safe houses, communication efforts to keep Molly safe if the worst was to happen.
It feels like old times—two soldiers planning for battle, covering every angle, preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.
"So," Jamie says as I gather up the documents, "does this mean you're finally ready to join the team officially?"
I grunt, not trusting myself to voice the answer out loud.
But internally, the words are crystal clear:Maybe. But first, I need to make sure I protect my girl.
***
I keep myself busy in town throughout the day. My body somehow just goes through the motions while my mind stays locked on Molly.
Every twenty minutes, I text Jamie:All good?
Every twenty minutes, he responds:She's fine. Stop texting me.
Only knowing that she's surrounded by ex-military and first responders lets me breathe. These men will protect her like their own, but that doesn't stop me from arriving three hours early to pick her up and take her back home.
By the time I get back to the cabin, Molly's changed into a soft green sweater that makes her eyes look like sunlit forests, and she's curled up on my couch flicking through her phone.
The sight of her, safe and perfect in my space, even with that damn device in her hands, makes something primal and possessive surge in my chest.
"So," she says, looking up with a smile. "How did your mysterious meeting go?"
"Fine," I lie, because I'm not ready to shatter her peace with the reality of what's coming. "Actually, I was thinking we should go out tonight. Celebrate."
"Celebrate what?"
"You. Your new job. Us." I move to the couch and pull her against my side, breathing in that vanilla scent that's become essential to my sanity. "When's the last time I took my woman somewhere nice?"
Her smile becomes radiant. "We literally went out last week. Youalwaystake me out somewhere nice."
"Well maybe this time it's different."
