Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
ENZO
Maybe I should get a dog.
Back when I moved here as a kid, Uncle Caleb had Rascal—a gentle retriever mix with endless patience and enthusiasm.
In the beginning, the hours of fetch and hide and seek with Rascal helped distract me from the memories my mother and I left behind in Buffalo.
And later, once I found friends and a baseball team and a job mowing lawns for the neighbors, Rascal was still my constant companion. He was there through the nightmares and disappointments and the times when I’d wonder why my father didn’t love me enough to stick around.
Even when his hips were bad and he couldn’t play like he used to, Rascal would still bring me his stash of tennis balls and I’d toss them carefully so he could fetch them without having to run. Uncle Caleb and I built special steps so Rascal could still get onto my bed. And every day when I came home from school, that fuzzy face was right at the front door, waiting for me.
Man. Almost twenty years later and I still miss him.
In the years since, I was never in a position to get a dog. Not as an enlisted soldier, and definitely not as a Green Beret, traveling to some of the most dangerous places in the Middle East as part of the Operational Detachment Team A, or A-Team. Up until ten months ago, I wasn’t home long enough to have any kind of pet.
But now, everything is different.
I’m not stationed at Fort Campbell, living in a small apartment off-base that was empty just as often as not.
I’m not risking my life each time I get sent out on a mission, never knowing if this will be the time I don’t make it home.
I’m not part of a team anymore. My teammates—my brothers and sisters, really—are voices on the phone or messages on a screen, instead of the people I saw almost every day.
Ten months out of the Army, I’m still adjusting to civilian life. No longer weapons sergeant and sniper for my team, but owner of an outdoor equipment store, an old farmhouse, and ten acres of land just north of Stowe, Vermont.
When my uncle said he was leaving everything to me, at first I tried to refuse it. As he looked up at me from his hospital bed, so terrifyingly pale and thin, his voice barely more than a whisper, my mind didn’t want to accept what he was saying. “You’ll get better,” I insisted. “I’ll take some leave, help out until you’re back on your feet. But you don’t need to give me anything.”
But he was dying, no matter how badly I wanted to deny it.
Uncle Caleb, the man who was a thousand times more a father to me than my biological one, who took me and my mother in without question, showed me how to pitch, and helped me prepare for basic training, was dying.
A few days later, once the inevitability had finally set in, I asked him, “What about the rest of the family? Mom? Your brother? His kids?”
“Your mom… is all… set.” By that point, he had to stop every few words to take a weak, gasping breath. “I put… money aside. For her… trips. Retirement. My brother… his kids… they’ve never… been around. I don’t want…”
With tears in his eyes, he held my gaze as he said, “Enzo. You’re my son… in every way… that counts. Bliss… this place… I want you… to have it. You’ll be happy… here. I know it.”
From that moment, I knew my life was about to change.
I promised to take over everything. And after Uncle Caleb passed—just a few days later, like he’d been hanging on, waiting for me to say yes—I informed the Army I wouldn’t be renewing my contract.
Two months later, I packed up my small apartment in Kentucky and moved back here.
And now I’m back in the small town I spent eight years in, seeing the same people I went to school with, the same restaurants, the same stores, even the same gazebo in the park, just with a fresh coat of paint.
It’s surreal, really. Like everything else stayed the same and I’m the only one different.
Well. The house is different, too. Before, there was always someone here—my mom, my uncle, my friends, Rascal—and now it’s just me.
There are plenty of times I’m glad for the solitude. On the days when the memories get too sharp and vivid, I’m relieved to have a place where I don’t have to pretend everything’s okay. When the losses sneak up on me—Uncle Caleb, Jeff, all the innocents we couldn’t save—I can walk for hours around the property until my mind settles again.
And there are nights like this, sitting on the wraparound porch and enjoying the cooling summer breeze and the rhythmic chirping of crickets and remembering the nights when I sat out here with my uncle, hearing stories from when he was a kid.
Most of the time, I’m happy to be back here. But I can’t help wondering if a dog might make it feel more like home again. Maybe an older dog who’s given up on finding a family. A dog who’s been through things, who might be rough around the edges, just like me.
