1
Broken Chains Ranch
“Ready for work, buddy?” She reached for his training vest.
Auggie’s head snapped up. His ears pivoted toward the tree line north of the kennels. A low rumble rolled from his chest.
Something moved at the edge of the property.
Felicity froze, then scanned the perimeter, noting each shadow. The other dogs picked up on Auggie’s alert, their barks cutting through the morning stillness.
Fifteen-year-old Ollie Callahan stepped out of the main kennel building. “What is it?” Ollie had been living at the ranch for the past year and was a frequent observer of early morning training sessions.
“I’m not sure. Do you see anything in the trees?”
“No, I—Yes, look!”
A figure stumbled into view and Felicity sucked in a breath. Male. Tall. Clutching his side. Blood stained his shirt and ran over his fingers—too much blood. He staggered forward three more steps before his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the gravel path between the kennels.
Felicity grabbed her phone from her pocket and rushed toward him, Auggie at her heels. The stranger lay face down, one arm trapped beneath his body. She dropped to her knees beside him and pressed two fingers to his neck. His pulse fluttered—weak but present. “Ollie, grab the first aid kit!”
“On it!”
“Sir? Can you hear me?” With gentle movements, she turned him onto his back, and he groaned. He looked vaguely familiar. His eyes fluttered open and his lips moved, but no sound came out. Felicity leaned closer. “What?”
“Roarke’s alive . . .” The word escaped on a rasp of breath. His fingers clutched at her sleeve. “Not safe . . . came to warn you.”
Disbelief rocked her back on her heels. Roarke. The name she’d spent years trying to forget even while she watched over her shoulder waiting for him to appear. “Who are you? How do you know—”
“Here.” Ollie dropped beside them and set the kit on the ground. “What can I do?”
The man’s grip slackened. His eyes rolled back, and he was out.
“Hey!” She tapped his face. Nothing. “Sir! Wake up.”
No response.
She checked his pulse again. Still there. She snagged her phone and dialed 911, gave the dispatcher the ranch address and a quick rundown of the situation.
Next, she called Maya, who answered on the third ring.
“This better be important,” her friend grumbled. “Some of us sleep past dawn.”
“I have a man down at the kennels. He doesn’t belong to the ranch. He has a gunshot wound. Ambulance is on the way, but I need you here now.”
“Be there in two.”
“Ollie, give me a big wad of gauze, please.”
Ollie shoved the material into her hand almost before the sentence was complete.
Felicity pressed the dressing against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
She wiped around it, noting the purplish bruising at the site.
That had to hurt, but it looked like the bullet went into the oblique. Maybe it missed anything vital.
More importantly, how did this man know about Roarke? Colonel Silas Roarke died two years after the ambush that killed Seth, her fiancé. Roarke had been confirmed dead based on the DNA collected. She’d seen the report herself.
Focus.
“There’s Maya,” Ollie said.
A golf cart sped up the dirt path, then feet pounded toward her. Maya, medical bag in hand, dressed in sweats and her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, dropped to the opposite side of the wounded man. Gideon, Maya’s husband, joined them.
“GSW to the abdomen—or side, really,” Felicity said, “and the exit wound on the back.” She moved away so Maya could examine him. “Lost consciousness about three minutes ago. Is Elena coming?”
“She and Sully left yesterday to take Elena’s father to Dollywood. He’s never been.”
“Wow.”
Elena had worked with Maya in Afghanistan as a trauma medic.
She and Sully, Maya’s cousin, had married a month ago.
Her father had been in a prepper colony—that behaved more like a cult—most of his life.
He was just starting to get in the groove of living in society again and learning what it meant to have fun.
Gideon dug out alcohol and a towel and handed them to Maya to clean her hands. She did so, then pulled on a pair of gloves.
Maya cut away the blood-soaked shirt. “Yep, it’s a through-and-through. Gideon, can you hold him on his side? We’re going to have to get creative here.” Gideon followed his wife’s directions, then Maya looked at Felicity. “Press more gauze against his back wound while I work on his front.”
“Here.” Ollie handed it to Felicity.
“Thanks.” Felicity applied the pressure while Maya worked to pack the front wound and tape it shut. “Okay, Felicity, you can move now.”
Felicity stood and stepped out of the way while Gideon held the man still.
Her friend did the same for the back wound, then Gideon eased him to the ground face up.
