Page 8 of Lethal Threat

He’s grinning. I’m gritting my teeth. “Just give me a damned shovel.”

He stands back and crosses his arms. “Why don’t you have a shovel in your truck?”

I roll the window down and kill the engine. “I just got back to Eden, jackass. This is a new truck. I haven’t moved everything over from my old one.”

“I’ll get the tractor.”

“That’d be appreciated. I have a meeting to get to.”

Caleb lifts a brow as he kicks my tire. “Must be important if you’re all torqued up.”

“That’s Sierra’s fault.”

I sling the door open and jump out, landing in the snow. It comes up to my knees.

“Why haven’t you plowed your damn driveway?”

He flips me a bird as he stalks toward the barn where his small work tractor lives.

I shake my head. What a morning.

Since I was running low on time already, I text Marshall. I’ve known Marshall since I was a kid. But now I’m working for his company.

Hey, Boss. Hate to do this. Gonna be late. Not long. Apologize to the team.

He hits me right back.Can’t promise they’ll leave you any donuts, but no problem otherwise.

Dude, sorry. I don’t operate like this.

He texts back.Quit worrying. I know you’re not a slacker. Now enough touchy feely shit, I’ve got an urban training op to plan. See you when you get here.

With a heavy sigh, I lean against the fender of my truck.Damn.

I should have just gone straight to Marshall’s this morning. But I’d hoped stopping here would blow off some steam.

In the distance, the chugging sound of Caleb’s tractor offers some hope this will be done quickly.

Snow’s clinging to his cowboy hat by the time he rolls up and tosses me a tow strap. I bend down to hook it up. I’m so busy cursing and digging around in the snow, I almost miss my phone vibrating.

I’ve been chewing fucking nails waiting on a call.

I’m too late to hit Accept. The call’s already ended. And there’s a text on the screen with three alarming numbers in the little bubble.911.

Icy awareness hits my already tight gut. I stiffen and curl my fingers tighter around the phone. It’s Cade. He must have found something out.

Something bad, otherwise he wouldn’t have sent a 911 text.

I fight back panic, which is a reaction I thought I’d practiced out of myself in my days in battle.

Caleb hops off the tractor. “Everything okay?”

“This might be about Sierra.”

The call rings twice. I don’t even give him time for a greeting. “Did you find her?”

“Man, it’s not good. I found her.Shit.It’s not good. Sierra’s in trouble.”

My throat contracts as my skin bristles. Cade is not a man prone to panic. For Christ’s sake, he’s an Air Force fighter pilot, so something’s seriously wrong.