Chapter 33
McCrae
Mom had outdone herself again, with a spread that covered nearly every inch of the table; fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and her famous buttermilk biscuits that melted in your mouth.
Of course she’d called a family dinner; the whole family was concerned about the situation with Azalea.
Azalea sat across from me, laughing at something Kayla had said.
Her red hair caught the golden light, making it look like fire.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It seemed impossible that less than a week ago, she’d been a stranger I’d found on the side of the road.
Now, she was practically part of the family, joking with my siblings like she’d known them forever.
Canyon reached across the table for the butter, accidentally knocking over Damon’s glass of lemonade.
“For Pete’s sake,” my mother scolded, but she was smiling as she mopped up the mess with a handful of napkins.
“Sorry, Mom,” Canyon said, not looking sorry at all.
My father cleared his throat. “So, tell us about the meeting with the FBI agents. Anything new?”
The mood shifted slightly.
Azalea glanced at me before answering. “They identified the man who shot at us in Denver,” she said, her voice steady despite the subject. “His name is Manuel Diaz. Apparently, he’s high up in the trafficking organization.”
“And he’s still out there,” I added, trying to keep my tone neutral. I didn’t want to frighten my family, but they needed to know the truth. “They think he might come looking for Azalea.”
Mom’s hand flew to her mouth.
“That’s why we have Agent Thompson stationed here in Refuge Falls,” Damon said, his police chief voice taking over. “And we’ve increased patrols throughout town.”
Azalea nodded. “They wanted me to go into witness protection. Maybe I should have. I don’t want to put all of you at risk.” She stared at her food.
“But she’s safer here.” I took her hand
There was quiet for a moment.
“Azalea,” my father said, “We do want you here, we’re a tough town.”
“Yes,” Noah agreed.
“We’re not afraid,” Kayla nodded.
“There’s no better place for you than Refuge Falls,” Canyon said quietly.
My mother got up and hugged Azalea, she pulled back with tears in her eyes. “You’re part of our family now and we will protect you.”
“Thank you all,” Azalea said.
Ella hugged her next. “Hey, I know that this old lug found you,” she said pointing to me, “but I helped put you back together in the hospital and no one gets to hurt you again.”
Azalea blinked rapidly and hugged her again. “Thank you.”
The conversation shifted to lighter topics; Dylan’s work in Denver, Kayla’s latest real estate listing, Noah and Ella’s baby’s first attempts at crawling. After a bit, everyone stood to go home.
One by one, my siblings said their goodbyes. Noah and Ella left first, citing the baby’s bedtime. Damon and Isla followed shortly after, with Canyon offering to drop Kayla off on his way home.
Dylan was the last to leave, pausing to give Azalea a quick hug. “Welcome to the family chaos,” he told her. “I’m going to see Eliza, but I’ll be back later.” He winked and then headed out.
Soon, it was just Azalea, my parents, and me on the wide porch that wrapped around the house.
The night had cooled considerably, and Mom brought out a quilt for Azalea to drape over her shoulders. The rocking chairs creaked softly as we all settled into them, facing the view of the lake below.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Azalea said softly. “I can see why you never left, McCrae.”
“He did leave, for a while,” my father said. “Marine Corps. Six years.”
Azalea turned to me, surprise in her eyes. “You never mentioned that.”
I shrugged, moving to stand beside her. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about each other.”
“But we’ve got time,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
My mother coughed discreetly. “I think I left something in the kitchen. Could you help me find it?”
My father looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned on his face. “Of course. Excuse us, kids.”
When they’d gone inside, I turned to face Azalea.
She was looking out at the night. “They’re not subtle, are they?”
“The Armstrongs aren’t known for subtlety,” I replied, taking her hand into mine. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “The quilt helps. Plus, it’s not nearly as cold as I thought Wyoming would be.”
“It’s summer,” I reminded her. “Wait until January.”
She smiled. “So you’re assuming I’ll still be here in January?”
My heart skipped. “I’m hoping.”
“I meant what I said this morning,” she told me, turning to face me fully. “About staying. About us.”
I reached out and took her hand, marveling at how small it felt in mine. “I know we’re moving fast, but—”
A sharp crack interrupted me.
Both of us froze.
Another sharp noise, like the sound of a branch breaking somewhere in the darkness beyond the porch. My training kicked in immediately. I scanned the tree line at the edge of the property.
“What is it?” Azalea asked.
I put my finger to my lips, listening intently. Another sound, this time like a rustling that didn’t match the rhythm of the wind. Something—or someone—was moving through the underbrush toward the house.
“Get inside,” I said quietly, gently pushing her toward the door. “Now.”
She started to question, but another crack—closer this time—made her eyes widen. She nodded and moved swiftly toward the door.
“Dad,” I whispered as we stepped inside, “get the gun from the safe.”
My father nodded, immediately understanding the gravity in my voice. He disappeared down the hallway while my mother drew Azalea farther into the house.
“What is it?” my mother asked, her voice calm despite the tension.
