Chapter 4
JESSE
Recognition hits her eyes first, then rage, then something I have no business seeing.
Heat and want and memories I thought I'd buried claw their way back to the surface.
I can still hear a nineteen-year-old Raven screaming my name on that tarmac, looking at me like I was the only thing standing between her and hell.
Her hand tightens on the Glock and the barrel comes up, centering on my chest.
"Jesse Hollister." My name comes out like gravel and broken glass. "You son of a bitch."
Headlights sweep across the street behind me.
I glance back and spot the dark SUV, tinted windows, rolling too slow for casual traffic.
The cartel sent a second wave after the survivors from the Pritchard ranch reported back.
Four bodies in the dirt and two witnesses means they're coming with serious firepower this time.
"Inside. Now." I don't ask or explain, just reach for her arm.
She jerks back, gun rising. "Don't you dare."
I grab her wrist, twist just enough to angle the barrel away from my face and push her backward through the doorway. She fights me every inch, boot heels scraping tile as I shoulder the door shut and throw the deadbolt.
"Get your hands off me!" Raven wrenches free, spins, and drives her fist toward my jaw.
I catch it mid-swing. Her other hand comes up with the Glock. I trap that wrist too, forcing the weapon toward the ceiling as I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall.
Her pulse hammers under my fingers. Warmth bleeds through her shirt where my forearm pins her shoulder.
Close enough that every breath she takes pushes her chest against mine, and for half a second I forget the cartel circling the block, forget the decade of silence between us, forget everything except the way she's looking at me like she can't decide whether to kill me or kiss me.
"You want to die proving a point," I say, voice low and steady, "or live long enough to get your revenge?"
Her pupils blow wide despite the overhead light, breath coming fast between parted lips. Close enough that I can smell something floral in her hair, mingled with gunpowder and adrenaline. Lavender maybe, or honeysuckle. Same scent from all those years ago.
"I hate you." Each word carries weight.
"Good. Channel that into staying alive."
I release her wrists and step back. She moves faster than I expect, her knee driving up toward my groin with enough force to drop most men. I twist my hip, take the impact on my thigh instead of where she intended, but Christ it still hurts. Pain shoots up my leg and I bite back a curse.
"Jesus. The cartel's second wave is closing in and you try to maim me?"
She has the decency to let a flicker of remorse cross her face before she pulls the anger back front and center. "You might have mentioned that before you manhandled me." Raven backs toward the kitchen, gun steady on center mass.
I lean against the wall, testing my weight on the leg. It'll bruise, but it's worth it to see fire in her eyes instead of fear. "Next time I'll send a formal request before saving your life."
"Next time I'll aim better."
"Fair enough."
Anger looks good on her. Better than the grief-shattered girl, the one that lives in my nightmares.
This Raven is all sharp edges and controlled fury, a woman who turned her pain into something lethal.
The transformation should make me cautious.
Instead it makes something deep in my chest crack open.
Raven's gaze flicks toward the window, then back to me. "Who's out there?"
"Cartel reinforcements. A second wave sent to track you down and finish the job. You really kicked a hornets nest today."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been watching them position since sunset.
They ID'd you from the Pritchard ranch and traced you here.
Probably the car." I pull my phone from my pocket, check the feed from the security cameras I mounted on a telephone poles around the block. Multiple vehicles show on screen now, all black SUVs with tinted windows. It’s a professional setup with serious money behind it, exactly what Knox and Beckett have been warning about.
"We have minutes before they breach. Less if they decide to go loud instead of quiet."
"You knew they were coming and you still knocked on my door?" Fire flashes across her features. "What kind of—"
"The kind who needed you to see my face before bullets started flying. Needed you to know who was pulling you out of the fire." I slide the phone back into my pocket and meet her stare. "Would you have listened to a stranger?"
"I wouldn't have listened to you either."
"Yet here we are."
Outside, a car door slams. Then another.
Footsteps on the driveway, multiple sets moving with military precision toward the perimeter.
These aren't street-level enforcers looking for quick cash.
This is a tactical team with training, equipment, and orders to eliminate a threat quietly enough that the neighbors sleep through it.
