4. Felicity
FELICITY
Trusting Hersh McDougal had once been the easiest thing I’d ever done.
That was the problem.
Because standing here now—with his hand wrapped around my wrist and those dark eyes locked on mine—I could already feel every wall I’d spent months building starting to crack.
And cracks got people killed.
“Hersh,” I whispered again.
The name slipped out softer this time.
More dangerous.
His expression changed the second he heard it.
Not Blaze.
Not Ranger.
Not the man everyone in Eagle River respected.
Hersh.
The boy I used to love.
“You remember me,” he said quietly.
I should lie.
I should keep lying.
That’s what witness protection trained you to do.
Survive.
Detach.
Disappear.
But standing this close to him made it hard to remember my own name, let alone FBI protocol.
I looked down at his hand still holding my wrist.
Warm.
Steady.
Safe.
God help me, that was the worst part.
Because for one stupid second, I wanted to lean into him and pretend none of this had ever happened.
No cartel.
No running.
No dead bodies in a Las Vegas parking garage.
No sixteen years of heartbreak.
Just Hersh.
Just us.
“You need to let go of me,” I whispered.
His grip loosened immediately, but he didn’t step back.
Not emotionally.
Not physically.
Not Hersh.
“Who’s after you?” he asked again.
Trigger had gone completely silent behind the bar now.
Watching.
Listening.
I could feel both Rangers assessing every word, every movement.
I swallowed hard.
“I can’t tell you.”
“That serious?”
“Yes.”
“Federal serious?”
I nodded once.
The muscle in his jaw flexed.
“You’re in witness protection.”
Not a question.
Damn it.
I looked away.
That was enough confirmation.
Trigger muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like:
“Well, hell.”
Hersh’s voice stayed calm. Too calm.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And they sent you here?”
“I didn’t know you lived here.”
That part was true.
Out of all the places in the country…
Eagle River.
Of course.
Hersh dragged one hand down his face slowly like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.
“With all the towns in Texas,” he muttered, “you land in mine.”
Mine.
The word shouldn’t have affected me.
It did.
Because some horrible part of me liked hearing him say it.
Like maybe Eagle River belonged to him now.
Like maybe he’d finally found the place he used to dream about when we were kids.
And somehow that hurt too.
“I can leave,” I said quickly.
Both men looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“No,” Hersh said instantly.
Trigger pointed at him. “What he said.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“No,” Hersh cut in, voice sharper now. “I understand somebody scared you badly enough that you walked in here looking over your shoulder every five seconds.”
Heat rushed into my face because he wasn’t wrong.
I hated that he still read me so easily.
His gaze swept over me again carefully.
Not possessive.
Protective.
Worse.
Because Hersh McDougal had always protected what he loved.
My chest tightened painfully.
“I don’t want trouble brought to your town,” I said quietly.
“Our town handles trouble fine.”
The confidence in his voice should not have comforted me.
It absolutely did.
Trigger pushed away from the bar. “I’m gonna lock the back entrance and call Wolf.”
“No,” I said quickly.
Both Rangers looked at me.
“You can’t involve more people.”
Trigger blinked slowly. “Sweetheart, if danger followed you here, it already involves more people.”
That shut me up.
Because deep down?
I knew he was right.
Hersh stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “Did your FBI guy say what was in the package?”
“No.”
“You think it was a threat?”
“I think…” My voice faltered slightly. “I think they found me.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Immediate.
The easy atmosphere inside the tavern vanished completely.
Hersh’s expression hardened in a way I’d never seen before.
Not anger.
Calculation.
Army Ranger.
And suddenly I understood something important:
The boy I fell in love with no longer existed.
This man had seen things.
Done things.
Danger didn’t scare him.
It focused him.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “Then here’s what’s gonna happen.”
That tone.
Firm. Certain. No room for argument.
It should’ve annoyed me.
Instead, relief tried to sneak through my panic.
I hated that too.
“You stay here until Agent Jones arrives.”
“Hersh—”
“You don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I don’t need babysitting.”
“No,” he said evenly. “You need protection.”
The word wrapped around me before I could stop it.
Protection.
I hadn’t felt protected in months.
I’d felt hunted.
Alone.
Disposable.
But Hersh?
Hersh looked at me like somebody would have to go through him first.
And something inside me nearly broke because of it.
My eyes burned suddenly.
No.
Absolutely not.
I would not cry in front of him.
Not after sixteen years.
Not after everything.
I looked away fast.
Too late.
Hersh saw it.
Of course he did.
His voice softened immediately. “Hey.”
That one word nearly shattered me.
Because he used to say it exactly like that whenever I got overwhelmed.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like handling something fragile.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
“No, you’re not.”
My laugh came out shaky. “Well… at least you still know me a little.”
The second the words escaped, regret hit me.
Because his entire face changed.
Not triumph.
Not satisfaction.
Pain.
Pure pain.
Like hearing me admit I remembered him hurt worse than pretending I didn’t.
“You knew me too,” he said quietly.
I couldn’t breathe for a second.
Because he still thought I ignored him.
Still thought I stopped loving him.
And standing this close to him while carrying the truth about those letters suddenly felt unbearable.
Before I could answer, the front door opened again.
Every Ranger in the room reacted instantly.
Trigger turned.
Hersh shifted in front of me automatically.
Protective.
The movement was so fast, so instinctive, it stole my breath.
A tall man in a dark jacket stepped inside holding up both hands.
“Easy,” he said. “FBI.”
Michael.
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
But Hersh didn’t move.
Didn’t relax.
Didn’t take his body out of the line between me and danger.
And somehow…
That scared me even more than the cartel.
Because I was starting to remember exactly why I had loved him in the first place.