Page 34 of Mountain Defender

Well, except for the whole Rory-in-danger part. But I’ll get her back to GMG, safe in her cabin, and we’ll spend some more time together.

Distance? Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

“Too Cute?” Rory asks. “I love that show. It’s not new, but I only discovered it a couple of months ago. It’s impossiblenotto smile when you’re watching it.”

“Too Cuteit is, then.” Crossing the living room, I set Rory’s duffel on the ground and crouch in front of the couch. I pull my keys from my pocket and flick on the attached flashlight, aiming the beam of light beneath the couch. “I don’t see it,” I tell her. “I guess we’ll have to keep looking.”

Rory stops in the center of the living room, her forehead creased in thought. Then she brightens. “Oh, I think I know where it might be.”

“Where?”

She’s already making a beeline to the kitchen. “The little doghouse in the back. Elmore likes to go in there sometimes to take a nap. He might have brought it in there.”

“Okay, I can check.” I stand up, biting back a wince as my prosthetic rubs against my sensitive skin. “Just wait?—”

“I’ll just run out to check,” Rory calls back. “It’ll just take a second.”

“Ror. Wait. That’s not a great idea.”

But her hand is already on the doorknob to the back door. “It’s right outside, Gage,” she replies, a teasing note to her voice. “I think I can manage to go twenty feet on my own.”

I don’t doubt that she can walk twenty feet. But I don’t like the idea of Rory going anywhere without me. “Just wait?—”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”

In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t. But thesearen’tnormal circumstances.

And my gut is telling me this is a bad idea.

There are only fifteen feet between us, but as she steps outside without me, my brain shrieking in silent alarm, it feels more like fifteen miles.

I pick up my pace, not quite running, but not walking, either. “Rory.”

She’s at the bottom of the back steps, heading towards a little red doghouse designed to look like a replica of the barn. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she says, “It’s fine, Gage. I’m right here. You can see me.”

It’s not good enough. Not when my gut is so certain this is wrong.

I haven’t felt like this sincethatday.

“Rory.” I repeat, this time with the same sharp, commanding tone I used to use in the Army. “Come backnow.”

Almost to the doghouse, Rory startles. Then she turns, surprise written all over her face. “What’s wrong?”

I hop off the top step, fighting to keep my balance when my leg nearly buckles as I land. “Get back hereright now.”

“Okay.” She jogs back towards me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

But a loud crack cuts her off.

A sound I’m terrifyingly familiar with.

A heartbeat later, a bullet slams into the ground, sending up a puff of grass and dirt where it lands.

Only feet from Rory.

She shrieks.

Fear explodes in my chest.