Page 4 of Ranger's Code

I lean back. I don’t like surprises, but when Kari calls and says, "Meet me," I go.

No questions. I owe her that. More than that. She covered for me when I couldn’t cover for myself, back in the days when I’d come back from missions with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking and a jaw so tight I could barely speak. When the silence between adrenaline spikes started to feel like it was swallowing me whole. Kari never pushed. She just gave me a place to stay, bringing me coffee, making dumb jokes, and reminding me of who I was when the lines between man and wolf blurred too far. We have a bond that goes deeper than blood—pack-deep. Wolf-deep. The kind of connection you don’t question. You honor it.

"It’s Maggie," Kari says, voice low.

I blink, a corner of my mouth twitching in something almost like a smile. "The shy one with the enormous eyes and cupcake fixation? Yeah, I remember her. Always wore those baggy hoodies like she was trying to disappear, but even then... she had this quiet kind of beauty. Like she didn’t know what to do with it, so she hid it. Always hanging back, but watching everything. Thoughtful."

Kari gives me a look, but nods. "That's the one. I never even thought you noticed her..."

"Oh, I noticed," I chuckle.

"She's my best friend, Gideon. You are not allowed to think of her that way," Kari scolds.

My little sister can be fiercely protective of the people she cares about, and even I know Maggie Tate probably deserves someone a hell of a lot cleaner and less complicated than me—especially considering the little human has no idea I’m a wolf-shifter.

Truth be told, I haven’t forgotten her. Not really. Even back then, when she was just Kari’s quiet friend hovering around the edges in oversized sweatshirts with sleeves too long for her hands, I noticed. She had this way of drawing attention without trying, like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

After seeing a photo of her all grown up in a glossy baking magazine, hair pulled back, eyes sharp, and lips quirked with barely contained mischief, it stirred something primal. I’ve had more than one dream since then I wouldn’t exactly confess to Kari—dreams where Maggie wasn’t just Little Red Riding Hood, but the kind of woman who dared the wolf to bite.

When I say nothing, my sister eyes me suspiciously, but says nothing... for at least a minute—something of a record for my chatterbox sister. "Her fixation," Kari finally continues, "is now a full business called Sea Salt & Sugar. She’s built something amazing, Gid. But the past few weeks? It’s like someone’s trying to take it from her."

I pause; let that settle. Something inside me stirs—a low, subtle thrum that isn’t quite thought or instinct. It’s older than both. The wolf in me stirs like it’s caught the scent of something that matters. My jaw tightens slightly, my focus narrowing. "She come to you?"

"No. She’s blaming herself. Thinks she’s just hard to work for. But it’s more than a few burnt batches of cupcakes and cranky staff."

"Like what?"

"Ovens malfunctioning; deliveries that are late, wrong or never show up. She's had a fridge—a brand new one—go out for exactly six hours. Twice. That’s not just bad luck."

I don’t speak right away. Instead, I pick up my phone and pull up the bakery's website. Sleek. Clean. Reviews are glowing. The shop has a loyal following and a ridiculous number of preorders for a business that doesn’t even have a walk-up window. I dig deeper. Local features. Small-business awards. Wedding vendor recommendations. It isn’t a fluke. Maggie Tate has built a damn good operation.

"Doesn’t add up," I mutter.

"Exactly."

I set my phone down. "You want me to look into it."

"I want you to help her. She won’t ask. But if something's going down, I want someone on the inside who can sniff it out. Someone who knows how to watch without drawing attention. Someone who can handle it if things go sideways."

"She still doesn't know about us, right?"

Kari shakes her head. "No. She doesn't need to know. She does, however, need help."

"Does she know I'm a Texas Ranger?"

Kari shakes her head. "No. She knows you're not in the Marines anymore, but not any details of when that happened or what you're doing now. She doesn't need more reasons to feel watched. And I know you. You're wired and need a mission right now or you’ll climb out of your own skin."

She isn’t wrong. The last op Team W pulled left a sour taste. Not the mission itself—that was clean enough. But the aftermath, the politics, the way our work never seemed to stick—it all drags at something raw beneath my skin.

I haven’t shifted in days—even though Rush has urged me to—and the wolf inside me is pacing. Snarling. Growling low in the back of my mind, frustrated by the stillness, the waiting. I feel it in the way my muscles tense for no reason, the way my jaw aches from clenching, how my hearing stays dialed up like I’m waiting for a shot to ring out.

Restless doesn’t cover it—not even baking, my usual therapy, is helping. The quiet rhythm of measuring and mixing no longer soothes the part of me that growls for release. The wolf is close to the surface now, prowling beneath my skin, ears pricked, teeth bared.

I feel it in the constant thrum of unease in my chest, the low-grade adrenaline that has nowhere to go. I need motion. A fight. A mission. Something to chase or protect or destroy—anything that gives me purpose. And right now, Maggie Tate’s trouble doesn’t just look like a distraction. It looks like a trigger. Something in her story scrapes against my instincts like flint against steel. The wolf inside me isn’t just awake. It’s watching.

"What is it you want me to do?"

Kari leans forward. "I want you to go undercover."

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