Chapter 7
By mid-afternoon, Lyle was elbow-deep in the security panel by the back gate, rewiring access codes while sweat dripped down his neck. The Texas heat didn't care that he was trying to save someone's life. It just kept pressing down like a hand on his back.
"This one's gonna cover the blind spot by the cattle guard," he told Mike, gesturing toward the camera angle. "Anyone comes in that way, we'll know."
Kenny appeared from the equipment shed carrying a battered green military footlocker that looked like it had survived three deployments and a flood. Inside were trail cameras, motion sensors, and enough wire to fence in half the county.
Mike eyed the coils. "You planning to catch bad guys or coyotes?"
"Either one tries to get near her, they're gonna wish they hadn't," Kenny said.
"Just don't booby-trap the goat pen again,” Lyle said. “Tiny's still holding a grudge."
Kenny's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Goat had it coming."
With fluid precision, Kenny headed into the wild acreage beyond the barn, motion-triggered cameras slung across his shoulder, his face set in a stony mask. Mike watched him go. Kenny was a man made for danger, but was using his gifts now to protect, to watch, to wait.
Mike hauled feed sacks into the barn, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid. Knowing someone was closing in, they’d all gone into military mode so it was all hand on deck to juggle the added precaution and still keep the ranch running smoothly.
Arletta appeared at the barn door. "She's gone," she said without preamble.
“Who’s gone?” Mike dropped the sack, preoccupied, his mind busy with all that needed to get done.
"Liv. Said she needed air about two hours ago. Haven't seen her since." Arletta's voice was calm, but her eyes weren't. "I checked her room. Bed's made. Phone's on the nightstand. Her good boots are gone."
Mike's chest went tight. "Did she take anything else?"
"Her jacket. The fleece one Heather gave her."
Damn it. His part in their plan had been never to leave her alone. And he’d done just that. He was moving before he'd consciously decided to, texting his brothers, already calculating where she might go . . . or worse, who might have her.
He checked the bunkhouse. Empty.
The kitchen. Nothing.
The side porch where she liked to sit with her tea in the evenings. The only thing there was her water bottle, abandoned on the stone bench.
Mike stood there, staring at that bottle, panic clawing up his throat.
He was halfway to his truck when Charlotte intercepted him, Pudge trotting behind her like a judgmental shadow.
"Is Miss Liv okay?" she asked, eyes big and worried. “Pudge was eavesdropping on Arletta.”
Mike crouched down, knowing good and well Charlotte was the one with big ears and a penchant for lurking. "I'm gonna make sure she is. You go find Heather and stay with her, all right?"
"She looked sad this morning," Charlotte said. "I gave her a rock. The shiny one I found by the creek. But she cried."
Mike's throat tightened. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they're grateful, sweetheart."
"Are you gonna bring her back?"
"Yeah. I am." Whatever it took. Even if he had to pry her from the hands of a sleazy hitman.
Mike stood and ruffled Charlotte’s hair.
Then he remembered the lake house ruins.
Heather had taken Liv there once, a quiet place where the water whispered and pine shadows softened the daylight. If she’d left on her own, that would likely be the place she’d go. If she hadn’t left on her own . . . well, he didn’t want to even think about that.
Abandoning the truck, he headed for the barn and saddled Blaze in record time.
The lake house used to be a guest cabin, built decades ago when the Watkins ranch first opened to travelers, back when his parents were alive and well before any of them had concocted the idea of opening a working dude ranch.
A fire had burned it down several years back.
Now it was just a skeleton of aged timber and open sky, nestled beside the glinting edge of the lake, still and secret.
And there she was.
Relief and anger hit him all at once.
She sat curled into herself on the weathered remains of the front step, wrapped in the old fleece blanket Heather had kept in the supply building. Her blonde hair fell around her face like a curtain, shielding her from the world.
Mike dismounted, leaving the reins loose for Blaze to graze.
"Liv."
Her head snapped toward him. Tears stained her cheeks, dried now into lines. She hooked her hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disappear."
"You scared the hell out of me."
She looked away. "I needed space."
He sucked in a long breath, trying to steady himself. "You can't just vanish. Not with what's going on."
"I know." Her voice cracked.