“Someone’s out there,” I replied, moving to the window. “Call Damon. Now.”
My father returned with his hunting rifle, handing it to me with a grim nod. I checked the chamber—loaded.
“Stay here,” I instructed, my eyes meeting Azalea’s. “Lock the doors behind me.”
“McCrae, don’t—” she began, fear etching lines around her eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised.
My father’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Be careful, son.”
I nodded, then slipped out the side door, staying low in the shadows.
The night air was cool against my skin as I moved silently across the yard, every muscle tense and ready. The sounds were clearer now—someone was definitely moving through the brush at the edge of our property.
I circled wide, using the trees for cover. Years of military training took over, my breathing steady, my movements deliberate.
A twig snapped to my left, and I froze, spotting a dark figure crouching near the garden shed. Moonlight glinted off metal—a gun. My blood ran cold. This wasn’t some curious trespasser.
This was Diaz, or one of his men.
The figure moved toward the house, weapon raised. I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Police! Drop your weapon!” I shouted, leveling the rifle.
The figure spun, firing wildly in my direction.
The crack of gunfire split the night as I dove behind a tree, bark splintering where a bullet struck inches from my head.
I heard sirens in the distance; Mom had reached Damon. But this would be over before they arrived.
The shooter was running now, heading for the tree line. I couldn’t let him escape. I sprang from my cover, cutting across the yard to intercept him.
He spotted me, raising his weapon again, but I was too close. I tackled him hard, the impact driving the air from both our lungs as we crashed to the ground.
His gun went flying, disappearing in the darkness.
He fought like a cornered animal, landing a solid blow to my ribs that made me gasp. But I’d fought tougher men than him. I drove my fist into his jaw, following with an elbow strike that stunned him.
I recognized him—the same cold eyes, the scar along his jawline. Diaz. The man who’d shot at us in Denver, who’d nearly killed Azalea’s brother.
“It’s over,” I growled, pinning him to the ground and twisting his arm behind his back. He struggled furiously, but I held him firm, my knee in his back. “You’re done.”
The wail of sirens grew louder, and suddenly the yard was bathed in flashing red and blue lights.
Car doors slammed. Footsteps pounded across the grass.
“McCrae!” Damon’s voice called out.
“Over here!” I shouted back, not loosening my grip on Diaz. “Got him!”
Damon appeared, weapon drawn, followed by two deputies. They took over, cuffing Diaz as I stepped back, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
“You okay?” Damon asked, eyeing me.
I nodded, touching my side where Diaz had landed his punch. It would bruise, but nothing was broken. “Fine.”
The officers took over with Diaz, cuffing him, then yanking him to his feet.
We walked toward the house.
The door to the house burst open, and Azalea ran out, followed by my parents.
She launched herself into my arms, her entire body trembling.
“I thought—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, burying her face against my chest.
“I’m okay,” I murmured into her hair, holding her close. “We’re okay.”
Another set of headlights cut through the darkness as an unmarked SUV pulled up.
Agent Winters stepped out, her expression grim as she surveyed the scene.
“Diaz,” she said, approaching the handcuffed man now being led to a squad car. “You’re a long way from Mexico.”
His eyes, cold and dead, fixed on Azalea. “This isn’t over,” he spat.
“Actually,” Winters replied, “it is.” She nodded to Damon. “Let’s get him to the station.”
The interrogation room at the Refuge Falls Police Station was stark; just a metal table, three chairs, and a one-way mirror reflecting Diaz’s sullen face back at him.
Damon and I stood watching from the observation room as Winters circled Diaz like a shark.
“We have the entire operation,” she was saying. “Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming—it’s all coming down. Your bosses are in custody. The network is finished.”
Diaz said nothing, his expression unchanged.
“Why come after Ms. Ryan?” Winters pressed. “Why not run?”
For a long moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then his lips curled into something resembling a smile. “I was trying to punish her before I left the country.” His eyes flicked to the mirror, as if he could see me through it. “But her boyfriend got in the way.”
I felt a chill run down my spine, remembering how close he’d come to succeeding.
Winters leaned forward. “There’s no one else? No other cell waiting to finish what you started?”
Diaz laughed, the sound hollow and empty. “You think I’d tell you if there was?”
The interrogation continued for hours, but Diaz revealed little else. Eventually, Winters emerged from the room, looking tired.
“We’ll transfer him to federal custody tomorrow,” she told Damon and me.
“So it’s over?” I asked.
Winters nodded. “For now. We’ll keep security measures in place for a while, but yes, I think it’s over.”
I found Azalea in the break room, wrapped in one of my mother’s quilts, a cup of untouched coffee growing cold in front of her. She looked up when I entered, her eyes questioning.
“It’s over,” I said simply.
The relief that washed over her face made my heart ache. I sat beside her, taking her hands in mine.
“You were so brave,” she whispered. “But if anything had happened to you—” Tears rushed down her cheeks.
“Nothing happened,” I assured her. “And nothing will.”