The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.
Maybe I’ll check online to see what the local shelter has available. If I find a dog that looks like a possibility, I could swing by on Thursday afternoon, when my part-time employee, Will, is working.
Leaning back in my chair, I prop my feet on the porch railing, and I can practically hear Uncle Caleb scolding me, saying, Enzo, you’re going to fall over and break your skull or the chair. Put your damn feet on the ground.
“Living on the edge,” I murmur, smiling as I leave my feet where they are. Then I think, wouldn’t that just be the worst kind of irony; surviving helicopter evacs and being trapped by insurgents and barely escaping a building rigged with explosives only to give myself a skull fracture on my own front porch?
Chuckling, I lower my feet back to the ground, and I can imagine Uncle Caleb laughing along with me.
I’m just reaching for my phone when it buzzes with an incoming text. My smile grows wider when I glance at the screen to see a message from my old teammate, Cole. We served in the same Green Beret company, though he was on the other split team. He left the service five years before I did, but we still keep in touch and I’ve visited him a few times in Sleepy Hollow, where he runs an elite security company.
How’s it going? We were just talking about funny stories from training and Zane brought up the time you got stuck in that tree. We thought we’d have to uproot the tree to get you through the course.
A small snort escapes. Of course, my old teammates would remember that incident from our unconventional warfare training, one of the hardest requirements to become a Green Beret. Shaking my head, I shoot back a reply.
Yes. I remember. But did you guys talk about that time you were bitten by that harmless spider and swore it was a black widow? Even though we told you it wasn’t?
A few seconds go by before his response appears.
It had red on it. You would have thought the same thing.
And we were talking about the tree. Not spiders.
Laughing, I send a quick reply.
I don’t know. I think the spider story is much better.
After another brief pause, Cole sends another message.
Fine. We both looked like idiots. Anyway, just wanted to see how you’re doing. Everything good with the store?
I hesitate before answering.
Yeah. Still kind of strange being out. Not seeing everyone. But it’s good to be back here after so long.
The three dots blink on and off several times.
I get it. It was hard for me too, at first. Having other people around who understood made it easier. Not that we talked about the bad shit, but we could go out for a beer or play pool or something. It helped.
He’s got a point. I’ve been so busy with the store and fixing things around the house and property, I haven’t spent much time with my Army buddies who actually live nearby. Alec is one town over, but I’ve only met up with him a handful of times since I moved here. And Knox lives less than twenty minutes away, so there’s no excuse for not seeing him more often.
I nod at the phone as I type my response.
You’re right. I should make more of an effort.
Before he can respond, I send another message.
And you should come visit. Any time. I’d love to see Maya and Clara again. Clara must be walking by now, right? We can get her started hiking.
Cole replies quickly.
Sounds great. I’ll talk to Maya. Hopefully we can make it before the end of the summer.
I’m about to respond when another text comes in, this time from an unfamiliar number.
Enzo. It’s Annette. I know it’s late but I thought you’d want to know right away.
It takes a second for the name to connect.
Annette. Annie. We went to high school together, but she was two years younger than me. We didn’t hang out—she was in the drama club and band, while I focused more on sports—but in such a small town, it was impossible not to know everyone.
Her next message appears on the screen.
I just answered a 911 call. Someone said there’s a robbery going on at your uncle’s store. The police are on the way. They should be there in less than ten minutes.
For a second, I’m sure it’s a joke.
There’s no way I’m getting a text from a girl I sort of knew from high school, who apparently is now a 911 operator, telling me someone’s trying to rob Uncle Caleb’s store.
It just doesn’t make sense.
This is Bliss. The town where the worst crime of the last few months was two teenagers egging a house on a dare.
But then again. I’ve seen how evil people really can be.
And if someone wanted to rob a place off the beaten path, they might…
Ten minutes. That’s what Annette said. Ten minutes for the police to get there. Enough time for plenty of theft and destruction and for the culprit to get away.
Or.
