Page 65 of Mountain Defender

His fingers fly across his laptop’s keyboard for a few seconds before he responds. “I’m just glad I can help. And hopefully, we’ll get what we need out of this guy without having to kill him.”

A beat later, he adds in a low tone, “If it comes to it, Gage, you know I’ve got your six. Whatever we need to do to make sure Rory’s safe.”

Unexpected emotion brings a lump to my throat. After leaving the Army, I never expected to find this kind of bond with a team again. But in some stroke of luck, here I am—with four teammates who’ll do anything to back me up, just as I’d do for them.

But emotion has no place here. Not when there’s a mission to complete. Namely, finding out irrefutably if this Mavers guy is the one, and if he is, getting the proof needed to convict him.

Shutting off the car, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Anything with the security?”

In the dim of the car, Alec smiles grimly. “Nothing. Not even a doorbell camera.”

“And he’s home? It’s confirmed?” I know I’m asking the same questions I did an hour ago, and I know Alec wouldn’t make a mistake, but I can’t help it.

“Confirmed. The GPS in his car shows he’s at home.”

“Okay.” I reach beneath the seat and retrieve my Sig, then tuck it into the holster at my waist, making sure to pull my sweatshirt down to cover it. We’re not planning to use our weapons, but I’d never go into a situation like this without one. “So we’ll get to the edge of his property, then use the trees as cover to get to the back. Then we go in through the kitchen door and confront him inside.”

“Sounds good.” Alec puts his own gun in its holster. Then he pulls his baseball cap down so it shadows his eyes. A beat later, I do the same. “Are you ready to move out?”

My jaw sets. “Ready.”

On a silent gesture, we both slip from the car, the doors closing behind us with almost inaudible snicks. First, we walk down the sidewalk, just two dark figures out for a walk, before making a quick right into the narrow band of trees that separates Mavers’s property from his neighbors. In under two minuteswe’re tucked into the shadows beside his back door, lock picks out and ready.

While it’s not legal—not even close—lock picking is a skill suggested to us by our friend, Cole, who started up Blade and Arrow Security. “We only do it when absolutely necessary,” he explained, “but if breaking the law means saving someone’s life, we’ll do it.”

Considering I’m ninety-nine percent certain Mavers tried to kill Rory, I’d say this situation qualifies.

We wait outside the door for a few seconds first, just listening. But there’s nothing. No clatter of pots or clinking of dishes. Given that it’s after ten PM, we’re hoping Mavers is either in the living room watching TV or, best case, already in bed, asleep.

It’s a simple lock, so I have it open in seconds. Then I twist the knob and slowly open the door, breathing a sigh of relief when it moves without creaking. I go in first with Alec at my six, and we pause in the kitchen to get our bearings.

The kitchen is small. Messy. The counters are covered with crumbs and several stacks of unopened mail. A small stack of plates sits in the sink waiting to be cleaned and three empty beer bottles are set beside them. One light glows dully over a small kitchen island, illuminating even more crumbs and a greasy pizza box.

From somewhere in the front of the house, a laugh track rises and falls.

Alec and I exchange a quick glance, sharing a silent communication. I angle my chin in the direction of the doorway leading out of the kitchen, which we know from real estate photos online leads to a small dining room, and then the living room. Alec nods.

With another steadying breath, I prepare myself to move in. Any emotion needs to be put aside in favor of cool-headedlogic and strategy. Anger has no place here. Just single-minded determination.

I’m going to end this for Rory. Allow her to live without fear again.

On a silent exhale, I move. Though I can’t hear Alec’s footsteps, I know he’s right behind me.

As we creep towards the living room, the sound of the TV grows louder. A low chuckle reaches us—Mavers, I assume, since Alec’s research found that Mavers is single and lives alone. Still, when I get to the doorway to the living room, I hang back until I catch a glimpse of the man’s face in profile, making sure he matches the image of the man Rory described.

He does. Perfectly.

And with that confirmed, I step into the living room.

Mavers is sprawled across the couch, watching a sitcom from the 90s, a bottle of beer in his hand. A plate sits on the coffee table with a half-eaten slice of pizza on it. So far, he’s oblivious to us.

Then I circle the couch. In a threatening tone, I growl, “Don’t fucking move.”

His head jerks towards me, alarm flashing across his face. Then he scrambles into a seated position, despite my warning, and reaches beneath the couch. He yanks out a gun and points it at me, shouting, “Get out! Get out or I’ll shoot!”

Maybe he thinks of himself as brave when he’s targeting innocent women, but as he faces me, I don’t miss the flare of fear in his eyes or the slight tremble of his finger on the trigger.

“No, you won’t,” I snarl. Banked anger brings a dangerous bite to my voice. “Put the gun down before I make you.”

---