Chapter 22
LILY
It’s early morning, still dark, and the rest stop is empty except for a couple semis parked at the far end and a plain black sedan under the single working streetlight. There’s a man sitting in the car, his seat tilted back and his head against the back like he’s resting.
I know better. Wes Mercer never rests.
I pull in two spaces away, kill the engine, and slowly count to thirty. That's the protocol Wes set—long enough to confirm no one followed either of us but short enough that we don't look like we're waiting for a drug deal.
Wes gets out first. He's dressed like an ordinary guy—jeans, flannel, work boots—but he moves like law enforcement. He’s got piercing blue eyes that see everything, a body honed for action, and a mind that edges toward suspicion.
He’s also the only true friend I have. I count Emma and Harper Garrett, the town’s deputy sheriff, as friends, but they don’t know everything about me.
Wes? He knows everything. He was the agent who found me thirteen years ago, half naked and freezing in a ditch.
He was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was broken, always telling me that I was more than a survivor.
He made sure I was protected, helped me secure a new identity at his own risk, and told me how to set up my new life.
And when I told him I wanted to hunt down the men who killed Mandy, he just nodded and said, “Then you’ll need some training. ”
Wes gave me more than a new identity—he gave me a way to fight back. So, yeah, he’s important to me.
I step out of my truck and meet him halfway between our vehicles.
“You look like hell,” he says as a greeting.
“Gee, it’s nice to see you too,” I reply with fake cheer.
He stops in front of me, ignoring my sarcasm. Concern bleeds through the professional mask. “What happened?”
I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t be surprised that he cuts to the chase. I never contact him through the ghost email account to say I need to see him ASAP. Even if I didn’t look like I’d spent the night tossing and turning—which I did—he’d be predisposed to seeing my cracks. “I saw him.”
“Who?” Wes asks, his voice low.
“The man who killed Mandy. The man who took us.” The words taste like ash. I rub my hand over my wrist. I swear sometimes I can still feel him branding me. “He walked into the Rusty Spur last night.”
Wes goes still. I know from experience that means his brain is already running scenarios, calculating risk, assessing threat level. “You're sure?”
“I'm sure.” I cross my arms, partly against the cold, partly to keep my hands from shaking. “I'd know his face anywhere. He's older now, but it's him.”
He pulls out a small notebook and flips it open. “Name?”
“I don't know his name.” The admission burns. It seems wrong not to know who wanted to hurt you. “But he's connected to the Turner Ranch. He’s the new foreman.”
“Description,” he says as he jots down his notes.
I give him everything I noticed last night in clinical detail: height, weight, build, distinguishing features. The scar above his left eyebrow. The way he holds his right shoulder slightly higher than his left, like an old injury that never healed right. The silver ring on his middle finger.
Wes writes it all down, his pen moving in quick, efficient strokes. “He didn't see you?”
“Not really.”
He stops writing and looks at me. “Either he saw you or he didn’t, Lily.”
Thinking about the way his gaze passed over me before moving on, I shiver. “I don’t think he recognized me.”
“You’d stand out, a pretty woman in a bar alone,” he points out.
“I was—” I hesitate, because this is where it gets complicated. “I wasn’t alone.”
Studying me, he puts his notepad away. “Who were you with?”
“You sound like a big brother,” I try to joke.
“I’m like a big brother with a gun.” He crosses his arms and stares me down. “Who were you with?”
I rip the Band-Aid off. “Mason Rivera.”
“Fucking hell, Lily.” He rubs a hand over his head. “Why don’t you just pick the most dangerous man in Iron Ridge and flirt with him? Oh wait, you did.”
Mason’s not the most dangerous man in Iron Ridge—Cole Turner’s foreman is. I shake my head. “He’s not that bad.”
Wes scowls. “Yeah, he is, or didn’t you read what I sent you on the Blackthorn gang?”
“You make them sound like some sort of Wild West outlaws,” I say, hugging myself.
“Aren’t they?” Wes steps in, lowering his voice. “I know on paper they look like heroes, but men don’t get distinctions like that without learning how to kill efficiently.”
A chill slides through me. “But they’re on the right side,” I argue weakly.
Wes gives me a long look. “That line gets blurry for guys like them.”
My stomach tightens, but then I see Mason giving me his seat. Mason standing between me and Mandy’s killer at the bar. Mason looking at me like I was something worth protecting instead of using.
Maybe that’s na?ve. Maybe dangerous men are still dangerous no matter who they protect.
Wes looks at me like he can hear everything I’m thinking. He sighs. “What else haven’t you told me?”
I hold my left wrist. “He saw the barcode last night.”
The silence that follows is heavy enough to crush bone.
“He doesn't know about Mandy,” I clarify, needing to fill the space, hating the look on Wes’s face.
“He doesn't know that I’m in Iron Ridge to find the men who took us and killed her. He just knows—” I stop.
What does Mason know? That I'm damaged? That I'm unhinged? He doesn’t even know that I want him in ways I haven't wanted anyone—ever. “I only suspect that he knows what the barcode means. I don’t know for sure.”
Not true. I remember the look in Mason’s eyes. He definitely knows what the barcode was.
“How do you know he’s not part of the trafficking operation?”
“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “He’s not. I’m positive.”
Wes studies me. Then he sighs and runs a hand over his head again. “Lily, he’s former special forces. Men like that see a woman with a trafficking mark and go into protection mode. They want to fix things, but their mode of fixing usually involves a big body count left in their wake.”
I try to smile. “Would that be so bad?”
“It would if you were caught in the crossfire,” he replies seriously. “Tell me honestly. Are you compromised?”
The question lands like a punch. “No.”
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “Because if your feelings for this guy are clouding your judgment—”
“They're not.” Meeting his eyes, I force steel into my voice. “I've been searching for these bastards for years, Wes. I'm not going to let some man derail me from ending this, not when I’m finally so close.”
Even if that man makes me feel things I thought I’d never feel.
Even if his hands look like they could break me or hold me together, and I can't decide which terrifies me more.
Wes studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay. I'll run the description on the foreman, see if we can get an ID. In the meantime, you stay low. This guy isn’t in Iron Ridge on vacation. Don’t go anywhere alone. And definitely don’t talk to him.”
“I know.”
“And, Lily?” He reaches out, squeezes my shoulder once.
It's the most physical contact we've had in years. “Be careful. Not just with the investigation. With Rivera. He’s a dangerous man. He may have been on the side of the law, but he’s a sniper. He hunted and killed for a living. That doesn’t just go away. ”
I hug myself tighter. “I understand.”
“Do you?” He takes a step back. “Because he’s the kind of man who will do whatever it takes to complete a mission, and if he decides you’re the mission, you won’t be able to put that bullet back in the chamber.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head. “He doesn’t think that.”
“No?” Wes cocks his brow.
The truth is, I don't know what Mason thinks. I only know how he looked at me last night—like I was something precious and dangerous in equal measure. Like he wanted to wrap me up and lock me away somewhere safe.
Like he wanted to devour me whole.
I shift my weight to my other foot, feeling the telltale tingle between my legs just thinking about it. Truthfully? The way I feel, I don’t think I’d stop him.