Page 32 of Ranger's Oath
“I will,” I promise.
“You said that two hours ago.”
He crosses to the window and peers out, posture relaxed to anyone who doesn’t know him. Every line of him hums ready. He glances back. “We found why they picked this property.”
I sit up. “Tell me.”
“View corridors,” he says. “No line-of-sight obstructions from the county road to the rear pasture. They could stage behind the mesquite and read our shape against the house lights. We’ll fix it. Dalton’s bringing in panels and a planting crew. We’ll break the straight lines.”
He’s telling me because I asked for sightlines. The gesture warms something inside me that I probably shouldn’t name.
“And the van?” I ask.
“Gone,” he says. “And what was in it is ashes. Gideon pulled a text from the burner.” He checks his notes. “It’s a single line. ‘If the package isn’t at the island, check the coast.’”
Package. I hate that word.
Gage reads my face and adds, “They can call you whatever they want. It doesn’t change what you are.”
“What am I?” I ask, daring him to say it.
His eyes don’t move from mine. “Alive.”
Heat creeps up my neck at the simplicity of it. I look away first.
“Two hours,” he repeats, softer now. “Sleep.”
“You sleep,” I mutter.
“After you.” He leaves before I can come up with a sharper line.
Cassidy elbows me. “You two are exhausting.”
“Tell me about it.”
We try for sleep. We fail. The bed feels like a stage, my mind a projector that won’t stop rolling footage I don’t want to see, water swallowing a phone on a bridge, a limo window sliding up, a steel door shuddering, Gage’s mouth hot and sure. I last twenty minutes before I give up and pad back to the den. Cassidy joins me without being asked.
“Thought you’d be here,” she says, dropping onto the couch.
“Thought you’d stop me,” I shoot back.
“I will if you try to leave the house,” she says. “Research is safer.”
We work until sunset paints the pasture in long bars of gold. Kari’s feed pings again with a longer note:Found a company called Pier One Logistics moving crates offloaded at night with falsified bills of lading. The same manager who signed off on those also signed for a private charter refuel at Ellington the night you landed. Thread is tight now. I’ll keep pulling.
“Pier One Logistics,” I repeat, tasting the shape of it.
“It’s always the bland names,” Cassidy says. “They hide in plain sight.”
“Like you?” I tease.
She smiles without humor. “Not anymore.”
The front door opens and closes somewhere in the house. Voices drift. I catch Rush’s low rumble, Gideon’s clipped reply. No one calls for us.
“Let’s move,” I say. “If they won’t invite us to the board, we’ll bring our own chairs.”
Cassidy stands. “Careful.”
