Page 43 of Ranger's Oath
I picture her moving through the kitchen, bare feet whispering against the cool tile, completely unaware that hidden eyes might be fixed on her. The thought twists my stomach, a sick mix of anger and fear that makes my vision narrow.
“Clean work,” Deacon mutters, setting the conduit on the table. “They knew what they were doing.”
“They won’t get another chance,” I promise, my voice low enough to carry weight. Dalton gives me a look that says he knows I mean it literally.
Sadie slips into the room while I’m still glaring at the conduit. She crosses her arms, chin lifted. “So all this time you’ve been lecturing me about caution, and meanwhile they’ve been watching from the damn sprinklers?”
Her sarcasm cuts close, biting deeper because she’s right. I meet her gaze. “We found it. It’s gone.”
“That doesn’t erase the fact it was there.” She steps closer, close enough that I catch the stubborn lift of her mouth. “You keep acting like I’m safer in the dark. I’m not.”
I lean in, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You’re safer because I make sure you are.”
Her laugh is soft and mocking. “You plan on wrapping me in bubble wrap next? Or are you going to post yourself at my shower door, too?”
Images flash unbidden—her body slick with water, mine pressed against her. My jaw tightens. “Don’t tempt me.”
The spark in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what that admission costs me. She brushes past, deliberately slow, and every muscle in me strains not to grab her and settle the heatright there. Instead, I force myself to focus when Gideon calls from the hall.
Later, she corners me again in the hallway, refusing to let the tension fade. “Admit it, Gage. You want me locked down because you don’t trust yourself, not because of the bad guys.”
I step closer, crowding her back against the wall, stopping short of touching her. “Don’t confuse control with fear. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
She tips her head, a sly grin curving her lips. “Really? Because from here, it looks like you’re barely hanging on.”
Her words hit harder than a blow. I drag in a breath, fighting the urge to prove her right. “You’re reckless.”
“And you’re wound so tight you might snap,” she fires back, voice husky with something that isn’t anger. The air between us hums, thick with the pull neither of us can ignore.
Before I can close the distance, Gideon’s voice cuts through, pulling me back to the mission. His tone carries the weight of steel as he lays out the plan to meet the trooper’s nephew. The urgency in his words makes my pulse slow from the heat of Sadie’s challenge to the cold clarity of the op ahead.
We tracked the nephew to a quiet diner outside Galveston, the kind of place where the vinyl booths sag and the waitress barely looks up when two Rangers in tactical jackets sit down. He already looks unsteady, shoulders hunched and eyes darting like he feels the walls closing in, buckling under secrets far too heavy for someone his age. He fidgets with his coffee cup, trembling fingers and a smile that does not reach his eyes. Gideon sets a tablet on the table and the island murder plays full screen, the audio clean and cruel in the close space.
His jaw hardens, but it is not only the footage that breaks him. He lets out a sound under his breath, something near a confession. “They threatened my sister when I missed a payment to one of the contractors,” he says, voice small. The memorycrosses his face like a bruise. For him this is not just exposure. This is family tied up in debt and fear, leverage pressed against someone he loves.
He loses the bluster fast. Color drains from his face. He swallows so hard I can see the tendons in his neck. “I will talk,” he says, words tumbling out. “But I need guarantees. Relocation. New papers. Protection for me and my sister. If I talk, they’ll kill us both.”
Gideon does not flinch. He flips the tablet closed and meets the kid’s eyes. “Talk first,” he says. “Give us what you know. Then we get you into a program that keeps you alive. We do this by the book.”
Before the kid can push back, two black SUVs ease up outside. Men in suits and badges move through the diner with a calm authority that makes even the waitress straighten. A marshal steps inside, lays a folder on the counter and nods to us. “We were asked to take custody,” he says. “We will guarantee your cooperation is handled under federal protection. You give us what you have. We will handle the rest.”
The nephew’s hands go white around his mug. He looks from the marshals to Gideon to me, searching for a rope he can cling to. “How do I know you can keep me breathing?” he asks, his voice cracking.
I lean forward, steady. “You are still breathing because we are sitting here. That is proof. Give us the drop, the names, the times. The marshals will take care of the paperwork and the relocation. We will keep her safe while you disappear from their list.”
He nods, the surrender sudden and total. He talks then, spilling addresses, dates and contacts in a rush, as if unloading the weight will make it stop pressing on his chest. When he finishes, the marshal closes his folder, stands and says, “You willgo with us now. We will file for immediate witness protection measures.”
The nephew rises, hands shaking, and the marshals take him. It is official and clean, federal custody replacing our informal promise. We watch him move out of the diner, away from the life that held his sister hostage, and for the first time that night the weight in my chest eases a little.
On the ride back, Gideon breaks the silence. “He won’t last long. Nephew or not, once they know he's talked, he's a walking dead man.”
“No,” I agree. “But long enough to give us what we need.”
Once back at the ranch, the tension wraps around my lungs and pulls tighter. I check the weapons, run comms, and keep my wolf buried under the discipline drilled into me. Sadie’s eyes follow me from across the room, questions she doesn’t voice pressing heavier in my gut than any mission prep. I want to tell her she’s safe. I want to promise I’ll be back. But Rangers don’t make promises they can’t guarantee.
As I pass, my hand brushes against hers, the contact brief yet searing, a jolt that lingers in my chest and refuses to fade, leaving both of us restless and wanting more.
This time, she doesn’t let me slip away with silence. She trails after me into the hall, voice low. “You’re not going to tell me to behave while you’re gone?”
