Page 33 of Ranger's Oath
“I’m the definition of careful.”
She snorts. “Since when?”
“Since now.”
CHAPTER 12
GAGE
The drone footage keeps replaying in my head even after Rush kills the feed. Sadie’s face, caught in grainy surveillance, frozen at the porch rail. My chest tightens as if the bullet meant for her already landed. I grip the edge of the farmhouse table until the wood groans, trying not to show the team how much it affects me. The truth is there anyway, written in the taut line of my shoulders, the throb in my temples, and the weight behind every breath.
Rush breaks the silence first. “We harden the perimeter. Every feed scrubbed. Every line checked.”
“Already on it,” I say, voice low but firm. “Dalton, sweep every relay. Deacon, check irrigation and power conduits. No corner untouched.”
The room charges. Dalton drums his fingers against the tabletop, restless, ready to move. Deacon folds his arms, steady and unblinking, already mapping out solutions. Gideon leans in closer to the monitors, brows drawn tight, his focus absolute. Rush stands calm as ever, but I catch the faint crease in his jaw that says he’s feeling the same weight I am. And Sadie—she hasn’t moved. She leans back like she’s lounging, but her eyes are wide and too watchful. Her nails trace the rim of her coffeecup, scrape-scrape against porcelain. She’s pretending calm, but I can see the tension. And I hate more than anything that the others can see me watching her.
Every detail about her snares me deeper: the way she sits unnaturally still, the subtle tilt of her head, the brittle mask she tries to hold. Each small gesture winds through me like a chain I can’t loosen, drawing me closer even when I fight to keep my distance.
Rush clears his throat, voice cutting through the heavy silence. “The drone controller dump gave us Pier One Logistics. Paper trail ties to a retired state senator, J. Winston Briggs, and to Falcon Shield Security. Both connected to the island network. Motive is simple. Witnesses die, the line keeps moving. One problem. They failed.”
Gideon lifts his head. “So they escalate.”
“Exactly.” Rush turns his gaze on me. “What we do next decides whether they burn out or dig in.”
I nod, though my throat feels like gravel. “Run a decoy convoy. Make them follow ghosts.”
Dalton frowns. “And leave the ranch thin?”
“No.” I slam my palm flat against the map. “We keep Sadie here under layered security. One in the war room, two on the perimeter, and one floating between. The convoy is bait. Let them waste resources chasing shadows while we lock this place tighter than a vault.”
Sadie arches an eyebrow, her voice cool and precise. “So that’s it? Park me like a shipment and wait for someone to collect? You’re missing the point, Ranger. I know how the press thinks, how donors whisper, which shell companies cut checks for the right kind of cover. If you lock me in a room, you leave half the intel on the table.”
The words land sharper than any quip. She leans forward, steady and unflinching. “Use me. Let me map the donor lists andvendor shells. I can track which names overlap with the shells you already flagged. Otherwise, you’ll spend weeks chasing what I can flag in hours.”
The room stills. Dalton’s eyebrows lift, Gideon mutters something under his breath, and even Rush tilts his head as though weighing her argument.
I bite back my first instinct to shut her down. She is not wrong, and that truth stings. My pulse ticks in my throat as I force my answer out. “Fine. Narrow scope. You flag overlaps between donor rosters and shell accounts. That is all. No calls, no outside contact. You work under Gideon’s eye.”
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “Deal.”
Rush’s gaze cuts across the table, sharp as steel. “Measured task. Contained lane. If she steps outside it, we shut it down.”
I nod once, jaw tight. Sadie leans back with a glint in her eye that says she knows she won this round. It is not victory, not really, but it is forward motion, and that makes it more dangerous than any firefight.
Her jab hit harder than I want to admit. I want to tell her she’s more than a point on a map, more than a liability to manage, more than a witness we’re sworn to shield. The admission rises hot in my throat, but I force it down, teeth clenched until the urge to speak passes.
Gideon’s eyes flick between us, sharp as glass. “You’re hovering, Remington.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re doing more than that,” he mutters. “Never seen you lose your focus that fast.”
Rush doesn’t comment. He doesn’t have to. The silence he holds radiates heavier than Gideon’s jab, a quiet verdict that settles across the table like lead and makes the air harder to breathe.
I stand before anyone else can pin me down. “Convoy leaves at 0300. I’ll take point.”
“No,” Rush says. “You stay. Dalton and Deacon will run the decoy.”
