Chapter 6
Caleb
“We got her, Caleb,” Jake’s voice came through, tired but triumphant. “Nora is safe.”
My shoulders sagged as the tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying suddenly released. “Thank God. Is she okay? Is everyone else alright?”
“She’s shaken up but physically unharmed. Ella’s with her now—hasn’t left her side since we got her out.” Jake’s voice lowered. “It was close, man. Too close.”
“What about Petrova?” I asked, watching as Lana moved around the kitchen, clearly trying not to eavesdrop but failing miserably. Her eyes kept darting in my direction, hopeful and anxious.
“Dead.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask.
I gave Lana a thumbs up, and her face broke into a smile so bright it momentarily distracted me from Jake’s next words.
“—at the MacGallan estate for a few days,” he was saying.
“Sorry, what was that? The connection’s not great with this storm.”
“I said we’re staying at the MacGallan estate— Wren insists we all decompress before heading home. The family doctor wants to monitor Nora, anyway, make sure there’s no delayed trauma.”
“Smart,” I agreed, watching Lana open cabinets, searching for Scout’s food. She found it and measured out a portion, her movements efficient but somehow elegant. Scout danced around her feet, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor.
“How’s your leg?” Jake asked.
“Fine,” I replied automatically, still distracted by Lana. She’d set Scout’s bowl down and was now looking through the refrigerator’s freezer. Her hair had fallen loose from its ponytail during our expedition, and she tucked a strand behind her ear as she worked.
“Bullshit,” Jake said, knowing me too well. “But I’ll let it slide for now.”
“Appreciate that,” I murmured, watching as Lana pulled out a box and a bag of fries. Something was mesmerizing about the way she moved around the kitchen—purposeful but graceful, like every motion was part of a dance she’d performed a thousand times.
“Caleb? You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I shook my head, forcing my attention back to the call. “Storm’s messing with the signal.”
“I asked if everything’s okay with Scout and the rest of the animals? Any problems I should know about?”
My eyes flicked to the ammunition box on the table, then to Lana, who was now dumping fries onto a cookie sheet. “Scout’s good. Lana just fed him. Nothing we can’t handle. Just focusing on keeping the barn animals fed and the house warm.”
“Good. I appreciate you two holding down the fort. We should be back in two, maybe three days.”
“Take your time,” I said, watching as Lana swayed slightly to music only she could hear as she added chicken fingers to the cookie sheet. “Everything’s under control here.”
We wrapped up the call with promises to check in tomorrow, and I set my phone on the table, still watching Lana.
I’d noticed she was attractive from the moment we met—anyone with functioning eyeballs would—but there was something different about seeing her like this, comfortable and in her element.
The way the kitchen light caught the highlights in her hair, the curve of her neck as she bent to adjust the wire rack in the oven, the small smile that played on her lips as she hummed softly to herself.
She turned suddenly, catching me staring. “Everything okay with Jake and Ella?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. They found Nora. She’s safe.”
Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful news!”
“They’re staying at some estate for a few days.” And then I suddenly remembered the name. “MacGallan’s place. Giving everyone time to recover before heading back.”
“I’ve stayed there myself. It’s a gorgeous place,” she said, turning back to the counter and picking up the box.
I pushed myself up from my chair, grimacing as my leg protested the movement. I’d pushed it too hard today, and I was paying for it now. Still, I managed to make my way over to the kitchen counter without my crutches.
“Need help with anything?” I asked, leaning against the counter for support.
She glanced at me skeptically. “You should be resting that leg.”
“I’ve been sitting all day. Standing for a few minutes won’t kill me.” I nodded toward the chopping board. “I’m pretty handy with a knife.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. But there’s no need to chop french fries and chicken nuggets.”
“I suppose not. I’ll just set the table then.” We worked in companionable silence until I needed to sit down, which was a mistake. Because all I could see was her jeans caressing the curve of her ass. I started to tap the table, my eyes on her backside the whole time.
“So,” I said finally, “gold bars hidden on my brother’s property.”
She laughed, the sound warm and unexpected. “Just another day at the ranch, right?”
“Apparently.” I picked up my water glass and took a gulp. “What do you think we should do?”
“About the potential fortune buried in the backyard?” She opened the oven and slid the cookie sheet inside, then set a timer for 35 minutes. “I’d say we keep looking. Find the rest of the boxes, figure out the cipher.”
“And Margret? Our mysterious note-writer?”
She took the chair across from me and sat down. Thank God. My jeans were starting to get uncomfortably tight.
“We keep our eyes open. Trust no one outside this house,” she said.
“Wise woman,” I murmured, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Shoot. Paper plates okay with you?” she asked, popping up out of her chair.
“Whatever we have is fine,” I said, tracking her movement back to the kitchen cupboard. “I’m not exactly a formal dining kind of guy.”
My leg throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that I was trying to ignore. The day’s exertion had definitely set back my recovery, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. We’d found something—something real—and that spark of discovery had awakened something in me I thought I’d buried years ago.
The storm howled outside, rattling the windows. Snow pelted against the glass like tiny bullets, creating a white noise backdrop to our temporary domestic scene. Scout had settled by the fireplace, nose tucked under his tail, occasionally opening one eye to check on us.
“You think Margret knows about the gold?” I asked, shifting to find a more comfortable position for my leg.
Lana returned with two paper plates and some napkins.
“She knows something. The question is how much.” She set the plates down and leaned against the table, arms crossed.
“And I keep wondering about that note. Why send it to you specifically? You’re Jake’s brother, but you’ve only been here for what, a month and a half? ”
I nodded. That had been bothering me, too. “Someone’s been watching. They knew I was here, knew I was injured.” I drummed my fingers on the table, mind racing. “But they also seem to think I can help them.”
“Or they’re setting you up,” Lana pointed out, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Luring you into something dangerous.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered, memories of past operations flashing through my mind—dark alleys, whispered promises, the weight of a weapon in my hand.
The oven timer beeped, and Lana went to retrieve our dinner. I watched her movements, the careful way she tested the food’s temperature, the practiced flip of her wrist as she transferred the nuggets and fries to our plates. Something was soothing about her efficiency, her quiet competence.
“Ketchup?” she asked, holding up a bottle.
“Please.”
She brought the plates to the table and sat across from me again. The food was simple but smelled amazing—or maybe I was just starving after the day’s adventures.
“So,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup, “what’s your plan for tomorrow? More treasure hunting?”
I nodded, taking a bite of a chicken nugget. “Weather permitting. We should check at least one more site, see if there’s a pattern to what Wolf left behind.”
“And if the storm doesn’t let up?”
“Then we study what we’ve found so far. Try to make sense of that journal.”