Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
WOLFE
Ican still smell her on my skin.
Not the time for that thought. I push it down, lock it away, and focus on the tree line two hundred yards from my cabin. Derek Whitmore is coming. Twenty minutes out now, maybe less. I need to be ready.
My rifle is a familiar weight in my hands.
Sixteen years of muscle memory guide me as I check the magazine, verify the scope, settle into the natural blind I built three years ago when I first moved here.
Snow-covered brush conceals me from anyone approaching on the main trail.
I have clear sightlines in three directions.
If Whitmore comes this way, I'll see him long before he sees me.
The radio crackles. "Wolfe, it's Mace. Target just passed the Reeves property line. He's on foot now, left the truck at the trailhead."
"Copy. I have eyes on the approach."
"Deck wants to know if you need backup."
Deck. Our team leader, recently married, recently shot, recently reminded that none of us are invincible. He'd understand what I'm feeling right now. The cold clarity of purpose. The absolute certainty that I will end anyone who threatens what's mine.
"Negative. One target, one operative. Keep the perimeter secure in case he doubles back."
"Understood. Be careful."
I don't respond. Careful isn't what I'm feeling.
The minutes stretch. I regulate my breathing, slow my heartbeat, let my body settle into the patient stillness that kept me alive through dozens of missions. A sniper's greatest weapon isn't the rifle. It's the ability to wait. To watch. To become part of the landscape until the moment arrives.
Movement. East side, maybe a hundred fifty yards out.
I adjust my scope. A figure emerges from the tree line, struggling through knee-deep snow.
Dark hair, expensive jacket, the kind of boots that cost five hundred dollars and aren't worth shit in actual winter conditions.
He's heading straight for my cabin, his path deliberate despite the difficulty of the terrain.
Derek Whitmore.
I study him through the scope. He's younger than I expected, maybe late twenties.
Handsome in a polished, manufactured way.
The kind of face that photographs well and hides cruelty behind a charming smile.
He's breathing hard from the exertion of hiking through snow, but there's a manic energy in his movements. A man on a mission.
He's also armed. I clock the bulge under his jacket, right side. Probably a handgun. Amateur carry position, easy to spot, hard to draw quickly. He's not trained for this.
But amateurs are dangerous in their own way. Unpredictable. Desperate.
I key my radio. "Visual confirmed. Target is armed, approaching from the east. One hundred yards and closing."
"Do you have a shot?" Mace's voice is calm.
I do. Center mass, easy as breathing. I could drop him right now and Sadie would never have to see his face again.
But that's not the plan. Guardian Peak doesn't execute people, no matter how much they deserve it.
We neutralize threats, collect evidence, let the legal system handle the rest. Derek Whitmore has money and lawyers, but he also has a pattern.
Three previous victims who might be willing to testify if they knew he was finally facing real consequences.
Killing him would be satisfying. Destroying him legally would be better.
"Holding position. Let him come to me."
"Copy that."
Whitmore reaches the clearing around my cabin. He stops, scanning the area, his hand moving toward his jacket. Looking for threats. Finding none, because he doesn't know how to look.
I could take him now. Step out of concealment, use my training to disarm and subdue him before he even registers I'm there. Clean, efficient, over in seconds.
But he's not here for me. He's here for Sadie.
And I want him to know exactly who's standing between them.
I rise from the blind and walk into the open.
"Derek Whitmore."
He spins toward my voice, hand fumbling under his jacket. I let him see my rifle, held low but ready. Let him understand what he's dealing with.
"Who the fuck are you?" His voice is higher than expected. Strained.
"The man who's going to give you one chance to walk away."
"I'm looking for my girlfriend. Sadie Chen. I know she's here." He hasn't drawn his weapon yet. Smart enough to recognize he's outmatched, not smart enough to retreat. "She's confused. She doesn't know what she wants. I just need to talk to her."
"She's not your girlfriend. She's not confused. And you're not talking to her."
"You don't understand." He takes a step forward, and I raise the rifle slightly. He freezes. "Sadie and I have something special. We're meant to be together. She just got scared, that's all. I can fix it if she'll just listen to me."
Three months of stalking. Forty-seven phone calls in one night. A fake engagement designed to provoke a reaction. And he stands there telling me she's confused.
