Chapter Fifteen #2
He shifted nervously, checking over his shoulder but not looking low enough to spot me crouched in the ferns and salal. "This is taking too long," he muttered to his partner. "Let's just rush him and be done with it."
The taller man shook his head. "Collins said not to kill him unless we have to."
"Screw Collins. I'm not standing out here all night."
They were getting impatient. That made them more dangerous. I needed to act before they decided to charge Dan's position. A quick glance across the clearing showed Ransom ready, his body coiled like a spring. Knox would be in position by now too.
I reached down, found a decent-sized branch, and snapped it deliberately. The sharp crack echoed through the clearing, causing both men to whirl toward the sound—toward me.
That was all the distraction we needed.
I erupted from the underbrush with a roar that came from somewhere deep and primal, a sound I barely recognized as my own.
The man in the baseball cap had just enough time to widen his eyes in shock before I slammed into him, my 255 pounds of muscle and bone knocking him flat.
His gun went flying as we hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
Across the clearing, Ransom had launched himself at the taller man, taking him down in a flying tackle that would have made our high school football coach proud. Their bodies hit the ground with a heavy thud followed by cursing and the sound of fists meeting flesh.
The man beneath me struggled, clawing at my face, trying to buck me off. I pinned his arms with my knees and pressed one large hand against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath my palm.
"Don't move," I growled, putting just enough pressure to make breathing difficult but not impossible.
"Hands where I can see them!" Knox's voice rang out as he emerged from behind the SUV, his hunting rifle aimed at Ransom's opponent, who was already subdued with Ransom's knee in his back.
Dan appeared from behind his truck, service weapon drawn despite his injured arm. "Deputy Sheriff," he announced, his voice steady despite the pain that tightened the corners of his eyes. "You're both under arrest."
We secured both men with zip ties Knox pulled from his pocket—always prepared, my oldest brother. The man I'd tackled had a split lip and would have bruises from our landing, but nothing serious. Ransom's catch was bleeding from his nose, glaring daggers at us as Ransom hauled him to his feet.
"Where's Collins?" Knox demanded, standing over them with his rifle still ready.
Baseball Cap spat blood onto the ground. "How should I know? We just do what we're told."
"And what exactly were you told to do?" Dan asked, moving closer despite the blood still seeping through his shirtsleeve.
"Follow you. Rough you up a bit. Scare you off," the taller one admitted, looking less defiant than his partner. "Collins doesn't get his hands dirty. Never has."
"He sent you to kill a cop?" Knox pressed, his voice dangerous.
"Not kill," the man insisted, eyes darting between us. "Just scare. But when you started shooting—"
"You shot first," Dan corrected. "After running me off the road."
I looked at Dan's truck, really seeing the damage now. It had rolled at least once, the driver's side crumpled from impact with what was probably a tree. He'd been lucky to walk away from that, let alone defend himself afterward.
"Collins isn't here," I said, the realization hitting me with sudden clarity. "He sent these two to keep you busy."
Dan's eyes met mine, understanding dawning in them. "A distraction."
"While he does what?" Ransom asked, tightening his grip on his captive's shoulder.
The man in the baseball cap laughed then, a harsh sound with no humor in it. "You really don't get it, do you? Collins always has a backup plan."
A cold feeling settled in my stomach as I looked at Dan. These men weren't the real threat—they were just pawns. And while we'd been focused on saving Dan, the real danger was somewhere else entirely.
With Knox and Ransom handling the prisoners, I rushed to Dan's side, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break free.
Up close, his wound looked worse—the sleeve of his sheriff's department polo soaked dark red from shoulder to elbow.
He leaned heavily against his overturned truck, face pale beneath his tan, but his eyes were clear and alert when they met mine.
"You're hurt bad," I said, the words coming out rougher than I meant them to. My hands, these big hands that could snap branches and fell men twice my size, suddenly felt clumsy and too large as I reached for him.
"Just a graze," Dan insisted, but he didn't pull away when I knelt beside him to examine the wound. "Bullet caught me when I was getting out of the truck after the crash."
