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ZEKE

A piercing wail jolts me from sleep. The distinct, urgent cry of the town's volunteer fire department siren slices through the predawn stillness, setting my pulse racing. Beside me, Sadie stirs, her warmth a fleeting comfort as reality crashes in.

"Zeke?" Her voice is thick with sleep, laced with concern.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, muscles coiling with readiness. "It's the fire alarm," I say, reaching for my jeans. "Something's wrong. I have to go"

Sadie sits up, allowing the sheet to puddle in her lap, wide awake now. "Be careful."

I nod, pulling on my shirt and boots with practiced efficiency. The shrill siren continues its relentless call, each pulse tightening the knot in my gut. As I fasten my belt, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I snatch it up, recognizing Caleb's number.

"Zeke," he says the moment I answer, his voice taut. "Joe's garage is up in flames. The fire department is already here, but it's bad. The shop area is going to be a complete loss. The fire's threatening the fuel pumps."

"Damn it," I hiss, adrenaline surging. "Any sign of Joe?"

"Negative. He's not answering his phone, and no one's seen him."

"I'm on my way." I end the call and turn to Sadie, who watches me with a mix of fear and determination.

"Joe's garage is burning," I inform her, grabbing my jacket. "Stay here. Lock the doors."

She opens her mouth to protest but thinks better of it, nodding instead. "Be safe, Zeke."

I stride to the door, pausing briefly to look back at her. "I'll be back soon."

The drive to Joe's garage is a blur, my mind racing faster than the truck's engine. As I approach, the night sky glows ominously, the acrid scent of burning fuel seeping through the vents. Flames engulf the structure, licking hungrily at the darkness, while firefighters battle valiantly to contain the inferno.

I park a safe distance away and make my way to Caleb, who stands near the perimeter, his face illuminated by the fire's eerie light.

"Any updates?" I ask, scanning the chaotic scene.

Caleb shakes his head, frustration clear. "Joe's still missing. We found his truck out back, but no sign of him."

I clench my jaw; the implications chilling. "And Adam?"

"The guy in the picture?” I nod. “Gone. No one's seen him since yesterday."

Damn it. The pieces are falling into a pattern I don't like.

"This fire..." I begin, but Caleb finishes my thought.

"Arson. No doubt about it. There are found traces of accelerant near the rear entrance."

I exhale sharply, anger simmering beneath the surface. "We need to find Joe and Adam. Now."

Caleb nods. "I noticed ATV tracks leading from the back of the shop into the woods. They might give us a lead."

"Let's follow them," I say without hesitation. "Grab what you need."

Minutes later, we're on the trail, flashlights cutting through the dense forest darkness. The tracks are fresh, the churned earth betraying a hurried departure.

"They were in a rush," Caleb observes, crouching to examine the disturbed soil.

"Desperate men make mistakes," I reply, eyes scanning the path ahead. "Let's hope they left us something to go on."

We press on, the forest closing in around us, each step heightening my sense of urgency. After what feels like an eternity, we emerge onto a remote ridge. The acrid scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air.

"Another burn site," Caleb mutters, pointing to a charred clearing ahead.

We approach cautiously, the ground beneath our boots transitioning from soft earth to scorched remains. In the center of the devastation lies a chilling sight: a dark stain marring the blackened soil.

"Blood," I state grimly, kneeling to inspect it.

Caleb exhales slowly. "Someone was injured here. Recently."

I rise, resolve hardening. "We need to find out whose blood this was and where they were taken."

Caleb nods, determination mirrored in his eyes. "Agreed. But Zeke, this is escalating. Whoever's behind this isn't afraid to spill blood."

"Neither am I," I reply coldly. "Especially when it comes to protecting what's mine."

We share a brief, understanding glance before turning back toward the trail. The night is far from over, and the hunt has just begun.

* * *

I guide the SUV off the main road, tires biting into the packed snow as we follow the trail Caleb marked. The radio crackles with static and clipped updates from the fire crew. Joe’s garage is under control—for now. The pumps were inches from going up. Would’ve taken half the block with them. Too close for comfort.

The guy in charge of the fire response? Travis Holt. It’s a name I know, if not the face. At least not until now. Last I heard, he was supposed to be dead. But that rumor, like most in Glacier Hollow, doesn’t hold up under daylight.

Travis Holt—former SEAL turned bestselling author—decided this town needed a fire station more than another book. So he bought one of the old buildings, gutted it, rebuilt it, and formed a volunteer crew from scratch. Trained them himself. No frills. Just function.

When I get him on the radio, his voice is cool. Steady. All edges sanded down by experience. He’s not the hand-shaking, back-slapping type—but I don’t need charm. I need competence. And he’s got it.

“Is the town safe?” I ask him.

“From the fire? Yeah. We’ve got it contained. Pumps are fine. From whoever lit it? Not even close. You know who you’re chasing?”

“Pieces,” I say. “Still putting it together. I’ve got another SEAL riding with me?—”

“Figured that was Caleb.”