Maya checked her new patient’s vitals. “Pulse is there, BP’s lower than I’d like.
” She pulled an IV kit from her bag. “Did he say anything?”
The man’s words burned in Felicity’s mind. “Yes, but nothing that made much sense.”
Ollie slipped up beside Felicity and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be for lack of trying.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulders. Felicity had come to love and appreciate the levelheaded, brilliant teen.
More footsteps approached. Leo Kavanaugh jogged toward them, his gray T-shirt damp with sweat from his morning run.
He wiped the moisture from his face with the hem of his shirt, and Felicity looked away from the flat slab of abs and instead focused on his face.
Scars ran down the left side, jagged lines etched into his skin like lightning strikes.
They started at his temple where the tissue puckered slightly, then trailed across his high cheekbone in a pattern of white and pink ridges before disappearing into his neatly trimmed dark beard.
“Heard the commotion,” he said. “What happened?”
“Found him like this,” Felicity said. “Ambulance is on the way.”
Leo knelt beside them. “Any ID on him?”
She shook her head. “No one’s had a moment to check.”
Leo patted the man’s pockets, found nothing. “He’s clean.”
“Weird,” Gideon muttered.
Felicity agreed. Most people carried ID on them. She kept her arm around Ollie’s shoulder and watched her friends work on saving the man’s life. Auggie pressed against her leg, a solid warm presence. With her free hand, she scratched behind his ears, more to steady herself than to comfort him.
The wounded man looked familiar, but her brain wasn’t placing him. However, he knew about Roarke. Knew she had a connection to him—and came here specifically to find her to tell her he was alive? Why now? After four years of silence, why now? And how did he know she needed the warning?
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Two minutes later, paramedics swarmed the scene. Maya briefed them on the man’s condition while they transferred him to a gurney. “I’ll ride with him,” Maya said. “I’ll call or text you when I know more.”
“I’ll head to the house to get the car and meet you there,” Gideon said. “You’ll need a ride home.”
“I can Uber.”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “I’m right behind you.” He hopped on the golf cart and nodded to Felicity. “I’ll call Sheriff Donovan on the way. He’ll probably want to talk to you.”
“Of course. And thanks.”
Gideon sped toward the main house while the ambulance pulled away, lights flashing against the dawn sky. Felicity watched until it disappeared down the long ranch driveway. The dogs barked from the kennels, and Ollie placed a hand on Felicity’s arm.
“I’m going to see if I can calm those little yappers down,” she said. “Reassure them.”
“Thank you, hon,” Felicity said. “I appreciate that.”
Ollie disappeared inside the kennel and the barks lessened. Leo stepped up beside her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The lie came automatically. Easily.
“Want to try that again?”
She turned to face him, his gray eyes a quiet concern.
In the two months since he’d arrived at Broken Chains, Leo had shown an uncanny ability to notice things most people missed.
It was like he could see right through her defenses, and while she was loath to admit it .
. . it unnerved her. “He said something before he passed out.” She hesitated.
“He mentioned someone I knew from my time in the service.”
“Who?”
She crossed her arms, an old subconscious defensive move she hadn’t used in ages. “My commanding officer. Sort of.”
“Sort of? How does that work?”
“Technically, my commanding officer was Captain Hollis at the kennel, but in the field I took orders from Colonel Silas Roarke. But Roarke’s dead and has been for at least two years.”
“You sure about that?”
“I mean, I was until about forty-five minutes ago. Now I’m not sure about anything.” She chewed her lip. “I need to check the security cameras, see where our GSW victim came from. He walked in, but he’s got to have a vehicle somewhere. He looked familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“I’ll go with you. Come on.”
They walked to her cabin in silence, Auggie trotting ahead. The morning sun climbed higher, burning off the mist that clung to the fields. Such a peaceful scene. Usually. Today, not so much.
Inside, Felicity booted up her laptop and accessed the security system. Six cameras covered the property perimeter. She rewound to 5:30 a.m.
“There.” Leo pointed to the screen. A figure emerged from the trees at the northern corner—the one area with minimal camera coverage.
Smart. But probably an accident. There was no way the guy could know.
The man stumbled, fell, pushed himself up again with his hand pressed to his wounded side. No vehicle visible.
Felicity switched to another camera angle. “He came from the direction of McHugh Highway. Not close to the entrance back there, but he could easily climb a fence. Or roll under.”
Leo leaned closer to the screen. “Can you zoom in?”