I gently rolled up his sleeve, revealing a deep furrow across his bicep where the bullet had torn through skin and muscle.
Not life-threatening, but serious enough to need stitches and probably hurting like hell.
The blood had slowed to a sluggish ooze, but the edges of the wound gaped open, red and angry against his skin.
"Needs cleaning," I murmured, pulling a clean bandana from my pocket. I'd carried one since I was a boy—Pa's rule for all us McKenzie boys. Never know when you might need to stop bleeding or mark a trail. "This'll hurt."
Dan nodded, bracing himself as I pressed the cloth against the wound. He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't make a sound otherwise. Tough, my deputy, too tough for his own good sometimes.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "I shouldn't have tried to handle this alone. When I saw that truck following me, I just... I couldn't lead them to you. Couldn't put you in danger because of me."
Something hot and uncomfortable rose in my chest at his words. I kept my eyes on his arm, pressing the bandana firmly against the bleeding as I gathered my thoughts.
"That wasn't your choice to make," I said finally, meeting his gaze. "Not alone."
Confusion flickered across his face. "Harlow, I was trying to protect—"
"I know what you were trying to do," I cut him off, voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me. "Same thing Ma does. Same thing Knox does. Same thing everyone's always done. Trying to keep me safe because they think I can't handle danger."
"That's not—"
"It is," I insisted, tying the bandana carefully around his arm. "And I'm tired of it. Tired of people deciding what I can handle without asking me. Tired of being protected instead of being a partner."
Dan went still under my hands, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that might have made me uncomfortable once, but not anymore. Not with him.
"Last night in the barn, what we did together..." I continued, keeping my voice low, "that wasn't just bodies feeling good. Not for me. It was choosing you. Choosing us. And partners face danger together, not by running off alone to be heroes."
The words poured out of me, more than I usually managed at once, but they needed saying.
I'd spent my whole life being the one people protected, the special one who needed looking after.
Even Knox, who respected me more than most, still sometimes treated me like I couldn't make my own choices when danger came knocking.
But Dan was different. Dan saw me. Really saw me. And I needed him to understand that protecting me by excluding me wasn't love—it was just another kind of cage.
"Partners," Dan repeated, the word soft on his lips like he was tasting it. A small smile touched the corners of his mouth, spreading to his eyes despite the pain he must have been feeling. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," I said, helping him to his feet with a gentleness that belied my size. "Because I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
He swayed slightly as he stood, and I steadied him with a hand at his waist. We were close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the mix of sweat and blood and that clean soap scent that was just Dan.
Despite everything—the danger, the wound, the prisoners watching us from the SUV—I wanted nothing more than to pull him against me and hold him until the world made sense again.
Instead, I kept my arm around him, supporting his weight as Knox approached, phone in hand.
"Sheriff's sending backup," Knox announced, sliding his phone into his pocket.
"And these two are starting to talk." He nodded toward the captives, now secured in the back of the SUV under Ransom's watchful eye.
"Sounds like Collins has been using our northwest property as a base for more than just poaching.
There's a whole operation—weapons, drugs, the animal parts. Big money."
"Did they say where Collins is now?" Dan asked, his body tensing against mine.
Knox shook his head. "Claims they don't know. Just following orders, picking up their money at dead drops. Collins keeps his distance, covers his tracks."
"Smart," Dan muttered. "Makes prosecution harder without direct links."
"Your arm needs attention," Knox said, eyeing the blood-soaked bandana. "We should get you to Doc Mitchell before you lose more blood."
Dan shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw I was coming to recognize. "Not until we find Collins. He's still out there, and this—" he gestured at the overturned truck and the captured men, "—was just to keep me busy."
"Keep us busy," I corrected quietly, the weight of those words settling between us. "But why? What's the real plan?"
"That's what we need to figure out," Knox said grimly. "Ransom's calling the sheriff again, seeing if there's been any other reports of trouble in the county tonight."
Dan straightened beside me, pulling away from my support to stand on his own despite the pain it clearly caused him. "We need to move. These two were just pawns. Collins is making his real play somewhere else."