Chapter Five
Pope relaxed against the back of the worn leather chair in the common room. Truman, one of the vets and a good buddy of his, sat opposite him, his service dog lying at his feet.
The dog—a big shepherd named Ranger—had apparently decided his favorite part of the day was coffee time with his owner and Pope. For Ranger, it meant a full belly, the warm lodge and a nap stretched across his owner’s boots.
It had become a morning ritual to share a few quiet minutes over full mugs of coffee. Sometimes they talked about life and whatever the therapy program had them doing that week. Sometimes they just sat there listening to the lodge wake up around them.
Truman turned his head toward the big window overlooking the paddock. Willow was out there with one of the veterans in a therapy session. In the adjacent pasture, Pope’s horse galloped, mane flowing behind him.
“That horse is filling out nice,” Truman said.
Pope glanced beyond his friend to the window. Flint moved with an easy grace bred into him—he couldn’t take any credit for anything but his behavior.
He dipped his head and took a sip of coffee. “Willow says he’s one of the smartest horses she’s ever seen.” He studied the gelding, almost wishing he could keep him instead of taking him to the upcoming auction.
Truman huffed once, and Ranger looked up at his owner. Sensing his mood, he laid back down, muzzle on his paws.
Truman twitched his mug toward the window. “What do you think Flint’s gonna fetch at auction?”
“No clue. Lots of opinions on the ranch, though.”
“Willow thinks if I go through with taking him to auction, the price will skyrocket the minute he enters the arena.” He leaned down to scratch behind Ranger’s ear, and the dog heaved a happy sigh.
“Guess we’ll see when the time comes.”
Truman studied him. The man had been blown up and lost half his platoon, and he saw a lot while saying little. From what Pope saw, he didn’t shy away from difficult subjects—as long as it wasn’t about him.
“You’re attached to the horse.”
“Animals are easy to get attached to. You should know.”
As if Ranger knew they were talking about him, his eyebrows lifted like he waggled them.
“Ever think about not selling the horse?”
Before Pope could answer, the lodge doors opened. A petite redhead with curves for days hurried inside, a clipboard against her chest.
At the same time, he and Truman turned to her.
“Who’s that?” Truman asked.
“New girl in the security office. Name’s Ayla.”
She spotted them and hurried over. “There you are, Pope. Carson wants you over at the office.”
He set his mug aside and pushed to his feet. “Catch you later, Truman.”
“See ya, Pope.”
Ranger lifted his head, then dropped it back onto his paws with clear disappointment that his routine hadn’t only been interrupted but cut short.
Pope grabbed his hat off the side table and shoved it over his head as he followed Ayla out of the lodge.
“What’s this about?” he asked her as they headed to the door. For being so much shorter than him, her steps were surprisingly quick and she kept up with no trouble at all.
“Carson didn’t say. He just sent me to find you.”
When he reached the office door, he held it open for the woman to pass through first. He moved directly to Carson’s office and stopped just inside the doorway. Three of the Malones were present, and they all turned with expressions he couldn’t read.
Carson gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
It felt too much like he was about to hear bad news, but he drifted to the seat and sank to it.
“This is about Summer?” he asked at once.
“She’s okay. We’ll get to that in a moment.”
He steeled himself, back rigid. “What’s going on?”
Carson sent him an appraising look. Suddenly, he felt like he was in an arena, waiting to see if anybody thought he was worth taking home.
Carson leaned forward with his forearms on the desk. “I’ve spoken with my brothers. We’d like to talk to you about joining the team.”
Just when he thought he couldn’t be blindsided more than he’d been by Summer telling him they had no future. He stilled as Carson’s statement landed between them.
When he thought about rejoining civilian life, he could never make the picture gel in his mind. But joining Black Heart Security… God, it made sense.
Still, hearing the offer spoken directly hit different. He looked from Carson to Colt to Oaks, searching for the catch. Hell, he never saw this offer coming.
He never knew he wanted it so damn bad either.
Men like him—men as damaged as him—weren’t handed exactly what they wanted without a hook buried in it somewhere.
“You’re serious.”
“We are,” Carson answered. “And we’re taking Summer’s case.”
Every bit of air left Pope’s chest. His gaze locked on Carson. “You are?”
“Yes.”
That one word slid through him fast and hard, relief tangled with fear so tightly he couldn’t separate the two. They were taking Summer’s case, which meant he hadn’t imagined the risk. Hadn’t overreacted. Hadn’t let his feelings for her turn concern into paranoia.
