57. Luke
LUKE
The south ridge is dense with pine and scrub oak, the kind of terrain that swallows sound and hides movement. Perfect for a sniper. Bad for an escape.
I move through the trees like a ghost—silent, controlled, every sense dialed in. My rifle is up, my breathing steady. It’s muscle memory. Delta drilled it into me until it became instinct. Track. Identify. Neutralize.
I spot the disturbance first—broken branches, boot prints in the soft earth. He's running, not covering his trail. I shake my head. He’s either an amateur or cocky. Either way, he’s mine.
I follow the tracks south for two hundred yards, then pause.
There—a flash of movement through the trees.
He's crouched behind a fallen log, rifle aimed back toward the direction he came from. Waiting to see if anyone followed.
I circle wide, coming up behind him from the east. He doesn’t hear me.
When I'm ten feet away, I speak. "Drop the rifle."
He spins, eyes wide, finger on the trigger.
I put a round through his shoulder before he can fire.
Screaming, he goes down hard, the rifle clattering onto the dirt. I'm on him in two seconds, kicking the weapon away and planting my boot on his bleeding shoulder.
"Who sent you?" I ask, my weapon aimed at his head.
He tries to spit at me but it falls on his chest. "Fuck you."
I press down harder, and he cries out, trying to clutch his wound.
I smile down at him. "Let's try again. Who sent you?"
"Turner!" he chokes out. "Turner paid us five grand each to scare the woman at Circle H."
"Scare her?" I press down.
"Make her sell!” He pants, curling into the pain. “That's all he said. Just scare her."
I lean down, my voice dropping to something cold and lethal. "You shot at a pregnant woman."
His face goes white. "I didn't know—"
"You didn't ask." I pull a zip tie from my vest and secure his wrists behind his back, ignoring his screams. "How many more are coming?"
"I don't know, man.” He struggles uselessly. “I swear. Turner just hired us for today."
"Where's Turner now?" I bend down and tie his ankles together.
"I don't know! He doesn't tell us shit. We just get a call, a location, and cash."
I key my comms. "Warden, third shooter's secured. South ridge, two hundred yards from the house. He's bleeding but stable."
"Copy. Harper's on her way up with Mason."
“No,” I say instantly.
Jake sighs. “Short of tying her up, I couldn’t stop her. I figured you’d want to be the one to tie her up.”
I look in my vest. Fortunately, I still have a few zip ties. “I’m going to have to have a talk with her.”
“Or accept that she’s the type of woman who’s going to run into the fire with you and have your back.”
Fuck. I like the sound of that, actually.
I take a deep breath and refocus on what I’m doing. I shove the man on the ground with my boot, watching his face twist in pain and fear.
Smiling, I crouch down to his side, out of range for him to try anything. "Well, buddy, you’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, haven’t you?”
He mutters something.
“What was that?” I lean in, a hand to my ear. “I can’t hear you.”
He turns his head away.
“That’s what I thought,” I say cheerily. “I have something for you to do. Think you can manage not to fuck it up?”
When he doesn’t respond, I prod his shoulder with the rifle.
He hisses. “What?”
“If you make it to jail, you're going to tell everyone who asks that Cole Turner hired you to shoot at Emma Hayes."
“If?” he asks hesitantly.
“You never know where the day can take you, right?” I grin wide, lifting my rifle. “So. You understand?”
He nods frantically.
"Good." I stand, keeping my rifle trained on him. "Because if you don't, I'll find you. And next time, I won't aim for your shoulder."
I hear footsteps behind me—Harper and Mason emerging from the trees.
Harper's face is pale, her hand on a sidearm, probably given to her by Jake. Her eyes scan the scene with cop precision. There’s a cut on her forehead, bleeding down the side of her face.
"He's secure," I say, standing down. "Confirmed Turner hired all three of them."
Mason moves forward, checking the shooter's restraints and wound. Harper stays where she is, staring at me.
"You shot him," she says.
“He was about to shoot me." I don’t point out that I shot the other guy too.
She heaves a breath. "Luke, self-defense may have worked in the Old West, but there are laws to uphold here."
"He shot at you and Emma, Harper. At a pregnant woman." My voice is hard, unyielding. "I'm not apologizing for stopping him."
She doesn't respond. Just looks at the man on the ground, then back at me. I can see the war in her eyes—the deputy who wants to follow protocol and the woman who knows protocol won't stop Turner.
"We need to move them along," Mason says, breaking the tension.
Harper nods slowly. "I'll call it in."
"No," I say.
She turns to me, her jaw tight. "Luke, this is a crime scene. Three shooters, attempted murder—"
"And if you call it in, your father shows up. These guys lawyer up, courtesy of Turner, and by tomorrow, they're out on bail and disappearing." I step closer, my voice low. "You know I'm right."
Her hands clench into fists. "So what do you want me to do? Just let you handle it?"
"Yes."
She shakes her head. "That's not how this works."
"It is now." I hold her gaze, unflinching. "Turner just escalated. He sent three men to terrorize Emma in her own home. You think the law's going to stop him?"
"The law is all we have.”
I hear the uncertainty in her voice and want to hold her close and tell her everything will be okay, but now’s not the time. The Circle H ranch hands probably called this in. "No, sunshine. The law is what failed. We're what's left."
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling, her gray eyes stormy and conflicted. Finally, she looks away.
It's not agreement, but it's not refusal either. Right now, that's enough.
Exhaling, I turn to Mason. "Let’s get them to Blackthorn. We’ll wrap them up into a gift package for Hendricks.”