Page 9 of Ranger's Honor
It is. But not in the way people think. It’s not the silence or the isolation. It’s knowing I could be in a room full of people, and none of them would see me the way she does. Not really. Not like Kari—who reads between the lines, who challenges me and gets under my skin with every smart-ass remark and sharp-eyed glance. And maybe that’s the worst part. That now, with her so close, I feel that loneliness sharper than ever. But that’s the job.
System clear. For now. I power down the tool and rise.
“You’re good?” she asks, quieter this time.
“No. But it’s manageable.”
“You know you don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You could’ve sent Gage or Deacon.”
I look at her hard. “He didn’t want just anyone watching your six. He wanted someone who wouldn’t let their guard down.”
Her eyes flicker. “And you don’t?”
“Not when it counts.”
That hangs between us, heavier than anything we’ve said so far.
Her phone buzzes on the counter where she set it down.
She checks the screen. “Another unknown number.”
I take it from her, tap the screen to open the message.
Nice try. We’re always watching.
She pales. My gut clenches.
I delete the text, toss the phone on the counter. “We lock this down, Kari. Tonight.”
“Okay.”
Her voice is quiet. Steady. But her eyes are wide.
I walk to the front door and flip the deadbolt. One last check of the locks, the windows, the shadow lines outside. Then I turn to her.
I take one last breath before I speak, steadying the war that churns in my gut. The image of her flinching at that message is burned behind my eyes. No matter how many ops I’ve handled, no matter how many targets I’ve tracked or threats I’ve neutralized, none of it feels like enough when it comes to Kari. I’m not used to caring this much. Not like this. And it concerns me that it might somehow compromise my effectiveness.
“You sleep in your room,” I say. “I’ll move the couch in front of the stairs and sleep there.”
She gives me a look. “And if I don’t want to sleep alone?”
Her voice isn’t flirty this time—there’s a shadow behind it, a tension that wasn't there before. I glance at her, trying to read the truth under the casual tilt of her chin.
I cross my arms. “You saying that because you’re scared, or because you think I’ll fold?”
Her eyes flash—but it’s not defiance I see. Vulnerability, maybe. And it guts me, because I’ve spent my whole life reading threats—but I’ve never been good at reading her.
She shrugs, but it’s too deliberate. “Maybe both. Maybe I just don’t want to feel like I’m in this alone.”
That hits me in the chest harder than I expect. I swallow back the urge to close the distance. “You’re not alone. Not while I’m here.”
“Not like that,” she says quickly. “I just… I don’t want to wake up to another message and not have backup.”
“Then I'll stay in the hall.”
