Page 4 of Sentinel of Talon Mountain
“I’m going to keep you steady while I take a look at my valley.” He sets a mug in front of me. “Drink.”
I eye it. “You always drug strangers?”
“If I wanted you unconscious,” he says without looking up from the scope, “you wouldn’t have made it to the door.”
“Charming.” I wrap both hands around the heat. “Fine. You’ll get your intel without the coma.”
“Height of strike and offset,” he says. “Numbers.”
“First: foot forward of my toes. Second: shoulder height, three yards right. Wind NNE, eight to ten. The shooter compensated like they’ve met weather before. My bet: six to eight hundred yards.”
He hums. “Caliber?”
“Didn’t see the round. Entry looked clean.”
“So not a yahoo with a deer rifle,” he says. “We’re talking practice and access.”
“In Alaska, those breed like rabbits,” I say. “Pick a bar, throw a dart.”
His mouth curves—almost. “You ran to me instead of to town.”
“I ran to the one person who already knows how I work. And doesn’t flinch.”
“Flattering.” He adjusts focus. “You think this is tied to your work?”
“It could be tied to yours.” I sip. It’s strong enough to stand a spoon. “Poachers don’t love going broke.”
“True.” He sweeps the ridge slow. “You left a triangle stamp.”
So he did see it. “Then you already know the draw is burned.”
He nods. “You hurt anywhere else?”
“I said I’ll live.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I blow out a breath. “No.”
“Good.” He lowers the scope. “Boots.”
“What about them?”
“Off.”
“I’m not staying.”
“You are until I clear the ridge.” He turns, posture easy, eyes not. “You came here. You accept the rules.”
“My rules involve not being managed.”
“Then draft new ones,” he says, maddeningly calm. “Work with me, Wren.”
I stand because if I sit I’ll throw the mug and it’s an expensive mug. Nate has city cop taste. He likes expensive things. I know the artist that threw this mug. It wasn't cheap.
“Terms: you don’t call Caleb. I know he’s your friend, and he’ll press for answers I’m not ready to give. You won’t like lying to him, but I’m asking you to do it anyway. You don’t call town, and you don’t log anything until we’re sure this isn’t some idiot testing a new toy.”
“Do I look like I answer to a gossip chain?”