"Then why?" He stepped forward, boots crunching on the dry grass. "Why leave us guessing whether you've been taken? Whether you're hurt? Whether—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "Whether you're coming back."
She flinched. "I don't know how to do this, Mike." Her voice rose. "I don't know how to trust people. It’s always been just me. I mean, my parents love me, but they have their own lives. I don’t even know if they’re home, and even if they are I can’t involve them, put them in danger. And your family is amazing, but this isn’t fair to you. ”
His jaw tightened. "You don't get to make that call."
"I never meant for the ranch to get involved. For you to get involved."
"Well, I am." His voice cracked. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Liv, the people here, my family, they'd walk through a burning building for you.
Hell, Kenny's out there right now stringing tripwire in the dark like it's Christmas morning.
" He paused. Swallowed hard. "And me? I'd burn before I let anyone hurt you. "
A tremor rippled through her shoulders. “As kind and wonderful as that it, it’s not okay.”
Mike closed the distance between them and crouched in front of her, hands gentle around her wrists. "Talk to me. Please."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then the words came, slow and broken.
"I saw a man die." The words came out flat. Empty. Like she'd said them so many times in her head they'd lost meaning. "I was catering this private event. Exclusive. The kind where they make you sign an NDA before you even walk in the door."
Mike stayed quiet. Waiting.
"I was refilling water glasses during dinner. Heard voices in the hallway. Raised. Angry. I thought maybe someone had too much to drink, you know? That I should steer clear." She pulled the blanket tighter. "But I looked. I don't know why. Curiosity. Instinct. Stupidity."
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
"There were two men. One in a tux. One on his knees. The man standing had a gun. And he just—" She made a small, helpless gesture. "He pulled the trigger. No hesitation. Like it was nothing."
Mike's thumbs stroked the insides of her wrists, gently, encouraged her to continue.
"There was blood. On the marble. On the wall. And the man, Damian Russo, turned and saw me."
"Did he recognized you?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Our eyes met for half a second. Maybe less. But it was enough." She looked at Mike, and her eyes were haunted. "I ran. Grabbed my coat. Walked out the service entrance like I was just going for air. And I never went back."
Mike shifted his hands and threaded his fingers through hers.
"I told one person. A detective I'd met before.
His daughter went to culinary school with me.
He believed me, suspected we were dealing with organized crime.
He said if I stayed in New York, I'd likely end up dead or framed.
So he gave me cash. A burner phone. A fake social security card. And told me to disappear for a while."
"And you've been running ever since."
She nodded.
"I'm so tired, Mike." Her voice broke. "I'm tired of being scared. Tired of lying. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I really just want to call my mom—and we’re not even that close."
They sat in silence for a long moment. The lake whispered. Somewhere, a night bird called.
Mike's hands were still holding hers. She could feel his pulse in his wrist—steady, strong, alive.
"I don't know what to do," she said finally.
"First off, you don’t pull any more disappearing stunts." His thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand. "Next, you trust us. You let us help."
She looked up at him then. Really looked. At the man who'd given her a job without asking questions. Who'd fought with her over biscuits and laughed when she won. Who'd held her in a walk-in freezer and didn't let go even when the door opened.
Who'd ridden out into the dark to find her when he could have just left her to her own stupidity.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you willing to put yourself and your whole family in danger for me?"
Mike's jaw worked. He looked away, then back.
"Because when you're in my kitchen at five in the morning, humming while you roll dough, the whole world makes sense.
" His voice went rough. "Because Charlotte lights up when you walk in a room.
Because you make Arletta laugh. Because Kenny almost smiled at you yesterday, and that man doesn't smile at anyone. "
He paused.
"Because when I look at you, Liv, I don't see someone running. I see someone I want to run toward."
Her breath caught.
His hand came up, slow and careful, and cupped the side of her face. His thumb brushed just beneath her cheekbone, catching a tear before it could fall.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Cookie.” Although he stated his intention it was still a question, one that she answered by fisting her hand in his shirt and leaning in, giving him permission.
Her lips were soft and mobile and made him want to rush and savor at the same time. He slid his hands into her hair, tilting her head, and she made a sound low in her throat that broke something open in his chest. She tasted like salt and fear and something sweeter underneath. Hope, maybe. Trust.