Raven must hear it too because her grip shifts on the Glock, finger sliding from trigger guard to trigger. "Why should I trust you?"
I spent years building a new life in the shadows while she fought through ATF training, climbed the ranks, and made herself into the kind of agent who takes down gun-running operations and cartel pipelines single-handed.
And now I'm asking her to trust me with her life.
"Because I just saved your life. Again."
My phone buzzes. Knox's name flashes across the screen. I answer on the first ring, keeping my eyes on Raven.
"Talk to me."
"The cameras show multiple vehicles." Knox's voice carries the clipped efficiency of someone reporting from a battlefield.
"Shooters positioning on the south property line, more on the north.
West exit is still clear but they're moving to close it.
You've got maybe a couple of minutes before the place is surrounded. "
"Copy. We're heading to my cabin. Keep your eyes on this neighborhood. Let me know if they move."
"Roger that." Knox pauses. "Jesse? She's really with you?"
"Yeah."
"Does she know who you are?"
"She knows."
"And she hasn't shot you yet?"
"She tried. I'll fill you in later." I disconnect before he can ask more questions and focus on Raven.
"That was my brother Knox. He's been watching the cartel position. He confirms multiple vehicles and shooters in tactical formation. We leave now or we die here, and so do a lot of innocent people on this street."
Raven doesn't move. Doesn't lower the gun. Just stands there in Carmichael's safe house with those dark eyes locked on mine, weighing her options. Trust the man who destroyed her life or take her chances with a cartel assassination team.
"How do I know you're not working with them?" Her voice stays level, but I hear the razor edge underneath. "How do I know this isn't another setup?"
"You don't." Honesty is the only card I have left. "But if I wanted you dead, I could have let you deal with that ambush at the Pritchard ranch alone. Hell, I could have stood back and let these guys breach this door and put two in your skull before you knew they were here."
"Maybe you want something worse than dead."
"Or maybe I made a promise to your uncle a long time ago, and I don't break promises. Not the ones that matter."
"Uncle Martin's been gone a long time."
"Not that uncle."
Recognition crosses her face. Eyes widening, lips parting. "Robert sent you."
"Carmichael called in a favor. He told me you were coming to Fredericksburg, asked me to keep you alive if things went sideways." I gesture toward the window where shadows move across the street. "Things went sideways at the Pritchard ranch. They're getting worse here by the second."
"Why didn't he tell me?"
"Because you would have refused protection from anyone, especially me. He knew I was the only one close enough to get here before the cartel did."
Glass shatters somewhere deeper in the house. It sounds like the back bedroom. Boots hit wood. They're not bothering with quiet entry anymore. Time's up.
Raven's jaw sets. "If you're lying to me..."
"You can kill me after we survive the next few minutes." I cross the kitchen in long strides, grab her free hand, and pull her toward the rear door. "Move."
She comes with me this time. Doesn't fight or argue. Just follows as I unlock the back door and push it open. My truck sits in the alley, positioned for a fast exit with reinforced panels, bullet-resistant glass, and enough firepower hidden in the cab compartments to outfit a small tactical team.
"Get in." I practically shove her toward the passenger door.
"Wait. My laptop. My files. The evidence from the Pritchard ranch. They'll see everything."
"Leave it." I round the hood and slide behind the wheel as voices echo from inside the safe house. Spanish, urgent, calling for backup. "Whatever you left behind isn't worth dying for."
"Those files prove—"
"They prove you were here. They prove you've been investigating. And in about thirty seconds, they prove exactly where you're vulnerable." I start the engine and kill the interior lights. "You want justice? Stay alive. Everything else can be replaced."
The alley runs parallel to Cypress Street, the same west exit Knox said was still clear. Headlights sweep across the mouth of the alley as another vehicle pulls into position, blocking the main road.
"Hold on." I throw the truck into drive and punch the accelerator.
Raven braces against the dashboard as we shoot forward, tires screaming against asphalt. Bullets spark off the tailgate. Suppressed rifle fire, professional aim, targeting the rear tires to disable rather than kill. I keep the wheel steady, accelerating hard toward the only gap in their formation.
"They're behind us!" Raven twists in her seat.