Chapter Two
Avery watched Jackson’s jaw turn to iron the moment that she said the words. And they want me dead.
His eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable, the way they used to get when something inside him went cold. “Who are they?” he asked. She didn’t have to answer. He let out a hard breath and shook his head. “The Brotherhood.”
Avery nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The name alone made her stomach twist.
The past flashed through her mind, fast and chaotic, like a film reel that wouldn’t stop skipping.
Blue lights. Screams. Evan lying on the floor, blood pooling under him.
Her own voice breaking when she told the police what she’d seen.
Then the trial, the whispers, the glares from neighbors who’d once called her a friend.
The Brotherhood had started as a vigilante group in her hometown of River Ridge.
They claimed they were protecting the town, keeping it clean and safe when the sheriff’s office couldn’t or wouldn’t.
For a while, people had believed them. But Avery had seen what they really were.
Thugs with guns and grudges, using justice as an excuse to control whoever they pleased.
Their leader, Haver Barker, had been the worst of them. A preacher’s son turned self-proclaimed savior, with a smile that hid pure rot. He murdered Evan in cold blood, claiming it was righteous punishment for corruption that never existed.
Avery had taken the stand and told the truth. Her testimony put Haver Barker behind bars. And that very afternoon, the Marshals gave her a new name and a new life.
For all the good it had done her.
Because now, here with Jackson, that old life had found her again.
“I’ll tell you everything,” Avery said quietly, her voice still shaking. “All of it. But first, is your house safe? Can we go inside?”
Jackson’s eyes stayed on the trail for a long moment before he answered. “Yeah. It’s safe.”
He rose slowly, scanning the tree line one last time. Then he motioned for her to follow. They moved in silence, careful and alert, every step deliberate. Avery kept close behind him, her pulse still racing as they left the cover of the trees and crossed the open stretch toward the ranch.
The place was exactly what she remembered from years ago, though back then she’d only seen it once when Jackson had first inherited it from his grandparents.
A small house sat at the base of the hill, pale wood and wide porches catching the afternoon light.
Beyond it, a barn stood open, the faint scent of hay and horses drifting on the wind.
Three horses grazed in the corral, their coats gleaming under the sun, tails flicking lazily.
It was beautiful here. Peaceful in a way that made her chest ache. The fields rolled out for acres, dotted with cedar and scrub oak, and the air carried that clean, dry smell of earth and grass after a long day of heat.
If she hadn’t known better, she could have believed she was safe.
But she knew better.
The Brotherhood wouldn’t stop. They had found her once, and they’d do it again.
As they climbed the porch steps, Avery cast one last look over her shoulder, scanning the open land behind them. Nothing moved. The quiet felt too calm, too still.
Jackson reached the front door, pushed it open, and stepped aside for her to enter first.
Inside, the air was warm and faintly scented with coffee. The house was simple and clean, all hard edges softened by years of use. A leather couch sat near a wide stone fireplace, and sunlight streamed through the windows, cutting across the floorboards in long lines.
It looked like safety.
But Avery knew safety was an illusion.
Jackson went to the sink, filled a glass with water and handed it to her. He nodded toward the couch. “Sit.”
His voice was low, calm, the kind of tone that steadied chaos. Avery didn’t argue. Her legs felt unsteady anyway, and the moment she sat, the weight of the past two days caught up with her. She gripped the glass tightly, the cool condensation slick against her palms.
Jackson stayed standing, watching her with that same focused stillness she remembered from years ago. It wasn’t impatience. It was control. The kind that came from a man who’d learned to stay composed when everything around him was falling apart.
“Tell me,” he said.
Avery drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t know who uncovered me. The Marshals haven’t contacted me in months, so I didn’t think anything was wrong. But two nights ago, someone broke into my house outside Houston.”
Jackson’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened.
“It was late,” she continued. “I woke up to glass breaking in the kitchen. At first, I thought it was a raccoon or something, but then I heard footsteps. He came straight for me. He was wearing a ski mask and carrying a knife.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips. The water steadied her voice. “He didn’t say a word, but I could tell what he wanted. I fought back, got to the window, and jumped.”
