17. Felicity
FELICITY
Yeah.
The single word echoed through me harder than the gunfire had.
That woman yours?
Yeah.
My breath caught somewhere deep in my chest.
Because Hersh didn’t hesitate.
Not even for a second.
Like the answer had always been yes.
Like some part of him still believed I belonged to him after sixteen years apart.
God help me…
some reckless shattered piece of my heart loved hearing it.
Trigger looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Wolf just crossed his arms with the expression of a man mentally preparing for emotional chaos.
Sheriff Tate glanced between Hersh and me once before muttering:
“Well. That explains a lot.”
Heat rushed into my face instantly.
I should say something.
Correct it.
Clarify.
Instead I stayed kneeling beside Isabel while my pulse absolutely lost its mind.
Coward.
Beside me, Isabel looked between Hersh and me with wide exhausted eyes.
Then quietly whispered:
“You looked scared when they came.”
I swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
“You still stood in front of me.”
Oh God.
The tears came fast behind my eyes again.
Because she sounded confused by that.
Like nobody had ever chosen her before.
I knew exactly how that felt.
“You don’t leave people alone with monsters,” I whispered softly.
The room went quiet after that.
Heavy silence.
The kind that settled deep.
Ava watched me differently now.
Not just as a witness.
As somebody who understood.
Tate finally stepped farther inside the tavern and removed his soaked sheriff hat.
“We’ve got deputies checking roads out of town,” he said. “But if there’s a leak inside law enforcement, we keep this circle small.”
Wolf nodded once.
“Agreed.”
Trigger leaned against the bar with his arms folded.
“So what’s the play?”
Ava exhaled slowly.
“We move both witnesses before sunrise.”
“No.”
My voice came instantly.
Isabel’s came right after mine.
“No.”
Everyone looked at us.
The poor girl looked startled she’d spoken at all.
Then slowly?—
her shoulders straightened.
Tiny bit.
Tiny brave thing.
“I’m tired of running too.”
Something inside me cracked quietly.
Because she sounded exactly like I had months ago.
Before fear hollowed me out.
Ava rubbed one hand over her forehead. “I understand that, but?—”
“No,” Isabel whispered shakily. “You don’t.”
Silence.
The girl’s hands trembled hard in her lap.
“My aunt kept saying they’d protect us.” Her voice broke apart. “And now she’s gone.”
Nobody spoke.
Because there wasn’t anything to say to that.
The storm outside rolled louder.
Thunder shaking the windows again.
Hersh moved closer to me slowly.
Carefully.
Like he already knew I was barely holding together.
His hand settled lightly against my shoulder.
Simple touch.
Steady touch.
And somehow my breathing eased immediately.
Dangerous.
So dangerous.
Tate noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The sheriff’s mouth twitched slightly before he looked back toward Ava.
“If cartel boys walked into my town pretending to be deputies,” he said evenly, “then they’ve already escalated.”
Wolf’s expression darkened.
Trigger cracked his neck once.
Ranger body language.
War body language.
Ava looked around the room slowly.
“You’re talking about turning Eagle River into a battlefield.”
“No,” Hersh said quietly beside me.
Everybody looked at him.
His voice stayed calm.
Controlled.
Terrifying.
“They did that the second they came here.”
The room fell dead silent.
Because every person standing there knew he was right.
My stomach tightened hard.
Not because of the danger.
Because of Hersh.
The man I loved at seventeen would’ve protected me.
The man standing beside me now?
He’d go to war for me.
And somehow…
that terrified me even more.
Trigger suddenly looked toward the front windows.
“Uh…”
Every Ranger in the room instantly sharpened again.
“What?” Wolf asked.
Trigger frowned toward the rain-soaked street outside.
“Tell me that’s one of ours.”
My pulse spiked instantly.
Tate moved toward the window fast.
Then stopped cold.
“Son of a bitch.”
Fear clawed up my throat.
“What?” I whispered.
Nobody answered immediately.
Outside, through sheets of rain?—
A black sedan rolled slowly past the tavern.
Too slowly.
Tinted windows.
No headlights.
Watching.
Hunting.
And as it passed beneath the streetlamp?—
the passenger window lowered slightly.
Just enough for someone inside to hold up a photograph.
My photograph.
Then the car kept driving.