Page 6 of Protected By The Ranger
“On it.” More typing, the soft clicking filling the brief silence.
I glance toward the glass, where Izzy is flipping through a magazine fast enough that she’s obviously not reading it.
“This is Hayden’s sister,” I repeat, my voice carrying a warning as I look directly at Zane and see him ogling Izzy again. “Show some respect.”
Zane raises his hands in mock surrender, but his grin remains firmly in place. “Hey, I’m nothing but respectful. Just appreciating the scenery.”
“Find other scenery to appreciate,” I say, my voice tight as I stare him down.
“Why do you care so much? She your girl?” Zane asks, crossing his arms as he turns to face me.
“It’s not like that,” I say, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound.
Hawk’s quiet voice cuts through the tension. “How long you planning to keep her under protection?”
“As long as it takes.”
“And after that?”
The question catches me off guard. After that? I haven’t let myself think that far ahead.”Dunno.”
I pull out Izzy’s phone and hand it to Blake, who plugs it into his laptop.
The wall screen fills with Instagram DMs—dozens of them. Photos of her at coffee shops, walking to her car, leaving venues.Messages that start friendly and progressively become more invasive.
“This guy’s been at it for months,” I continue, scrolling through the evidence. “Look at these timestamps—he’s tracking her in real time.”
Blake leans closer, his expression darkening. “This isn’t random obsession. This is organized stalking.”
“How long until you find this asshole?”
“Working on it. This is gonna take some time.”
“Alright,”Hawk says finally. “What do you need from us?”
“Can we go somewhere?”Izzy asks as we cross the parking lot to my SUV, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. “I need some air. I’m not used to being cooped up like this.”
“I know a place,” I tell her. “I’ll take you up to King Mountain to my buddy’s bar. They’ve got good beer and excellent burgers. He’s good people.”
By the time I pull into the gravel lot of King Tap, we’ve been driving in silence for a full hour. It hasn’t been awkward, and Izzy isn’t as hunched as when we left HQ.
King Tap sits partway up King Mountain, a weathered building that looks its age. Pickup trucks and motorcycles fill the gravel parking lot, and classic rock music drifts through open windows.
Inside, the atmosphere is exactly what you’d expect—dim lighting, worn wood surfaces, and the kind of comfortable ambience that comes from people who’ve known each other for years.
Waylon King, the owner, raises a hand in greeting from behind the bar where he’s polishing glasses. Marian must have the day off.
“Jake! How the hell are you? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Waylon calls out.
“Hey, Waylon.” I guide Izzy toward a table near the windows, where afternoon light creates a warm glow that makes her hair look like spun gold.
Waylon brings over two beers without being asked, the condensation already forming on the bottles. “You two need something to eat?”
“Thanks, man.” I glance at Izzy, and she shrugs. “Two cheeseburgers would be great.” Even if she thinks she isn’t hungry, she should still eat.
When Izzy excuses herself to use the restroom, Waylon stays a moment before putting in our food order.
“I’ve never seen you look at a woman like you look at her,” he says without preamble, settling into Izzy’s empty chair. “Are you finally settling down?”
