Page 7 of Protected By The Ranger (The Men of Ghost Security #1)

JAKE

E veryone is at HQwhen I arrive.

“Talk to me,” I say without preamble, dropping heavily into a chair beside Blake.

He looks up from his position at the main console.

“I finally found him. He has some skills, but he’s not on my level.

Our perp is Paul Waverly, twenty-eight, unemployed musician from Nashville.

”Blake’sfingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up files and photographs that stoke fury in me.

”History of obsessive behavior, two previous restraining orders from different women, and a pattern of escalating harassment that suggests he’s not going to stop on his own. ”

The photograph on the screen shows a thin man with brown hair and dead eyes that make my skin crawl. This is the bastard who’s been terrorizing Izzy. That shit ends today.

“Current location?”

“Comfort Inn off Route 9, Room 237. Paid cash under the name David Miller, but his car registration gave him away.”Blake clicks to a new screen showing surveillance footage from the hotel’s parking lot.

“He’s been there since yesterday, and according to the desk clerk, he’s been asking questions about local residents. ”

My hands clench into fists. “What kind of questions?”

“Specifically about the Dawson family. Where they live, whether the daughter was back in town.” Blake’sexpression darkens. “The clerk didn’t give him anything, but Waverly is likely planning something.”

Blake pulls up another screen. “And Jake? He bought a hunting knife three days ago. Cash purchase at a sporting goods store outside Nashville.”

Zane walks in carrying tactical gear, his usual playful demeanor replaced by the serious hyperfocus we all get when we’re about to go out into the field against a possible violent target.”Equipment’s ready. Surveillance, backup comm, and everything else we discussed.”

Hawk emerges from the shadows near the window, his gray eyes assessing as he takes in my demeanor. “You sure you want to handle this personally?”

The question is valid, but I wave a hand to dismiss the question.

I’m not going to deny how I feel about her, but my handling this stalker isn’t up for debate, either.

This stopped being professional the moment I fell in love with Izzy.

I know I should let the men handle it, but I can’t. This is personal.

“He threatened her,” I say simply. “He photographed her when she thought she was safe, over in Raytown. He’s been tracking her movements.” My voice hardens. “Yeah, I’m handling this personally.”

“Just making sure you know what you’re walking into.” Hawk’s expression remains neutral, but I catch the underlying concern. “This isn’t a military operation. Different rules, different consequences.”

“The only rule that matters tonight is that Paul Waverly understands he picked the wrong woman to terrorize.”

Blakepulls up another screen showing Waverly’s vehicle, a beat-up sedan that stands out among the hotel’s other cars. “He’s been making regular trips into town, always during daylight hours, always alone. Reconnaissance runs, most likely.”

The methodical nature of Waverly’s harassment makes something cold settle in my chest. This asshole might not be a tech genius, but he was able to track Izzy here and to her old high school.And now he’s armed.

“I want surveillance on the hotel until I get there,” I tell the team. “If he moves, I need to know immediately.”

“Already in place,”Blakeconfirms, handing earpieces to Zane and me. “Eyes on his room and his vehicle. Convenience store across the street has a working camera, and it records to the cloud. That was easy to intercept.”

I stand, checking my weapon even though I know it’s clean and good to go.

I grab an extra clip and shove it in my back pocket.

It’s unlikely I’ll need it, but it’s better to be safe than in a jam and an empty clip.

Given what Blake just told me about Waverly’s desperation and the knife, I have a feeling this won’t go smoothly.

“You coming?” I ask Zane, who’s been gearing up since I arrived.

He nods, then stands. “Let’s get this done.”

There’s only life before Izzy, and now. And I intend on spending forever with her.

The Comfort Inn sits like a scar against the mountain landscape, its neon sign flickering against the gathering dusk. Room 237 is on the second floor, accessible by an external staircase that provides multiple exit routes.

I sit in my SUV in the parking lot, studying the building’s layout and planning my approach.

Blake’svoice crackles through my earpiece, providing updates on Waverly’s movements inside the room. “Target’s been stationary for the past hour. Food was delivered twenty minutes ago, so he might be settled in for the evening.”

“Copy that.”

I pick up my phone and send a quick text to Hayden. Problem will be solved shortly. Don’t let Izzy out of your sight.

“Movement,”Zane calls out, and I toss my phone on the dashboard. “He’s on the move, heading for the parking lot.”

I watch through my windshield as Paul Waverly emerges from the stairwell. He’s thinner than his photographs suggested, but he has a wiry strength that suggests he won’t go down easy.

