Page 4 of Landon

“Thurston came to us because he wants to keep the situation out of the press. The risk of public exposure is high. A friend of his from the FBI referred him to us, and he requested you specifically when he heard about your background—FBI and special ops.”

Landon gave a curt nod, focusing on the unfolding story.

“Stan and Pamela have joint custody of the twins, but Stan has physical custody. The kids live with him on the ranch. They spend two weekends a month with their mom, who has a condo outside of Helena. According to the custody agreement, they also spend spring break and a month in the summer with her. She was unhappy with this arrangement since she gets almost no child support money, but her alimony is way over the top, so when her attorney petitioned the court the last time for more money, the judge shut her down. According to Thurston, her alimony helps support her latest boy toy and lifestyle, but he says it’s worth it to keep her interaction with them at a minimum.”

Landon’s lips tightened. “She sounds charming.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, a real piece of work. The latest issue? Pamela wanted to whisk the kids off on a Caribbean vacation during school. Stan refused. He didn’t see why he should foot the bill for what he believed was her excuse for a free holiday with her latest fling. But she had them for the weekend and decided todo it anyway. She packed them up, got on a plane, and the next call Stan received was her demanding a new alimony agreement. She dropped the bomb that they were already in the Caribbean.”

Landon blew out a breath, his jaw tightening. “And she’s using the kids as leverage?”

“To get the kids back safely, Stan has had his attorney draw up new agreements, but she refuses to put the kids on a plane until she knows it’s ironclad. She isn’t coming back, afraid that she’ll be arrested. To make matters worse, a storm is brewing in the Atlantic, and it’s approaching Jamaica, where they discovered she and the kids are staying. The Fugates are fast-tracking the agreement but want the kids escorted back home safely. A Montana social worker recommended by the judge will accompany you to ensure the kids are safe and their rights are protected during this process.”

“So the social worker and I fly to Jamaica, get her signature on the new documents, pick up the twins, and then accompany them back to Montana?”

“And transport a $500,000 for her. That’s the plan to pay her off. No money exchanged with her until you are there to take the children back home.”

“What if she refuses to hand the kids over?”

Logan’s expression hardened, his voice like steel. “Then you do whatever it takes to bring them home. She’ll sign away her visitation agreement for the payout. That’s part of the deal.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed further, his mind already working through the logistics. “Do I meet the Fugates first?”

“Yes. They want to go over everything with you personally. You’ll fly out on their private jet. The social worker will be there, too. The twins have been kept in the dark. They think their dad approved the trip.”

Landon exhaled, the weight of responsibility settling over him. “Understood. I’ll get it done.”

Logan gave him a firm nod. “I knew you would.”

“I’ll head home and be ready to leave in less than an hour.”

“Mary will have your info. Bert will have the equipment and weapons bags for you. You can drive to the ranch to meet with the Fugates. We’ll be here for any backup or any problems you encounter.”

“Sounds straightforward,” Landon said.

Logan snorted. “Famous last words. You know as well as I do… any mission can get fucked when you least expect it.”

Landon nodded but prayed that the mother would play nice and just do what she’d agreed for the kids' sake. In-and-out mission. Just the way he liked.

3

A few hours later, Landon was driving down the winding, tree-lined driveway that stretched through the sprawling Fugate Ranch. The land rolled out before him in waves of golden pastures and sturdy wooden fences, the scent of fresh hay and earth wafting through the open window. The main house loomed ahead, a stately yet rustic structure that spoke of both wealth and a deep connection to the land.

A ranch hand escorted him through a side door, leading him into a large, comfortable family room that appeared well-lived in. The scent of wood smoke lingered faintly, mixing with the aroma of leather. Photographs adorned the mantel above the stone fireplace—snapshots of holidays, milestones, and candid moments that spoke of love and togetherness. His eyes caught a familiar image of the twins, Tad and Penny, their youthful faces beaming with innocence.

The murmur of voices preceded the entrance of a man who exuded authority and approachability in equal measure. Barrel-chested, with steel-gray hair and piercing blue eyes, he walked with the confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime commanding respect without demanding it. His rolled-up sleeves revealed strong, weathered forearms, and his jeans,though worn, were spotless. This was Thurston Fugate, a man who worked alongside his ranch hands, never above them.

At his side was a woman who carried herself with quiet grace. Her blond hair, streaked with silver, was pulled into a no-fuss ponytail. She wasn’t attempting to cover the strands of gray that attractively streaked through the blond. She was in jeans, a long-sleeved blouse, and flat shoes. Bare makeup allowed her features to show the tension in her face. Despite this, she radiated a natural beauty, her features softened by the light filtering through the windows. Thurston’s hand rested gently on her back as they moved forward in a silent gesture of support.

Introductions were quick, the formalities dispensed with ease. “We don’t stand on ceremony here,” Thurston said with a small smile. “Call me Thurston, and this is Margaret.”

Landon nodded, his gaze steady. “Pleasure to meet you both. And Landon is also fine.”

Next came a man who strode into the room in a similar manner as the elder Fugate. He resembled his dad, but Stan had his mother’s blond hair. He also wore jeans paired with a navy polo with the Fugate Ranch logo over the left side of the chest. “Sorry to be late. I was just on the phone with Roy, our attorney. I wanted to make sure nothing could go wrong.”

After Stan and Landon shook hands, Thurston said, “We’ll wait just a few minutes before we begin. The social worker is on her way.”

Landon nodded and then turned back to the photographs. He felt a presence beside him, and he wasn’t surprised when Margaret Fugate said, “I know I’m biased, but my grandchildren are beautiful.”

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