Jackson’s jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
“I had a plan for something like this,” she said. “A car, cash, clothes, and supplies stashed a few streets over. So I ran for it. Didn’t stop. I barely even looked back at the house.”
She swallowed hard. “I drove here. I figured if you weren’t home, I’d wait until you got back. I parked a few miles up the trail and walked the rest of the way.”
Silence settled between them for a moment. The kind that hummed with everything unsaid.
Avery looked up, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Jackson rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Obviously someone followed you here.”
Avery’s stomach tightened. “Yeah, I figured that. But I didn’t see anyone. I kept checking my mirrors the whole drive.”
“They probably didn’t need to be close,” he said. “There’s a good chance there’s a tracker on your car.”
She cursed softly, guilt hitting hard. “I should’ve swapped vehicles. I thought about it, but I didn’t have time. I just ran.”
“It’s fine,” he said, though his tone said it wasn’t. “You did what you had to do.”
“I can go check it, see if there’s a tracker. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
His answer came quick and firm. “You’re not going anywhere near that car. They could have it under surveillance. I’m texting my boss, Noah Riggs. He’ll send someone to take care of it.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb moving fast across the screen. “What kind of car?” he asked.
“A silver Honda CR-V,” she said. “It’s parked off the old ranch trail, about a mile north of your fence line.”
He nodded, typing the details before slipping his phone back in his pocket. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.
“If they find the car, they’ll figure out where you went,” he said. “Which means they’ll know you came here. I’ll have to move you to another location before nightfall.”
Her throat tightened. “You think they’ll come back?”
“I know they will,” he said quietly.
Avery’s chest ached at the certainty in his voice. Safe had always been a temporary word in her life, and she could feel it slipping away again, one heartbeat at a time.
Guilt twisted low in her chest as she watched him. She hadn’t wanted to drag this trouble into his life, not after everything he’d already been through. But when she’d been standing on that dark road with nowhere else to turn, his name had been the only one that came to mind.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
Jackson looked at her. “Yeah, you should have. You did the right thing.”
The rough certainty in his voice eased some of the pressure in her chest. For the first time in days, she could breathe.
He stood and grabbed a duffel bag from the hall closet. “Come on. I need to pack a few things before we move out.”
Avery followed him down the short hallway to his bedroom. It was simple, clean, and unmistakably his. A neatly made bed, a dresser lined with a few framed photos, and a worn pair of boots by the door. The faint scent of leather and cedar filled the air.
Jackson moved around the room with quick, efficient movements, tossing clothes and gear into the bag. Watching him stirred something she hadn’t expected.
He’d always been steady, all muscle and control, but now there was something different about him.
He was forty-one, and somehow he looked even more dangerous than before.
The years had added to him instead of taking away.
His jeans fit low on his hips, the black T-shirt stretching across his chest, and the leather jacket hanging open at his sides made him look like part cowboy, part warrior.
Avery tore her gaze away, heat creeping up her neck. She shouldn’t be noticing him like this, not now. But she couldn’t help it. The old pull between them had never really gone away.
He zipped the duffel shut and glanced at her. “You good?”
She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she meant it.
Jackson opened a drawer and pulled out a holster, then set a few boxes of ammo on the bed. The quiet rhythm of him packing filled the room. He checked each weapon before sliding it into place, every motion calm and practiced.
“Bring me up to speed,” he said without looking at her. “What’s your life been like since you disappeared?”
Avery hesitated, her fingers twisting together. “Different,” she said finally. “I’ve been living under the name Kara Holden. Small place outside Houston, quiet street, nothing special. I work from home. I’m a true crime podcaster.”
That made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I use a fake voice and a photo that’s not me. It started as a way to process everything, to talk about cases like Evan’s without saying his name. People listen. A lot of them, actually.”
Jackson’s brow furrowed. “And you think that could be connected to someone finding your real identity?”
“Maybe,” she said. “It’s possible one of my episodes hit too close to home. I’ve covered cases tied to groups like the Brotherhood. But I think this is bigger. It feels targeted.”