Chapter 51 Thomas
Thomas
Thomas didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t curse.
He didn’t strike the man standing in front of him, though the impulse flickered—brief, sharp, dismissed.
Instead, he smiled.
That was how men like him adapted.
“She didn’t panic,” the runner reported. “She changed the ground.”
Thomas nodded once. “Of course she did.”
That was the problem.
Rylie Tate hadn’t begged. Hadn’t stalled. Hadn’t tried to bargain for safety.
She’d spoken like someone who expected backup.
That meant one thing.
“They’re closer than we thought,” Thomas said calmly.
“Yes.”
“How close?”
The runner hesitated. That hesitation was the crack.
Thomas set his coffee down untouched and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You felt it,” he said. “Tell me where.”
“Behind her,” the man admitted. “Not visible. But present.”
Thomas exhaled slowly through his nose.
So. The Ranger hadn’t chased blindly.
He’d followed her.
That shifted the math.
Thomas stood and walked to the wall where a satellite image glowed faintly. He studied the terrain—the ravine, the tree lines, the natural choke points.
“She chose this place to slow us,” he said. “And to draw him in.”
“Yes.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened just enough to notice.
“Then we change the axis.”
He tapped the screen farther south.
“Activate secondary pressure,” he ordered. “Now.”
The runner blinked. “That’s… aggressive.”
“Yes,” Thomas replied softly. “That’s the point.”
He turned, eyes cold now. Focused.
“If I can’t separate them physically,” he continued, “I’ll force separation emotionally.”
He picked up his phone and typed one message.
Not to Rylie.
To someone else.
The call came into Eagle River less than five minutes later.
Not a threat.
A report.
Suspicious activity near a residence. Possible armed individuals. Possible connection to recent events involving known Rangers.
The address?
Wolf’s.
Thomas watched the confirmation come through.
Good.
He hadn’t ordered violence.
Not yet.
He’d ordered movement.
Because nothing fractured a team faster than choosing between the mission and the people you loved.
He turned back to the runner. “Watch her,” he said. “If she bolts—”
“She won’t,” the runner interrupted.
Thomas paused.
Slowly, he smiled again.
“No,” he agreed. “She won’t.”
Because Rylie Tate wasn’t running from danger.
She was holding it in place.
Which meant the real question wasn’t whether Trigger would come for her.
It was whether he’d abandon her when the town—and a newborn baby—suddenly appeared to be at risk.
Thomas folded his hands behind his back, satisfaction finally curving his mouth.
“Now,” he said quietly, “let’s see what kind of man he really is.”