I could go. The store is right on my property, no more than a three-minute drive. Two, if I hurry.
Should I wait for the police to get there? Yes.
Am I going to? No.
My mind shifts into combat mode. All the things I need to do tick by in rapid-fire succession. Grab my Sig from the cabinet in the living room. Keys from the table by the door. Take the hatchback instead of the old pickup truck—the newer engine will allow for a quieter approach.
During the short drive to the store, I run through my plan.
Headlights off once I hit the driveway. No worry about navigation; I’ve gone to the store so many times I could make the trip blindfolded.
Park along the west side of the building, the one without any windows.
Check the back door first. My guess is that’s the one an intruder would use.
I curse myself for not installing a full security system, like I’d been nagging my uncle to do for years. If I had, it would have alerted me already. But Uncle Caleb always pushed back when I brought it up, saying, “It’s a safe town, Enzo. I don’t need it. And if someone really needs the money that badly, they can have it.”
When I moved here, I thought about having Alec put in a system—he owns a home security company, after all—but I almost felt like I was going against what my uncle would want. So I put it off, and now I wish I hadn’t.
Less than a year and I’ve already screwed up. I’m supposed to be taking care of Uncle Caleb’s store, not letting some asshole rob it.
But if I catch the person in the act…
I’m trained to take down an enemy in seconds. Close combat or at a distance, an ordinary burglar doesn’t stand a chance against me.
Decades of training and experience make me the threat. Not the intruder. Not the police. Me.
As I come down the driveway toward the store, I’m almost disappointed to discover the parking lot empty. Though it doesn’t necessarily mean the store is—whoever broke in could have made their approach by foot. Not great for a quick getaway, but in the thick brush of the woods, it would be nearly impossible to follow them.
It’s a dark night, but my gaze is still constantly moving, searching for some hint of movement. A shadow appearing behind the front windows, a glint of metal, a flicker of a flashlight quickly extinguished.
There’s nothing. From the outside, the store looks exactly as I left it five hours ago.
But when I get to the back of the store, it’s a different story.
The back door is open, and the motion sensor light above has been smashed, leaving fragments of plastic scattered on the pavement below it. That was one concession my uncle made, and it wasn’t because of burglars—if he went out in the dark, he wanted to make sure he didn’t encounter an unfriendly animal or end up sprayed by a skunk.
My jaw clenches as I take in the first sign of damage. Anger surges, but I tamp it down. This is the time for careful observation and cool-headed strategy, not the heat of emotion.
Sig out and ready, I slowly enter the store, listening for any small noise that could signal the location of an intruder—a sniffle, a caught breath, a shuffle, the slight creak of a foot on old wooden flooring.
It’s darker than I’d like, with just a single nightlight casting a faint glow along the hallway floor. I make a mental note to add lights to the security package I’m going to have Alec install as soon as possible.
All the doors in the hallway are shut, just as I left them. That doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be lurking behind one, and I take a second to debate where to search first—the front room, the office, the bathroom, or one of the two storage closets.
The front room has all the expensive gear, but a burglar could also be searching for a safe in the office. So it’s really a toss-up which one to check first. They’ll be out of luck if they’re looking for a safe, though. At the end of each day, I take all the cash with me to be stored in the safe back at home.
I decide to start in the salesroom—so an intruder can’t potentially slip out the front door ahead of me—and that’s when I really get pissed.
The glass case that holds all the GPS devices and utility knives and smart watches has been smashed, and half of the stock is missing. All the hiking backpacks are strewn across the floor, and one of the clothing racks is on its side on the floor, all the fleece jackets in a crumpled heap beneath it.
The register is upside down on the floor, probably thrown there in anger after the burglar realized there was no money inside it.
In the corner, the display tent is smashed almost beyond recognition; all broken poles and torn fabric and mesh.
Then I see red, and my chest ignites with fury.
There’s a gas can on the floor. As I move closer to it, I catch the scent of fresh gasoline.
They were going to set fire to the store.
I’m not sure why they stopped, or if they’re still here, intent on finishing their plan.