He reaches his sedan and fumbles with the keys. Perfect.

Zane and I slip out of my SUV and cross the parking lot in silence, approaching from his blind spot.

“Paul Waverly.”

He spins around, keys dropping to the ground with a metallic clatter. Up close, his eyes dart between Zane and me like he knows his reckoning is here.

“Who—who are you?”

“Someone very interested in your recent photography hobby.” I step closer,putting my hands on my hips.”Specifically, the pictures you’ve been taking of Isabelle Dawson. Bella.”

His face goes palewhen he sees the gun on my hip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because I have your Instagram messages. The ones where you describe watching her when she thinks no one’s looking.

And the photo you took when you broke into her home.

” I pull out my phone, showing him screenshots I took from Izzy’s phone.

“Pretty detailed for someone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about. ”

Waverly’s nervous energy transforms into something approaching panic. He takes a step backward, but there’s nowhere to go—I’ve positioned myself between him and any escape route.

“Look, man, I’m just a fan. I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“Taking unauthorized photographs of someone? Tracking their movements? Breaking and entering in their home?” I count off each offense on my fingers. “That’s harassment, stalking, and probably a few other charges my lawyer friend would be happy to explain.”

“You can’t prove anything.”

I smile, my words cold as I say, “I don’t need to prove anything.I have the evidence. This ends tonight.”

Waverly looks at me, and his eyes flash like he’s rapidly weighing his options. “What do you want?”

“I want you to understand something very clearly.” I step closer, invading his personal space until he can probably smell the coffee on my breath.

“Isabelle Dawson is under my protection. That means if you so much as think her name, I’m going to know about it.

I also highly advise that you don’t stalk any other women. ”

“I haven’t—”

“Let me finish.” The command in my voice cuts through his protests. “If you contact her again, if you post about her online, if you even search for her name on social media, you’re going to have a very serious problem.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m educating you.” I reach out and straighten his collar with mock helpfulness, enjoying the way he flinches at my touch.

“See, the thing about obsessive stalkers is that they tend to have unfortunate accidents. Car crashes, falls down stairs, mysterious disappearances. It’s almost like the universe is trying to tell them something. ”

Waverly’s breathing becomes rapid and shallow. “You can’t—”

Zane steps out of the dark behind me, his deep voice quiet but clear.”I know how to make a body disappear and never be found.”

Waverly stares at Zane, flexing his hands, and I know he’s about to make the wrong choice. His hand moves toward his jacket pocket. “You think you can just—”

His fist comes fast, aimed at my jaw. I duck left, the punch whistling past my ear, and counter with a solid right hook that connects with his cheek. The impact sends pain shooting through my knuckles, and Waverly stumbles backward, blood streaming from his nose.

“Motherfucker!” Waverly snarls, wiping blood from his face. His hand darts inside his jacket and comes out with a hunting knife, the blade gleaming under the parking lot lights.

“Jake!” Zane shouts, but I’m already moving.

Waverly lunges with the knife, aiming for my ribs. I grab his wrist with both hands, slamming it against my knee until he drops the weapon with a howl of pain. The knife clatters across the asphalt as I drive the heel of my hand into his solar plexus.

He doubles over, gasping, but comes up swinging. His fist catches me on my jaw. The taste of blood in my mouth makes something primitive roar to life in my chest.

“You picked the wrong woman to fuck with,” I growl, grabbing the front of his shirt and driving my knee into his stomach. He crumples, and I follow up with another punch to his face, his nose cracking under my knuckles.

Waverly goes down hard, blood pouring from his broken nose and split lip. I stand over him, shaking out my hand, knuckles already swelling.

“We ever have to have this conversation again, you won’t be going home,” I tell him, my voice deadly calm despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “There will be no law enforcement involved, just us.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!”

I chuckle. “And what are you going to do about it? Now, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to take a nice walk to your room, and then you’re going to hand over your phone, laptop, and any other devices you have,” I continue. “Right now. Walk.”

We shove Waverly in the direction of his hotel room and quickly gather all his devices. We make him unlock them so Blake can go through everything and make sure there are no cloud copies of anything.

“Now,” I say as Zane and I stand in the doorway of his hotel room, Waverly slumped against a wall. “You’re leaving town tonight. You’re going to drive back to whatever rock you live under, and you’re going to pretend Isabelle Dawson never existed.”

“And if I don’t?”

Zane steps forward. “One-way ticket to an unmarked grave.”