Page 29 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
That gets his attention. He slides out, sits up, and wipes his hands on a towel. “What kind?”
“Wide. Deep. Off-road capable. I’m betting Jeep Wrangler.”
His brow lifts. “Wrangler?”
I nod. “Not definitive, but I’m mostly sure.”
“David used to drive one.”
“I’ve heard.” But I pause. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to do his own dirty work, though.”
“Still a clue.” He stands and walks over to the whiteboard we’ve set up in the corner of the garage. It’s covered in marker scrawl and photo printouts—our own private war map. He writes “Wrangler” in all caps near David’s name and underlines it twice.
“It’s not much,” I admit. “But it’s more than nothing.”
“More than we had before,” he agrees.
I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “We should add more cameras at the gate. Low angle, thermal, and wide-lens. Catch anything on foot or wheels.”
Wes nods. “Already queued up a delivery. They’ll be here tomorrow, before the kids get here.”
“Good.”
He watches me for a second, like he’s waiting for me to say something else.
I give him what he wants. “It would be easier if I just killed him.”
Wesley’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not quite shock either. “You’re not serious,” he says. Flat.
“I’m always serious.”
He tosses the towel onto the workbench. “You need to stop saying that out loud.”
“I haven’t said it to her. Not since we were all together.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
I scowl. “Why?”
“Because Bailey’s not like us. Not like that. She was never a SEAL, Huck. She needs to believe there are clean ways to handle dirty things.”
“There aren’t.”
He walks over and claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not wrong, big guy. But she’s not ready for that truth.”
I look away, jaw tight. “Then I’ll keep it in my back pocket.”
“Keep it deep in the pocket. Bottom corner. Sew it shut, even.”
I grunt. “No promises.”
Wes just shakes his head. But he doesn’t argue.
Because he knows if it comes down to it—if David shows up, if he crosses a line wecan’twalk back—I’ll be the one who does what needs to be done. And I’ll sleep just fine after.
The sun’s sinking low by the time I finish my second pass through the property. The house glows from the inside—long windows lit up like soft lanterns. From out here, it looks like peace. Like safety.
But I know better.