I smile a little. “If we need you?—”

“You will,” he says. No drama. Just fact. I nod to myself and keep driving. “I’ve got your back. Be careful. Abby likes your Sadie.”

I don’t bother to deny she is now my Sadie. “Then that makes two of us. Keep me advised on the fire and if you can, keep your eyes open on the town until Caleb and I get back.”

“Will do. Good hunting, Zeke.”

The call ends. As the SUV rolls along beside me, Caleb’s scanning the tree line through the passenger window, his jaw set. He has said little since we left the edge of town, but he doesn’t need to. His tight shoulders tell me everything. He’s reading the woods like a language most men have forgotten.

“Pull off here,” he says suddenly, voice low.

I do, killing the engine as soon as we’re stopped. The silence afterward is absolute. We get out without a word and head into the trees, our boots softly crunching over ice. Caleb moves ahead, crouching low when he reaches the first set of ATV tracks. I kneel beside him and take a closer look—fresh treads, staggered in places where the machine hit a rut. Someone was in a hurry. But not reckless. This trail was chosen, not stumbled onto.

“Blood,” Caleb says, pointing ahead to a pine sapling sprayed dark at the base.

I follow the trail with my eyes. It’s not a lot. But it’s enough to say someone left here injured—or worse. And I know, even before I say it aloud, that this wasn’t a random act of violence. This was a message. A warning.

I stand slowly, scanning the shadows deeper into the woods. Whoever ran this op torched the garage to cover a trail—but the real cleanup happened out here.

“This was a drop site,” I mutter. “They torched the garage to sever ties. What they didn’t count on is that we were already watching.”

Caleb nods, pulling out his phone and snapping photos. “Or that your fire department could respond so quickly.”

“Apparently six months ago, we didn’t have a fire department.”

Caleb nods. “I’ll keep tracking. You go deal with what’s next.”

I know what he means. The town. Sadie. The fallout. I turn back toward the SUV, the weight of it all pressing down like the snow-heavy sky above us. Joe’s gone. Adam too. But they didn’t vanish without help.

I climb back into the SUV, start the engine, and grip the wheel tight. Glacier Hollow isn’t just some quiet town anymore. It’s a fuse. And someone’s already lit the match.

* * *

The second I’m back in cell range, I pull over and make the call. There’s only one guy I trust for what I need right now—Detective Nate Barnett, Anchorage PD, white-collar unit. We served together back in Coronado. He owes me, and we both know it.

The line clicks twice before he picks up. "MacAllister. Thought you were allergic to phones."

"I need a name run through your financial unit," I say without preamble. "Brent Holloway. He ever pop up in anything off the books? Private LLCs, corporate laundering, suspicious movement of funds through Alaska fronts. He was involved with my girl, Sadie Callahan."

Nate exhales like I just dumped a lot on his desk before breakfast. "Is he your target because of her or something else?"

"He’s about to be both."

A pause. Then, "Give me an hour."

I hang up and head back toward town. The sky's still low and gray, bleeding into the mountains like it can’t decide whether to snow or rain. Dirt from the ridge Caleb tracked still cakes my boots. That bloodstain hasn’t left my head. Someone got hurt bad out there—maybe Adam. But we didn’t find a body. Just a burn site and tire tracks headed east.

By the time I park behind the café, the streets are stirring with early risers. The fire crew is cleaning up the last of the fire. A couple of regulars with coffee already in hand are watching. A maintenance truck creeping toward the bridge. All quiet on the surface. But the kind of quiet that makes your skin itch.

I step into the back of the café. Sadie’s at the prep table, apron already dusted in flour, a tray of cinnamon rolls cooling by the window. She glances up when she hears me, and something shifts in her expression—something tight.

She doesn’t say it. But I know.

I cross the room in three strides. "What happened?"

She hesitates. Wipes her hands on a towel, then reaches into her coat pocket. I watch her movements. Too careful. Too practiced. She pulls out a folded piece of paper. Her fingers don’t shake, but her eyes won’t meet mine when she hands it over.

I unfold it. Printed block letters again. No signature. Same type as before.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.

This time, it’s not just a threat. It’s a reprimand. A warning shot across the bow.

I crumple the paper in my fist, jaw clenching. "When?"

She finally meets my eyes. "This morning. In the mailbox. I didn’t... I was going to wait to show you."

"No," I snap, but not at her. I step in, close the space between us until she has no choice but to feel it. My heat. My control. My protection. "You don’t get to keep this shit from me anymore. Not after last night."

Her breath catches. She nods. Small. Honest.

I cup her jaw, not rough, but firm enough to anchor her. "No more hiding. No more soft-stepping around what this is. They want you afraid, Sadie. They want you second-guessing what you deserve. That ends now."

Her eyes shine, but she holds the tears back. "I’m not used to someone standing with me."

"Then get used to it," I growl. "Because I’m not going anywhere. And anyone who touches what’s mine pays for it. In blood."