"Here's what's going to happen." I keep my voice flat, emotionless. "You're going to take the gun out of your jacket, slowly, using two fingers. You're going to set it on the ground. Then you're going to lie face down in the snow with your hands behind your head."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?" He laughs, a brittle sound. "You won't. I haven't done anything. Coming to check on my girlfriend isn't a crime."
"Breaking and entering at her San Diego apartment.
Harassment via electronic communication.
Stalking across state lines. Carrying a concealed weapon without a permit in Nevada.
" I recite the charges Mace compiled, watching his face pale with each one.
"That's before we get into the three women who filed complaints against you before Sadie.
The settlements. The NDAs." I pause. "How do you think your new fiancée will feel when all of that becomes public? "
His expression shifts. The charm falls away, revealing something uglier underneath. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know everything. Bank records, phone logs, IP traces. You've been sloppy, Derek. Left a trail a mile wide." I take a step closer. "The only question now is whether you walk out of here in handcuffs or on a stretcher."
"She belongs to me." The mask is fully off now. His hand moves toward his jacket again. "I'm not leaving without her."
"She doesn't belong to anyone. Especially not you."
"Fuck you."
He draws.
I'm faster.
The rifle comes up and I fire, not at center mass but at his hand. The bullet tears through his wrist and the gun goes flying, a spray of red against the white snow. He screams, clutching his arm, collapsing to his knees.
"I warned you." I close the distance between us, kicking his dropped weapon away. "Lie down. Hands behind your head. Don't make me tell you again."
He's sobbing now, cradling his wrist, blood seeping through his fingers. "You shot me. You fucking shot me."
"Consider it a love tap." I key the radio. "Target neutralized. Requesting medical and transport."
"Copy that. En route."
I stand over Derek Whitmore, watching him bleed into the snow, and feel nothing but cold satisfaction. He came here to hurt Sadie. To take her, control her, destroy her if he couldn't have her. And now he's crying in the dirt, his expensive jacket ruined, his fantasy of possession shattered.
The cabin door opens behind me.
"Wolfe?"
I turn. Sadie is standing on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale but her eyes fierce. I told her to stay inside. Of course she didn't listen.
"It's over." I keep my rifle trained on Derek. "He's not going to hurt you."
She walks toward us, bare feet leaving prints in the snow. I want to tell her to go back, to stay warm, to let me handle this. But she has a right to face him. A right to look the monster in the eye and see how small he really is.
"Sadie." Derek's voice is a whine now. "Baby, please. This is all a misunderstanding. I love you. I've always loved you."
She stops a few feet away, looking down at him. The man who made her feel small. Who convinced her she was too much. Who followed her across state lines because he couldn't accept that she didn't want him anymore.
"You don't love me." Her voice is steady. "You never did. You loved controlling me. You loved making me afraid. That's not love, Derek. That's sickness."
"No, baby, listen—"
"Don't call me that." Steel in her tone. "Don't ever call me anything again. We're done. We've been done for three months, and the only reason you can't accept that is because you're so used to getting what you want that you can't handle being told no."
He opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of engines cuts him off. Two ATVs emerge from the tree line, Mace driving one, Cade the other. Backup, arriving right on time.
Mace surveys the scene with a practiced eye. "Nice shot."
"He drew on me."
"I saw." Mace is already reaching for zip ties. "Cade, deal with the wrist. I don't want him bleeding out before we hand him to the sheriff."
Cade, our team medic, moves to Derek with the kind of detached efficiency he brings to everything. He doesn't offer comfort, doesn't speak beyond clinical instructions. Within minutes, the wound is packed and bound, and Derek is secured and loaded onto the back of Mace's ATV.
"Sheriff Parker is meeting us at the compound." Mace glances at Sadie, then at me. "You two should come in, give statements. This needs to be official."
"We'll follow."
Mace nods, a knowing look in his eyes, and the ATVs disappear back into the trees. The clearing goes quiet. Just me and Sadie, standing in the bloodstained snow, the adrenaline slowly fading.
"You shot him." Her voice is strange. Not upset, exactly. Processing.
"He drew a weapon. I responded."
"In the hand."
"I could have killed him. Chose not to."