Page 7 of Ranger's Honor
What I wish he’d do in this situation? Realize it isn't anyone's fault except the Reaper's. That none of us could have seen this coming. That none of us knew Kari had started working on it again. The last any of us knew, she had put it away—never to see the light of day again. There was no way we could have seen it coming. And that hopefully, we're not already three steps behind.
Kari stomps upstairs like she’s not the reason we’re in this mess, and I lean against the front door, arms crossed, fighting the urge to kick something solid. Preferably a wall—or maybe the smug tech bastard who cracked her laptop. If I ever get my hands on the asshole behind the breach, I’ll make damn sure they wish they’d never touched a keyboard.
I should be halfway across the Gulf right now. Team W had an infiltration op lined up—precision, coordination, the kind of mission I don’t just thrive in, but live for. Babysitting isn’t in the job description, but that doesn’t matter now. The op can wait—she can’t. Kari’s safety just leapfrogged every black-flag priority on the board. Not because she’s Gideon’s sister, but because she matters. To all of us.
Not that she’s a child. Far from it. She’s smart, stubborn, and sharp-tongued as hell. But that’s part of the problem. Kari Bonham’s got more fire than caution, more guts than armor. And it’s why Gideon called me. She never waits for permission.That’s what makes her extraordinary—and infuriating. And it’s why protecting her will take more than a locked door and a loaded weapon.
The Reaper doesn’t make idle threats. He doesn’t send text messages or play games. If he’s watching her, it means he’s already chosen her as a target. That also means Maggie—her well-meaning, blissfully nosy houseguest and Gideon's mate—was sitting next to a human bullseye. Getting Maggie out of here was non-negotiable.
But Kari? She's flat out refused to leave. Of course she did. And here’s the rub—my protective instincts are at full throttle, screaming to lock her down and take control. But Kari isn’t the type to be protected quietly. She’s independent, relentless, and allergic to being sidelined. Like the time she snuck into one of Gideon’s debriefs just to prove a point—wig, fake credentials, and all. I’d been stationed outside the conference room when I caught sight of her slipping past security with a too-casual gait and a laminated badge that looked suspiciously homemade. I pulled her aside just before she reached the door.
“Nice try, Bonham,” I’d said, arms crossed.
She had the nerve to grin. “Worth a shot. I had questions.”
She always does. And she never waits for permission to ask them. That’s the problem. That’s always been the problem. And figuring out how to keep her alive without bulldozing her spirit is going to take more strategy than any op I’ve ever been on.
I scan the room again, eyes landing on her laptop. Compromised and closed, but still there. Still a threat. I’m already thinking through next steps—burner laptop, fresh security protocols, multiple sweeps for bugs and traces. I’ll rework her network myself if I have to.
Footsteps above. Closet doors sliding, drawers opening, a thud of something heavy hitting the bed. Probably a duffel. She’s rearming the place, not pretending this is a sleepover anymore.
I drop my go-bag near the couch and roll my shoulders, trying to shake the taut readiness curling along my spine, the kind that doesn’t ease until the threat’s neutralized. Controlled. Like every op I’ve ever walked into—blurry objective, unstable terrain, high-stakes risk. But this time, the terrain isn’t a hostile landscape or fortified compound. It’s Kari—unpredictable, sharp, and way too important. And the objective? Keep her breathing. Keep her safe. Even if it kills me.
The silence stretches, not oppressive but charged, like something waiting to be said. I need a distraction, something to keep my hands busy while my brain churns through scenarios I don’t want to face. I move into the kitchen and flick on the overhead light. Her fridge hums. The space is neat, like her mind—meticulous but filled with a kind of beautiful chaos underneath. I remember a Fourth of July party at Gideon’s house a few years ago—Kari barefoot on the back porch, lemon tart in one hand, gesturing wildly with the other while arguing about whether or not fictional characters should be allowed to cheat death.
She had a million opinions and one laugh that made every guy at the party look twice.
I didn’t look. Not directly. Never for long. But I felt it—sharp and sudden, like a hit to the ribs. She was radiant, and I wanted her in a way I hadn’t let myself feel in years. I’d swallowed it down, buried it deep. Because she was Gideon’s sister. Off-limits by every code I live by. A man of honor cannot be having lascivious dreams about his best friend's little sister, which is why I built a wall so thick I rarely dream or fantasize about her anymore.
Her laugh lit up the night. I remember thinking it was too damn bright for someone like me to want.
The sound of her boots descending the stairs pulls me back to the here and now.
She comes down the stairs with a steaming mug in hand—must’ve snagged it from the bedroom vanity or heated it upstairs—casual like we’re prepping for a stakeout-slash-slumber party. “The weapons are loaded and stashed around the house and the waterproof mascara is back in the bathroom drawer where it belongs. We’re ready.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You planning to dazzle them into surrender or just blind them with that waterproof mascara and wait for the perfect shot?”
She shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Why not both? It’s called multitasking, Calhoun. You should try it.”
“I’ll be too busy keeping you alive.”
“Oh, so that’s what all this grunting and glaring is about. And here I thought it was your version of flirting.”
“Files locked down?”
“Please. What kind of amateur do you think I am?”
“Just verifying. I don’t make assumptions.”
She folds her arms. “So now what? You patrol the house every half hour while I pretend to sleep?”
“I've reset your security cameras—play your cards right and I won't tell Gideon you deliberately set up a blind spot."
"How do you know I did it or that the blind spot behind the house was deliberate?"
I grin. "I didn't specify where it was." Kari at least has the honesty to look chagrinned. "I've had the cameras sweep the perimeter, stepped up their schedule, reset your Wi-Fi, and re-secured every entry point. Then I decide if your bedroom’s defensible enough for you to stay in it alone.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You planning on sleeping at all?”