My phone buzzes. Anchorage area code. I answer it without looking.

Nate’s voice comes through, sharp and grim. "Your guy’s dirty. Brent Holloway has three LLCs tied to a shell firm based out of Sitka. All of them cycling high-volume cash deposits with no source. My guess? Laundering. We’ve been watching one of the fronts for months. Didn’t have a name until now."

I glance at Sadie. Her brows furrow, reading my expression.

"You got names on the other signatories?" I ask.

"One. Adam Holloway. You think he’s involved?"

"He’s not just involved. He’s the fucking middleman."

Nate goes quiet. Then, "Want me to keep digging?"

"No," I say. "I’ll send you what I have via a secure fax line.”

“Since when did Glacier Hollow have a secure fax line?”

“Since I made them hook us up. We’re closing this down. Now."

I hang up. Sadie hasn’t moved. But she knows. She always does.

"It’s Brent," I say. "He’s not just watching. He’s moving money. And Adam’s been running it through this town. Joe was a piece of it. The garage fire was a cleanup job."

Sadie presses a hand to the counter. "And I’m a liability."

I shake my head, stepping in. "You’re a mistake they made. The biggest one was threatening you, thinking they could scare you… thinking I wouldn’t burn the entire mountain down to keep you safe."

Her lips part. Her voice cracks just a little. "Zeke... what do we do now?"

I lean in, press a kiss to her forehead. "We end it. We hunt them down, we make it loud, and we make damn sure no one ever comes back."

“Can you do that all by yourself?” she asks, concerned.

“No, but I’m not alone. I have three former SEALs to call on. Trust me, Brent and his buddies have no idea what they’ve taken on.”

“Three?”

“Yeah, Nate, Caleb and Travis.”

“Travis is an ex-SEAL?”

“Former, babe. Once you’re special ops anything—SEAL, Ranger, Force Recon—you’re always one. If you no longer work for the military, you may be former, but never ex.”

She grins and shakes her head, exhaling like she’s been holding her breath for weeks. Maybe she has. But she doesn’t step away, and I don’t let go.

* * *

The new cameras for the café and Sadie’s cottage go in faster than I expect. I’d already had the basics—motion sensors, wireless feeds, entry points locked—but this? This is different. Thermal imaging. AI-based motion alerts. Full perimeter, real-time uplink to my secure feed. I’m not taking chances anymore. Not with Sadie.

She’s in the kitchen, pretending not to watch me drill a new mount above the window that faces the woods. I can feel her eyes on my back, a soft hum of curiosity and worry stitched together.

“It’ll be next to impossible to take a shower without one of these things lighting up,” she says, voice wry.

I glance over my shoulder, meet her gaze. “Good. Then I’ll know you’re safe even if I’m not here.”

She bites her bottom lip, the way she does when she’s unsure if she should push. “Zeke… this feels like a lot.”

“It is,” I say, straightening. “Because the threat isn’t low anymore, Sadie. You finding that note today? That wasn’t a bluff. That was escalation.”

She stiffens slightly, arms wrapping around herself. The memory of it is fresh—white envelope tucked into her mailbox, no return address, no stamp. Just her name scrawled in that same jagged hand as before. She hadn’t meant for me to see it. Tried to hide it, fold it away into her coat pocket like it was something to unpack later. But I caught her. And this time, I didn’t let her lie.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you do this alone,” I say. “That wasn’t conditional. I meant it.”

Sadie doesn’t argue. She just nods, the motion is small and solemn. “I know. I just… it’s hard. Having someone worry about me like this. I’m not used to it.”

I set the drill down and cross the room. My hands find her waist, pull her in until her body melts against mine like she’s been waiting for this. She always does. “Get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere. And neither are those cameras.”

Her breath catches. “Okay,” she whispers.

I press a kiss to her temple, then her cheek. Her arms slide around my back, and I feel the tension in her slowly fade.

By the time I finish mounting the last unit, it’s late. She’s still in the studio, curled in my chair with her legs tucked under her, one of my flannels draped over her shoulders. She looks small like that—like something I could carry, protect, hide from the rest of the damn world. And she’s watching me again, eyes soft and full of something she hasn’t named yet.

I lock the windows. Bolt the door. Then I turn and nod toward the bed. “You staying?”

She doesn’t answer with words. Just stands slowly and walks over to me, pulls the flannel tighter, then nods once. “I don’t want to go back to my place tonight.”

“You won’t.”

I dim the lights, draw the blackout curtains, and give her space. She disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when she returns, she’s wearing one of my shirts—black cotton, hangs off her shoulder, stops mid-thigh. She looks better in it than I ever have. Both my chest and groin tighten. She’s not doing it for show. She’s doing it because it feels like mine, like comfort, like a promise.

“I can sleep on the couch,” I offer, voice lower now.

She walks straight into me, presses a kiss to my sternum. “Don’t you dare.”