But it’s not happening.
My pulse throbs as I move back toward the hallway and the four unopened doors. If I find the person responsible for this…
I make quick work of the closets and bathroom, not that I was expecting anyone to be in there. My gut is telling me the person responsible for this is gone—interrupted, or perhaps warned.
Still. They could be in the office.
Whoever did this could be in there, possibly with a gun.
So I’m as cautious as I would be on any mission. I open the door silently and push it open while jerking my body to the side, keeping out of the way in case a shot fires.
When nothing happens, I move into the small office, gun at the ready, bracing myself for a possible attack.
Still, nothing.
A quick scan of the room shows it empty.
But then.
I catch a hint of something.
Not an unpleasant scent, but something soft. Feminine.
Could the intruder be a woman?
Could she be hiding under the desk? Holding a weapon? Waiting for me to turn my back and then?—
I move closer to the desk.
A cool calm sweeps over me; the same one that comes at the critical part of every mission. It’s devoid of emotion. All I feel is a single-minded focus. Find the enemy. Neutralize the threat.
A second later, the calm shatters.
It’s a woman, but she’s not a threat.
I yank my phone out and turn on the flashlight.
The woman is crumpled on the floor, her limbs splayed out like a rag doll’s. A large goose-egg is rising on her forehead, already turning a livid red. She’s unconscious—her lashes a dark sweep against pale cheeks.
Is she unconscious? Or is she…
Lightly pressing my fingers to her neck, I can feel the steady thrum of her pulse. On closer inspection, I can see the rise and fall of her chest. So she’s alive, hopefully not too badly hurt, but until she wakes up there’s no way to know for sure.
Glancing around her prone body, there doesn’t appear to be a weapon.
Could she have one hidden in her clothing? Possibly. But I don’t think so.
Logic tells me she could still be the enemy. That I shouldn’t engage, keep my gun trained on her, and wait for the police to arrive.
But instinct is telling me she’s hurt. She’s a woman, a small and fragile-looking one at that, and she’s injured. Instinct demands I take care of her.
My gut says she’s no threat, so I go with it. Gently touching her shoulder, I pitch my voice low and ask, “Can you hear me? I’m not going to hurt you. Can you open your eyes? Talk to me?”
I repeat it as worry builds inside me. My stomach knots.
Then her eyelids flutter open and she looks up at me.
Bright green eyes meet mine.
Ah, shit.
I know who she is.
How could I not have realized? The prettiest woman I’ve seen in years, maybe ever, with the most incredible green eyes. In daylight, she has a cute smattering of freckles across her nose and her dark hair is streaked with shimmering bronze and copper.
Not just pretty, but sweet. Smart. New in town and so excited about it.
How did she end up here?
“Winter?” I ask. “Can you talk to me?”
She blinks. Her chin wobbles. “Enzo?”
“Yeah.” Even though I shouldn’t—she broke into my store, for Pete’s sake—I take one of her trembling hands in mine. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Tears well up. “I…” Panic flashes in her eyes. “Oh, God. Thomas. Is he here? You have to stop him.” The tears break free, streaking down the sides of her face and into her hair. “It’s not safe. You have?—”
Her breath starts coming in panicked gasps, and she struggles to get up. “The gas. Enzo, you need to get out. Is he here? I tried to stop him. I called?—”
“Winter, it’s okay.” I put my hand on her shoulder and gently push her back down. “He’s not here. It’s just you.”
“I tried,” she says, now crying in earnest. “I tried to stop him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
None of this makes sense. I don’t know Winter well, but she doesn’t seem like someone who’d be involved in a burglary. Or arson.
And why was she unconscious in my office? Who hurt her?
The sound of sirens catches my attention, signaling the imminent arrival of the police.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Despite all my unanswered questions, I can’t make myself let go of her hand. “He’s not here. The police are on the way. We’ll get you to the hospital, alright?”
“It’s not.” Winter sucks in a shuddering breath. Her gaze is filled with fear and pain and despair. “It can’t be okay. Not with him still out there.”