Carson gave him a level look. “We read your file. You have the kind of skills we’re looking for.”
Colt sat on the worn leather sofa lining one wall and stretched his arm along the back. “You look like you’re waiting for bad news to hit.”
He compressed his lips and felt his chest loosen a notch. “What does this entail?”
Carson tapped a fingertip on the desk. “We’re going to give you a trial run. And your first case is Summer’s.”
Emotions rippled through him, from relief to sharp protectiveness so fast it almost felt like taking a bullet.
Then Carson’s expression shifted. “There’s more you need to know.”
Pope held his breath.
“Summer told us the tire wasn’t just flat,” Carson said. “The garage said it was deliberately punctured.”
The words hit him like a fist to the chest.
Pope’s hands curled once against his thighs, then released. He saw the parking lot again. Summer climbing out of her car. The sagging tire. The way she’d looked exhausted and embarrassed and too damn alone under that cold bar light.
Deliberately punctured.
Not bad luck.
Not a nail on the road.
Somebody had put a blade into her tire when she was working.
“And that’s not all,” Oaks said.
Pope turned to him.
“She had groceries delivered to her porch. A lot of them. Staples, extras for Ben, enough to make it clear whoever sent them knew what she needed.”
The air grew too thin to take a breath. Pope didn’t speak for a second because if he did, it would sound like the sailor he’d once been.
Groceries on her porch. Tires paid for. A punctured tire.
Somebody knew Summer couldn’t afford tires or groceries.
Fucking hell. She’d been carrying that kind of financial strain alone while still showing up every night at the bar with a smile and teasing him between stolen kisses like her world wasn’t balancing on a knife edge.
Shame crawled through his chest. He’d been inside her bed for months and never realized how close to drowning she really was.
“Who paid for the tires?” His tone was rough.
“We don’t know yet,” Carson said. “Garage said there was a credit on her account. The person left no name and paid in cash—they knew how much her tires would cost.”
Fuck. That strike felt even closer to the bone. Pope stared at the folder in front of him like it might give him the name of whoever had stepped into Summer’s life without permission.
Whoever had done it got close enough to study the weak spots in her life. And if it wasn’t kindness, then it was leverage.
His gaze lifted to Carson’s. “I want in.”
He could keep her safe. And little Ben too. He’d seen the child around town with Summer but never been introduced. The boy deserved a life where his mother didn’t walk through dark parking lots afraid.
Pope lifted his head and met every eye in the room, moving over all three brothers who built the Black Heart Security Agency from a dream backed by a lot of experience and skill. The fact that they were drawing him into their midst raised a feeling of pride he didn’t expect.
“I’m not just protective because this is Summer. It’s…who I am.”
Their expressions didn’t alter, but he knew they got it—they were cut from the same cloth.
But his last protection detail hadn’t gone well.
The diplomat he’d been assigned to guard overseas always filled Pope’s mind without asking permission. A man with a wife and kids and enough enemies that he required constant surveillance.
Pope had run through that day too many times in his head. Every choice subjected to questioning, every route reevaluated. Every second between life and death picked apart until there was nothing left but regret.
He flexed his fingers. Tattooed across his knuckles were the words PAST PAID—a reminder that the debt had been settled and the punishment was over.
At least, that had been the idea when he’d gotten the ink.
The tattoo had come years before the Black Heart. Before therapy. Before Rhae spent countless hours convincing him that surviving wasn’t a crime and living wasn’t a betrayal.
It had taken a lot longer for him to believe the words than it had to tattoo them onto his skin.
Carson’s expression shifted like he knew exactly where Pope’s mind had gone. After all, he did read his file.
“Much like the military, Black Heart Security can’t predict every outcome with one hundred percent accuracy. But you’re not in the military here. You’d need to take action on your own, not simply follow orders. We’d expect you to make quick choices and live with them.”
Pope’s jaw tightened. There it was—that catch he’d been waiting for. Could he do what they were asking?
In Baghdad, he hadn’t ignored protocol. He’d called for medics, followed procedure and watched a man die in front of him anyway. That kind of failure stayed with a man.
And if he made the wrong call here—if he missed something or hesitated because he second-guessed himself—Summer and Ben would pay for it.
He couldn’t take risks with their lives.
He couldn’t afford to leave her safety in someone else’s hands either—even the men he trusted.