Page 15 of Protected By The Ranger
“Who—who are you?”
“Someone very interested in your recent photography hobby.” I step closer,putting my hands on my hips.”Specifically, the pictures you’ve been taking of Isabelle Dawson. Bella.”
His face goes palewhen he sees the gun on my hip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Because I have your Instagram messages. The ones where you describe watching her when she thinks no one’s looking. And the photo you took when you broke into her home.” I pull out my phone, showing him screenshots I took from Izzy’s phone. “Pretty detailed for someone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.”
Waverly’s nervous energy transforms into something approaching panic. He takes a step backward, but there’s nowhere to go—I’ve positioned myself between him and any escape route.
“Look, man, I’m just a fan. I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“Taking unauthorized photographs of someone? Tracking their movements? Breaking and entering in their home?” I count off each offense on my fingers. “That’s harassment, stalking, and probably a few other charges my lawyer friend would be happy to explain.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
I smile, my words cold as I say, “I don’t need to prove anything.I have the evidence. This ends tonight.”
Waverly looks at me, and his eyes flash like he’s rapidly weighing his options. “What do you want?”
“I want you to understand something very clearly.” I step closer, invading his personal space until he can probably smell the coffee on my breath. “Isabelle Dawson is under my protection. That means if you so much as think her name, I’m going to know about it. I also highly advise that you don’t stalk any other women.”
“I haven’t—”
“Let me finish.” The command in my voice cuts through his protests. “If you contact her again, if you post about her online, if you even search for her name on social media, you’re going to have a very serious problem.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m educating you.” I reach out and straighten his collar with mock helpfulness, enjoying the way he flinches at my touch. “See, the thing about obsessive stalkers is that they tend to have unfortunate accidents. Car crashes, falls down stairs, mysterious disappearances. It’s almost like the universe is trying to tell them something.”
Waverly’s breathing becomes rapid and shallow. “You can’t—”
Zane steps out of the dark behind me, his deep voice quiet but clear.”I know how to make a body disappear and never be found.”
Waverly stares at Zane, flexing his hands, and I know he’s about to make the wrong choice. His hand moves toward his jacket pocket. “You think you can just—”
His fist comes fast, aimed at my jaw. I duck left, the punch whistling past my ear, and counter with a solid right hook that connects with his cheek. The impact sends pain shooting through my knuckles, and Waverly stumbles backward, blood streaming from his nose.
“Motherfucker!” Waverly snarls, wiping blood from his face. His hand darts inside his jacket and comes out with a hunting knife, the blade gleaming under the parking lot lights.
“Jake!” Zane shouts, but I’m already moving.
Waverly lunges with the knife, aiming for my ribs. I grab his wrist with both hands, slamming it against my knee until he drops the weapon with a howl of pain. The knife clatters across the asphalt as I drive the heel of my hand into his solar plexus.
He doubles over, gasping, but comes up swinging. His fist catches me on my jaw. The taste of blood in my mouth makes something primitive roar to life in my chest.
“You picked the wrong woman to fuck with,” I growl, grabbing the front of his shirt and driving my knee into his stomach. He crumples, and I follow up with another punch to his face, his nose cracking under my knuckles.
Waverly goes down hard, blood pouring from his broken nose and split lip. I stand over him, shaking out my hand, knuckles already swelling.
“We ever have to have this conversation again, you won’t be going home,” I tell him, my voice deadly calm despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “There will be no law enforcement involved, just us.”
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
I chuckle. “And what are you going to do about it? Now, this is whatwe’regoing to do. We’re going to take a nice walk to your room, and then you’re going to hand over your phone, laptop, and any other devices you have,” I continue. “Right now. Walk.”
We shove Waverly in the direction of his hotel room and quickly gather all his devices. We make him unlock them so Blake can go through everything and make sure there are no cloud copies of anything.
“Now,” I say as Zane and I stand in the doorway of his hotel room, Waverly slumped against a wall. “You’re leaving town tonight. You’re going to drive back to whatever rock you live under, and you’re going to pretend Isabelle Dawson never existed.”
