Page 12 of Keeper of Talon Mountain
"Did you organize this?" I ask.
"Zara, actually. She has a thing about systems." Mara pulls work gloves from a shelf and hands me a pair. "Said chaos makes her nervous."
I can understand that. There's something comforting about order, about knowing where everything belongs. As we load wood into the canvas carrier, I find myself automatically selecting pieces that will burn well together, balancing hardwood with softer pine for kindling. My hands know what they're doing even if my head doesn't.
"You know what you're doing," Mara observes, watching me work.
"Apparently." I heft the loaded carrier, testing its weight. "Though I couldn't tell you where I learned it."
"Maybe you grew up somewhere with wood heat. Or maybe it was military training."
"Maybe." The word feels inadequate for the frustration building in my chest. Everything is maybe, could be, possibly. I want facts, certainties, a foundation to build on.
We're halfway back to the lodge when I hear it—the distant sound of an engine echoing off the mountains. Mara hears it too, her step faltering as she looks toward the access road.
"Expecting someone?" I ask, though the tension in her shoulders suggests she's not.
"I’ve got guests scheduled to come in the next few weeks." She shades her eyes against the weak sun, trying to see through the trees. "And Zara would have called if she was coming back."
The engine sound is getting closer, definitely heading our way. Without thinking, I set down the wood carrier and step between Mara and the sound. My body knows what to do even if my mind doesn't—get between her and whatever's coming.
"Gabe." Mara's voice is calm but firm. "It's probably nothing. Maybe someone got lost, or...”
A black SUV emerges from the tree line, moving fast enough to throw snow from its tires. The windows are tinted too dark to see inside, and it's not the kind of vehicle tourists typically drive to mountain lodges. My hands curl into fists automatically, and I feel my weight shift to the balls of my feet.
The SUV slows as it approaches the lodge, then pulls into the circular drive and stops. For a long moment, nothing happens. No doors open, no one gets out. Just the vehicle sitting there, engine running, like whoever's inside is watching us.
"Go inside," I tell Mara, not taking my eyes off the SUV.
"I'm not leaving you out here alone."
"Mara...”
"This is my property. If someone wants to explain why they're here, they can do it to both of us."
Before I can argue, the driver's door opens and a man gets out. He's tall, probably my age, with the kind of haircut and posture that screams military right down to his tactical clothing. He looks around the property with the same automatic assessment I recognize from my own behavior, cataloging exits and cover positions.
When his eyes land on me, something cold and dangerous flickers across his face.
"Gabriel Andrews," he calls out, his voice carrying easily across the distance between us. "We need to talk."
The name hits me like a punch to the gut, not because I don't recognize it, but because he says it like he knows exactly who I am. Like the blank spaces in my memory aren't blank to him at all.
"Who are you?" I call back, reaching for Mara's hand without thinking.
The man's smile is sharp enough to cut. "Someone who's been looking for you. Someone who knows exactly what you've forgotten."
He takes a step forward, and every muscle in my body tenses. Whatever this man wants, whatever he knows about my past, it's nothing good. The way he moves, the way he watches me—this isn't a rescue.
I squeeze Mara's hand once, her fingers cold but steady. "Stay behind me," I murmur, letting go.
The stranger stops and stays where he is, his predatory smile never wavering. My heart pounds against my ribs, but my feet stay planted. Whatever happens next, I'm between him and Mara.
5
MARA
The stranger's smile makes my skin crawl.
