Page 37 of Ranger's Honor
By the time she comes back down, there’s a duffel over her shoulder, her steps a little too measured, like she's holding herself together with sheer force of will. There’s something unguarded in her eyes—determination, sure, but also the echo of fear she’s trying not to show. She’s rallying, pushing past the tremor of betrayal that her laptop had become a weapon against her. Her mouth is set, her jaw tight, and every inch of her screams control—controlled panic, controlled anger, controlledpurpose. Her movements are tight with tension but her posture composed, as if daring the fear to try her.
I watch the way her fingers move the strap higher, her knuckles white around the grip, and something low in my chest responds—not pity, not even pride. It's something deeper.
She’s rattled, sure, but she hasn’t folded. That matters more than she knows. That fire in her eyes burns steady, refusing to be snuffed out. It guts me a little, how much I want to protect her and how much I need her to stay exactly this strong.
“I’m not leaving the files,” she says, cutting straight to it. “If the Reaper has everything, I need what’s left to counter it. It’s not negotiable.”
I stare at her for a beat, then nod once. “Grab a hard copy. Flash only. Nothing wireless. Rush will have untraceable electronics waiting for us. And wear boots—we may be off-road before this is over."
She’s gone again, fast and efficient. I take the moment to pull out my encrypted sat phone and call Rush.
He answers on the first ring. “Problem?"
"Compromised system. Tracker piggybacked on a decryption string. We think the Reaper's seen it all."
"Shit. You in motion?”
“About to be.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. I need a second site. Quiet, out of grid range, but close.”
Rush doesn’t hesitate. “Use the old stilt house on Bay Point. Keys are in the cache box behind the well pump. Stay dark, Dalton. Don’t take anything electronic with you but your sat phone, and don’t use anything that isn’t waiting for you at the house.”
“Copy.”
I grab my jacket, head outside, and toss the rest of the gear into the truck. Just as I swing the passenger door open, Kari steps out, a small fireproof case clutched in her hands.
She doesn’t meet my eyes as she sets it in the passenger footwell, her jaw tight with that familiar, stubborn set. We don’t speak—not as I lock up the house, not as I sweep the perimeter. Every instinct in me is on high alert. We should have gone to ground when this first started, but Gideon, and then I, wanted her comfortable. The fact that she’s still inside this threat radius twists something sharp in my gut.
She’s strong—no question—but she’s not trained for this kind of war. And if I fail her—if I let one misstep or one missed angle put her in a body bag—I’ll never recover. I’ve buried brothers, teammates, civilians. But her? That would end me.
There’s a tight, twisting burn in my gut every time I think about how close we came today. She has no idea how many ways this could’ve gone sideways—how many times I imagined scraping her blood off pavement, holding her too late, too still.
I can’t let it happen. I won’t. I note the tension in her shoulders, the way she'd pulled that case from the footwell and now holds it like it’s armor. When I slide behind the wheel, she pulls the case to her chest like it’s her only tether.
I keep my eyes on the road as I pull away from her house. Her jaw is tight, pulse ticking in her neck. If anything happens to her... I won’t survive it. I’ll burn down the fucking world to keep her safe.
Twenty minutes out of town, the tension finally breaks.
“Do you think the Reaper will follow?” she asks, voice low.
“If he knows where we are, he’ll try. But he doesn’t know where we’re going. And I'm one tough sonofabitch to tail.”
She grins and nods slowly, but the nerves haven’t let go. I can feel them vibrating off her like static. Her fingers curl tighter around the case. “I should’ve caught it sooner.”
“No,” I snap, eyes still on the two-lane stretch of highway cutting through the wetlands. “Don’t do that. You caught it. Not me. Not Gage. Not any of the techs. You, and then you told me. That’s what matters.”
Her silence is answer enough.
Ten more minutes, and I catch it.
Glint—off the treeline to the left. Subtle. High.
“Hold on.”
I floor it.
