Page 27 of Montana Memory

I barely knew him, and yet…he was the only solid thing in my life right now. The only person I had.

But he wasn’t mine. That was something I needed to remember.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Chapter 9

Hunter

By the next morning, I felt almost human. My workout, sitting in silence, and getting decent sleep in a place I knew was secure had helped fight off the worst of the PTSD episode. I hadn’t been at a critical level like the night before, but I’d still been pretty bad off.

Regardless, I’d been prepared to spend a few hours with Jada. I’d been dealing with my PTSD long enough to know how to keep the symptoms at bay for longer than was overall healthy, but it helped me to get things done when I had to.

Jada needed interaction with other humans. It was obvious by everything going on with her in the safe house: trying out all the foods, cleaning the place from top to bottom—yeah, I’d noticed immediately—and that she’d had a full meal cooked when I’d gotten home.

She had questions. She had fears. She had needs. And right now, I was literally the only person in the world she knew. I didn’t take any of that lightly—the emotional toll was high. Lastnight, I knew I could hold off my PTSD to give her what she needed—a little human interaction. It would’ve come at a cost, but I’d been prepared to pay it.

Instead, she’d put her needs aside to give me whatIneeded. I couldn’t even think of the last time someone had done that.

And it had done more than just allow me to reset. Somehow, due to her unselfish act last night, my brain had labeled her as safe, as someone who didn’t tax my mental and emotional levels just by existing, the way most people did.

I.e., Iwantedto be around her.

She’d probably never know she was one of the very few people in the world my brain considered that way. I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her, especially when it didn’t make sense to me myself.

Plus, there were bigger issues at hand. Like finding this Copper asshole and seeing what he knew about Jada’s condition and the drug. That meant preparing, which, fortunately, this safe house could help me do.

This place was buried deep enough outside Denver that no one would come looking, but close enough that I could reach the city in under thirty minutes. It was one of dozens I knew about, and had used, across the country. Part of a network of quiet places men like me passed around. A lot of the Resting Warrior Ranch guys knew about them, as did the Citadel Solutions team, the same security company Jace Monroe worked for that I sometimes contracted out to when they needed me.

These places all had supplies, vehicles, and weapons that could be used on a moment’s notice. They were places to lay low, disappear, or get ready for a fight.

Right now, I was using it for the last one.

I’d spent the day preparing, knowing I couldn’t go after Copper until night had fallen—guys like him didn’t keep normal business hours. I crouched in front of the weapons cache, rollingmy shoulders as I popped the lock and lifted the lid. Neatly arranged rows of firepower greeted me. Glocks, SIGs, a couple of modified Berettas. Knives, blades long and short, each with a purpose. Tactical gear that had been broken in but never run down. Everything was here for a reason—no waste, no bullshit.

I’d shown it all to Jada, answering her questions as best I could. Info about the weapons, I could rattle off all day. But the info she really wanted—was she proficient in the use of any of them?—had been more difficult. I promised her we’d get to a range when we could and see if she had muscle memory for any of them.

I ran a hand over the grip of a Glock 19, the weight familiar. Reliable. Solid. It slid into the holster at my hip like it belonged there. I strapped a tactical knife to my thigh, another at my ankle, then did a quick inventory of what I was leaving behind. Didn’t need a rifle for today. Didn’t need anything that would draw more attention than necessary.

I stood, stretching the stiffness from my back, then grabbed the dark, long-sleeved tactical shirt from the nearby chair and pulled it over my head. No extra fabric hanging loose, nothing to be grabbed in a fight. I wasn’t blending in today. I looked exactly like what I was: a man ready for war. I checked my watch. Time to move.

I grabbed my keys off the table, ready to head out, when the sound of soft footsteps made me freeze.

I turned, already knowing what I’d see.

Jada stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, determination set hard in her dark eyes. She wasn’t in baggy sweats, wasn’t groggy from sleep. She was fully dressed—jeans, a fitted jacket, shoes laced tight. Ready.

“No.” I clipped the word sharp, final.

Her chin lifted. “I’m going.”

I exhaled, forcing patience I didn’t have. “You have no idea what we’re walking into.”

“I have no idea what anything is,” she shot back. “Because I don’t remember my own damn life. But I do know one thing—I’m done sitting back, waiting for answers to come to me.” She took a step forward. “I need to do something, Hunter.”

I clenched my jaw, weighing the fight in her voice against the instincts screaming at me to keep her locked up safe. “This isn’t a game, Jada.”

“I know that.” She curled her hands into fists. “I know it better than you think. But this is my life, and I need to be part of figuring it out.”

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