Page 21

Cyclone

T he desert held its breath.

Days passed in a strange, suspended haze—too quiet, too still.

Jude felt it like a pressure behind her ribs, a constant, vibrating warning that the noose was tightening.

She spent the mornings finalizing the bait—anonymous emails sent to carefully selected media outlets and encrypted messages left in places she knew the senator’s men monitored.

I have proof.

I’m ready to talk.

Come and get me.

Simple. Blunt. Unmistakable.

By the third day, the signs started showing.

A black SUV was parked two miles down the dirt road.

Drones buzzing faintly overhead.

Cell service flickering on and off like a dying lightbulb.

I noticed all of it.

Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, my instincts screaming at me to grab Jude and get the hell out of there.

But I stayed patient.

Silent.

Invisible.

Because this was her fight.

And because backup was already in place.

They weren’t wearing uniforms.

They didn’t flash badges.

But the former Special Forces team he called in moved through the desert like ghosts, hidden eyes on every ridge, silent rifles trained on every approach. I brought in other Special Forces, not just the Golden Team.

I trusted them.

Trusted that when the hammer dropped, they’d be there. Still, it was killing him not to take over the planning.

Watching Jude walk around the ranch like she was already preparing to die.

Watching the determination in her eyes war with the fear she thought she was hiding.

Watching the woman I was falling in love with stand alone against a monster.

At night, when the house fell silent and the stars burned overhead, Jude would sit on the porch with her knees pulled to her chest, staring into the darkness.

And I would sit next to her, pretending I wasn’t memorizing every line of her face.

Pretending I wasn’t praying for just one more day.

One more hour.

Five nights later , Jude found him by the fence, inspecting one of the motion sensor alarms he’d rigged with fishing line and old cans.

“You’re not sleeping,” she said quietly.

He shrugged, not looking at her.

“Neither are you.”

Jude wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the dark expanse.

“It’s getting close,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

I finally turned, stepping close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.

“Whatever happens,” he said low, “you’re not alone. Remember that, sunshine.”

She opened her mouth to argue. Closed it again when she saw the look in his eyes.

He wasn’t asking for permission. He was telling her a fact.

Jude’s throat burned. She nodded stiffly.

And I, because I knew if I touched her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop, I turned and walked back toward the house without another word.

Jude stood there for a long time, heart pounding like a drum in her ears.

The clock was ticking.

The enemy was coming.

And for the first time in a long time... she wasn’t running away.

She was running toward it. She worked six years trying to take him down, now was the time.

And she wasn’t doing it alone.