Page 30 of The Tracker

“Understood. Perimeter One is holding. Thermal readings clean.”

Jesse chimed in, a grin audible in his voice, breaking the tension just slightly with his trademark swagger. “Tell the princess we’ve got her castle locked down. Lachlan’s covering the back of Shaw HQ—he's posted like a statue.”

Dawson grunted. “You on comms with him now?”

“Affirmative. I’m in the server logs—integrity checks are all green, nothing’s been tripped,” Jesse reported. “Gavin’s got med kits, satellite comms, and backup hardware staged two blocks out in the truck.”

“Any vulnerabilities?” Dawson’s tone was tight.

“Just one. Service hallway behind the executive wing—narrow angle, low visibility. Lachlan’s covering it solo, but he’s tighter than Fort Knox. Reed’s team is five minutes out if we need backup.”

Gavin chimed in, “Drone sweep is already airborne—nothing overhead yet. Metadata from the photo was routed through Curaçao and masked through Baton Rouge. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing.”

Dawson’s jaw flexed. “Send the drone feed to my secure line. And if either of you breathes a word about Evangeline to Reed before I clear it, I’ll gut your comms access myself.”

Jesse gave a low whistle. “Relax, cowboy. Nobody’s saying a word. Though I gotta admit—watching you go full alpha for her? Kinda hot.”

Dawson addressed the team. “We’re here. Evangeline’s holding, but this rattled her. Stay sharp. No room for surprises.”

Jesse confirmed, “Server logs are clean, and Gavin’s truck is ready if we need it.”

Dawson asked, “Any breach?”

Jesse shook his head. “No breach. Just the photo. Whoever did this didn’t want the system—they wanted her to see it.”

Gavin added, “Lachlan’s thermal scans are coming through now. I’m sending them to your secure channel.”

“Done.”

Dawson ended the call and crossed back into the bedroom. Evangeline still hadn’t moved. There was a heaviness to her stillness—something more than shock, sharper and edged with intent.

“I keep thinking about the message,” she said quietly.

He waited.

“It wasn’t just meant to scare me. It was curated—the setting, the timing, the weapon. My letter opener, in Peter’s office, at night. Every detail was chosen to cut deeper than fear—to dismantle me, piece by piece. They wanted me to feel it.”

He moved closer, bracing one hand on the mattress as he sat beside her. “You’re not responsible, Evvy.”

“I know, but my overhearing him, taking the data, involving Silver Spur was enough to get him killed.”

He cupped her face, thumb gently tracing her cheek. “They’re trying to break you, not hurt you. Not yet. This is about control. They want you isolated, shaken—but you’re not giving in.”

She looked up at him, her façade beginning to crack. “Then they’re already halfway there.”

“I’m not leaving the loft,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll be ten feet away, coordinating. Still in your sight.”

She gave a faint nod. “Go hunt.”

He set up at the dining table, close enough to watch her, and began working. The news was worse than before. Jesse and Gavin had traced badge swipes at Shaw HQ—Peter’s badge, then Squire’s, logged less than a minute apart. Dawson pulled the footage and saw the stiff body language, the forced smiles, and a fleeting reflection of movement behind the blinds.

Conspiracy unfolded before his eyes—not theory or guesswork, but a chilling pattern threaded through still frames and silent footage.

His hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening as he fought to steady his breath. The footage replayed in a relentless loop, each pass deepening his sense of unease. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing, jaw set so tightly it ached. Years of discipline kept his focus sharp, his breathing measured, even as anger simmered beneath the surface. Whoever orchestrated this had done so with exacting care—a trap laid with precision, hidden in the ordinary. His world narrowed to the screen, the evidence, and the cold certainty that nothing here was accidental.

“I want every transaction, every flight, everything on Squire,” Dawson ordered. “And I don’t want Reed or anyone else pulled in until I say.”

He returned to the bedroom. He paused just inside the doorway, eyes scanning the room out of habit before he crossed to the bed. He sat beside her again, positioning himself between her and the door—his body a silent barrier against the outside world. One arm rested along the back of the bed, close enough to touch her without forcing contact. His other hand hovered near hers for a moment, then dropped to the comforter, palm up, an unspoken offer she could choose to take—or not. Even still, his whole body remained coiled, alert, ready to move the second she needed him to.

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