Page 35 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
“Go,” Hale breathes in my ear, comms hissing softly. “Roof’s dirty but empty. One vent open, heat signature below. Two bodies left, one pacing on the right. Third stationary center mass.”
“Copy,” I whisper. I set my boot to the doorframe, feel the flex, and hit it low and hard. It gives with a metal scream.
We flood the hallway—me first, Hale dropping in our shadow from the roof, Dixon tight on my six. The stink of bleach and old oil slaps us. A man rounds the corner, eyes wide, gun coming up.I put two in the wall by his head before he clears waist height; he drops the weapon and his bravado together.
“Down,” I snarl, and he listens.
We clear left—empty office, old pallets, a bathroom with a door off the hinge. Right—two more, one asleep, one trying to be brave, both disarmed before they can figure out their names.
“Center,” Hale says, and we pivot to the big roll-up bay.
There she is.
Ellie.
On a folding chair, wrists zip-tied to the arms, ankles lashed. A bruise blooms on her cheekbone, but her chin is up, eyes hard, alive. A man stands in front of her, back to us, reading from a phone like he’s rehearsing lines.
He doesn’t get to finish.
Troy.
I cross the bay in four steps and pin him to the concrete with my forearm while Hale cuts Ellie’s ties in one smooth motion that might as well be a prayer.
Her hands are free. She’s shaking. She looks at me like I’m gravity returning to a world that was spinning wrong.
“Took you long enough,” she whispers, voice shaking around the smile she can’t quite make.
“Traffic,” I say, because if I try to say anything else, I’ll break my own rule and kiss her in front of a half-dozen felons and two cops.
Behind me, Dixon’s people cuff and clear, radioing in a safe scene and a need for medics. Hale double-checks doors and corners, then stands, breathing steady, eyes sweeping the rafters one last time like a man tucking a child in.
I haul the man I pinned upright and hand him to the sheriff. “He breathes again, it’s on your time.”
Dixon grunts. “Happily.”
I turn back to Ellie. She’s on her feet now, unsteady. I slide an arm around her waist, and she leans into me like she’s allowed. Like we both are.
“You okay?” I ask, soft for her alone.
She nods, then nods again when it’s not enough. “I am now.”
My anger is still there, cold and clean. But around it, something warmer takes root—fierce, protective, absolute.
They tried to take her from me.
They won’t make that mistake twice.
15
Ellie
I always thought the end of a nightmare would feel like fireworks—loud, bright, celebratory.
Turns out it feels like paperwork and fluorescent lights.
The warehouse is a crime scene circus. Sheriff Dixon’s people swarm. Nate moves like he’s in ten places at once. Micah stands just behind me, quiet and immovable, a wall I could lean on if I let myself. I’m wrapped in a gray blanket that smells like bleach and winter. My wrists sting where the zip ties chewed skin, but the medic says I’ll be fine.
I keep waiting to cry.
