Chapter 11 Thomas
Thomas
Eagle River slept like it trusted the dark.
That annoyed him.
Thomas eased his SUV down Main Street without headlights, letting the moonlight do the work.
The buildings seemed familiar—too familiar.
It reminded him of the stinky, rotten small town he grew up in.
The kids called him trailer trash because he lived in a trailer and was poor.
He almost had Rylie thinking he was a good guy, but she still didn’t want him, so he had to use threats and force to get her to agree to marry him.
The tavern loomed ahead, its lights low but still on. Music drifted faintly through the walls—country twang, laughter, the sound of people pretending nothing was wrong.
Thomas slowed.
“She’s not here,” muttered Rick from the passenger seat, his breath fogging the window. “We already checked her place. In the city, she must have gone somewhere else.”
Thomas didn’t answer.
Rick talked too much when he was nervous.
“She wouldn’t just leave,” Rick continued. “Her dad—”
“She didn’t leave,” Thomas said calmly.
“But,,,”
“Rick, shut the fuck up.”
Thomas parked a block away and cut the engine. The silence pressed in immediately. No wind. No dogs barking. No cars.
Just wrongness.
He stepped out and adjusted his jacket, smoothing it down like he was heading into a meeting instead of stalking a town. His boots made almost no sound on the pavement. Rick and the other two men followed, spreading out the way Thomas had taught them.
Not a group.
A net.
They moved past darkened storefronts and houses with curtains drawn tight. Thomas walked slowly and deliberately, letting his eyes adjust and his instincts speak.
Rylie was good at routines.
Too good.
She walked the same routes. Locked doors the same way. Left lights on in certain rooms because she didn’t like shadows. That predictability had been comforting once.
Now it was a problem.
They stopped in front of her father’s house.
Dark.
Every window.
Thomas stared at it longer than necessary.
“She wouldn’t stay here if she was upset,” Rick said quietly. “She always goes to—”
“She didn’t choose,” Thomas replied.
He walked closer, peering through the front window.
Nothing.
No lamp glow. No movement. No, Rylie curled on the couch with a book, pretending everything was fine.
His jaw tightened.
“She’s gone,” Rick whispered.
If Rick says one more thing, I’ll kill him.
Thomas straightened slowly.
Gone.
Not packed-and-planned gone.
Taken-from-under-his-nose gone.
Someone had moved her. Cleanly. Quietly. No panic.
That meant professionals.
His lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
“So,” he said softly, “the Rangers decided to play.”
One of the men shifted. “You think it’s them?”
Thomas glanced back at him, eyes sharp. “Who else in this town would have the nerve?”
He turned away from the house and started walking again.
They checked the windows.
Not breaking in—just looking.
Living rooms. Kitchens. Bedrooms.
Thomas took his time at each one, memorizing details.
Who slept where.
Which lights stayed on.
Which curtains moved when they shouldn’t.
He stopped outside the tavern.
A shadow moved inside.
A man passed a window—broad shoulders, deliberate stride.
Thomas recognized the silhouette instantly.
Saint.
Still here.
Still guarding.
Interesting.
“She’s not with him,” Rick said.
“No,” Thomas agreed. “She isn’t.”
That was the problem.
If Rylie had been in town, she would have gravitated toward familiarity. Toward protection she trusted.
But she wasn’t.
Which meant Trigger.
The thought landed with precision.
Eli “Trigger” Jennings didn’t stay put. Didn’t guard storefronts or stand watch over crowds.
He disappeared.
Thomas leaned closer to the tavern window, eyes narrowing.
Trigger wasn’t there. I knew it as much as I knew I would take another breath.
Of course, he wasn’t.
Thomas exhaled slowly, the cold air burning his lungs.
“You see this?” he asked quietly.
Rick nodded. “Town’s crawling with them. There are a lot of ex-Army Rangers around here.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “But not the one who has her.”
He straightened and turned, scanning the dark road leading out of town—the one that vanished into trees.
“She’s not here,” Thomas said. “She’s not anywhere she can be found by accident.”
Rick frowned. “Then where—”
“Someplace quiet,” Thomas interrupted. “Someplace he thinks no one would look.”
Rick swallowed. “You think she chose him?”
Thomas laughed softly.
A humorless sound.
“She doesn’t get to choose,” I said. “She adapts. She survives. That man”—his voice sharpened—“is temporary. We are getting married, and I will run the District Attorneys office and my Law Firm.”
But the doubt crept in anyway.
Not about Rylie.
About Trigger.
Because Trigger hadn’t just hidden her.
He’d taken her away from everything Thomas controlled.
That was a declaration.
Thomas climbed back into the SUV and started the engine.
“Go home,” he told his men. “For now.”
Rick hesitated. “That’s it?”
“For tonight.”
They didn’t argue.
They knew better.
As the SUV rolled toward the edge of town, Thomas’s gaze flicked once more to the darkened houses, the quiet streets, the illusion of peace.
“Let them think they won,” he murmured.
Because once he figured out where Trigger had taken her…
He wouldn’t come after her with noise.
He’d come with patience.
And patience, Thomas knew very well, was what broke people.