Page 21 of Keeper of Talon Mountain
"Your body does." Nate leans back in his chair, still watching Gabe with that professional assessment. "The way you moved yesterday before we pulled up. That wasn't basic training. That was advanced hand-to-hand, the kind they teach for wet work."
The term hangs in the air, heavy with implications. Wet work. Covert operations. The kind of missions that don't make it into official records.
"Which brings us to the real question," Zeke says, pulling out his notebook. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“I told you, I don’t know…”
“And I believe that, but we need to talk about what happened yesterday. Specifically, about the men who came for you and what they want because when I called that number, all I got was static and a bunch of clicks and blips."
Gabe meets his gaze steadily. "I don't have answers. I wish I did."
"Then tell us what you do know," Nate says, his tone not unkind but firm. "Starting with why professional contractors with military training would risk exposing themselves to grab one guy who doesn't even remember his own past."
It's a good question. One I've been trying not to think about too hard, because every answer I come up with is worse than the last.
Gabe is quiet for a long moment, staring at his coffee cup. "I don't know what I did before I lost my memory. But based on what I can do, what my body remembers..." He looks up at Nate, and his eyes are bleak. "I was someone dangerous. Someone highly trained. And whatever I was involved in, it's bad enough that they're willing to risk everything to either get me back or silence me permanently."
"Which is it?" Nate asks. "Are they trying to retrieve you or eliminate you?"
"I don't know."
"Guess."
"Recruit," I say, before Gabe can answer. Everyone looks at me, and I shrug. "If they wanted him dead, they had opportunities yesterday. The tranquilizer darts, the way they tried to talk before they fought—they want him alive."
Nate nods slowly. "That tracks with what I saw. The approach was extraction, not elimination." He turns to Zeke. "Which means whatever he knows, whatever he can do, they need it."
"Or they need to ensure he doesn't remember it and tell anyone else," Zeke adds grimly. He looks at Gabe. "You might be a witness to something they can't afford to have exposed. Or you might have skills they can't replace. Either way, you're valuable to them."
"That's not reassuring," I say.
"No," Zeke agrees. "It's not. Which is why we're setting up a proper security rotation. Nate's coordinating with some of the other guys who have tactical experience. We'll have eyes on all the approaches to your property, twenty-four seven."
"You don't have to do that," Gabe says quietly.
"Yeah, we do." Nate's voice is firm. "You're one of us now. And we protect our own."
There's that phrase again. We protect our own. It's starting to feel less like a platitude and more like a promise.
Zara has been quiet through all of this, but now she speaks up. "So what do we do?"
"We wait," Gabe says. "And we prepare. Because they're not done with me yet."
He's right. I can feel it—the gray-haired man's promise that they'd be in touch, the vehicles spotted near town, the sense of being watched even when we're alone. This isn't over.
I reach for Gabe's hand under the table. His fingers lace through mine and squeeze once. Outside, a truck rumbles past on the road—one of the watch rotations Zeke organized. At least a dozen people in this town are keeping an eye out now, looking for trouble before it arrives.
8
GABE
After Zeke and Nate leave to coordinate the security rotation, the lodge feels both safer and more vulnerable. Mara moves through the kitchen with sharp, precise movements—flour, yeast, salt measured out in perfect lines. The scent of rising bread dough fills the air, warm and domestic and completely at odds with the tactical discussion we just had.
Zara sits at the kitchen table, her laptop open, coordinating communication protocols with the watch teams. "Finn's got the south approach covered," she says without looking up. "And Mrs. Lancaster—yes, the sweet kindergarten teacher—apparently keeps a hunting rifle and knows how to use it. She's watching the eastern trail."
"This town," Mara says, shaking her head as she kneads dough with more force than necessary. "I knew people here looked out for each other, but this..."
"They're protecting you," I say quietly. "That's what matters."
