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“Samuel Carpenter? You’re bringing in Carpenter Security?”

“Already did. You’re meeting him at four.”

Noah stood abruptly. “You made arrangements before I even agreed?”

Gator remained seated, unperturbed. “When have you ever known me to waste time? Sit down”.

He wasn’t finished with his uncle yet. Nobody was going to railroad him into a bodyguard gig. Been there, done that. Retired. He fixed Gator with a hard stare.

“Son, we both know you wouldn’t be here if you had a choice. Well, you do. You can turn around, get back on a plane, head back to your mountain and hide away from the world for another three years. But I need your help, and you owe me . So, I’m calling in my marker, asking you to work this case. Protect Jennifer Baptiste, because she’s got nobody else she can count on. We’re it, her last line of defense against people who will stop at nothing to put her in the ground. I know you’d rather sit in your granddaddy’s cabin and brood, but I’m asking you—man-to-man—to step up.”

Noah scrubbed his hand over his face, avoiding Gator’s gaze as he thought about not only what he said but how he said it. The old man was right, he owed him far more than the cost of one security gig watching a spoiled rich Frenchwoman, one who’d probably complain about every little thing that didn’t go her way. Sounded like his idea of purgatory. But he knew Gator wouldn’t have called him, wouldn’t ask him to come all the way to New Orleans, unless he believed Jennifer Baptiste was in danger and needed the kind of protection Noah could provide. There was no question at this point—he was taking the job—but he needed Gator to know he wasn’t about to be a glorified lapdog for Ms. Baptiste.

“I’m not a babysitter, and I’m not interested in protecting some rich socialite who’s probably brought this on herself.”

The look that passed between Gator and the woman seemed to say, look, didn’t I tell you he was going to be a total jackass about this? She simply shook her head, her expression remaining calm, a serene smile tugging at her lips.

“Jennifer Baptiste is a lot of things, but a socialite isn’t one of them. She’s the black sheep of the Amir family. Not acknowledged by them, illegitimate daughter of Muhammed Amir.”

That gave Noah pause. “And the Boudreaus got involved because…?” Noah sat back down slowly, heaviness settling in his chest. Family. It always came back to family with the Boudreaus.

“The Amirs have already tried twice to kill her,” Gator continued. “Car bombing that she escaped by pure luck. A break-in at her hotel room. They want her silenced, permanently.” He paused before drawing in a deep breath. “She had the chance to let the Amirs hurt Gabi. Hurt Salem and steal baby Chloe. Instead, she’s put her life on the line to see justice carried out. Jennifer Baptiste might have started out a selfish woman motivated by avarice and greed, but she’s changed, and I want her to have the opportunity to become the person I believe she can be.”

Noah finally reached for the folder, flipping it open. The photo on top showed a woman with dark hair and striking green eyes. Something in her expression caught him off guard—determination, intelligence, and a defiance that seemed at odds with the fading bruises visible on her face. This was not the pampered heiress he’d imagined.

“You mentioned the Texas branch says she’s trouble,” Noah said, recalling Gator’s words on the phone that had brought him here.

“She is. Stubborn as a mule, refuses protection half the time, and won’t back down from the case despite the danger.” A hint of admiration colored Gator’s tone. “Reminds me of your mother.”

It was a low blow, and Gator knew it. Noah’s mother was fearless, principled, and unwavering, and he adored the ground she walked on. Even when she butted into his business. Luckily, she didn’t come up the mountain all that often; nope, she sent his brothers instead. “That’s manipulation, old man.”

Gator shrugged unapologetically. “Is it working?”

“I’ll meet with Carpenter,” he said finally. “But I’m not promising anything beyond that.”

Gator’s smile was knowing. “That’s good enough for now.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression growing more serious. “Samuel’s practically one of my sons, you know. Knows me, knows who I am, what I’ve done. It’s why he went into the DEA, and it nearly got him killed. Then he followed me into my previous life, bent on vengeance against the man who betrayed him. I know you haven’t seen him in a while, but I’m here to tell you he’s grown into a good man.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t often that Gator made even oblique references to his CIA past. The old man was a ghost, his entire existence in the intelligence community carefully erased when he “retired.” That he brought it up now spoke volumes about how important this was to him.

“He agrees you’re the only man for this job,” Gator continued. “And Samuel doesn’t say things like that lightly.”

Noah didn’t respond, his attention on the bayou stretching out before them. A heron stood motionless in the shallows, waiting for prey. Patience. Something he’d once had in abundance, before Kabul, before Donovan’s betrayal. Now, it seemed as foreign as the humid Louisiana air after years in the Tennessee mountains.

“Eat your pulled pork, or my Willie will be disappointed,” Gator said softly. “We leave for Sam’s in an hour.”

Carpenter’s office was brick and glass, newly renovated with updates that helped rejuvenate and revive their Canal Street location. Noah was willing to bet the view from the roof overlooked the Mississippi River and was probably one of the best in New Orleans. The man himself stood with his back to the door when Noah entered, his attention on a large white board covered with numbered lists and bullet points.

“Noah Temple,” Carpenter said without turning. “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared without a trace.”

He turned then, extending his hand. Tall and lean, with a bit more salt in his hair than the teenager Noah remembered, and the watchful eyes of a man who’d seen his share of conflict, Carpenter had the bearing of ex-Agency, probably without even realizing it.

“Drug Enforcement Agency, I’ve been told. Glad you were able to prove you were set up.” Noah said, accepting the handshake. Even though he’d had no intention of coming back to New Orleans except for an occasional visit, purely for pleasure, he’d made sure to keep up with everything to do with the Boudreau branch of the family, and that included Samuel Carpenter, although he wasn’t as close to the man as the rest of his family. He remembered meeting him in passing a couple of times but couldn’t say that he knew him well.

“And you were Army Special Forces. Green Beret. Distinguished service in Afghanistan and Iraq.” Carpenter gestured to a chair. “Until Commander Donovan decided you made a convenient scapegoat.”

Noah remained standing. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

“I make it my business to know who I’m working with.” Carpenter moved behind his desk. “Especially when they come highly recommended by someone like Gator Boudreau. Plus, you’re family, which makes a big difference with my company.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“No?” Carpenter raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

It was a fair question. Noah had spent the time since lunch at Gator’s, indulging in Miss Willie’s delicious pulled pork sandwiches, telling himself he was just going through the motions, that he would listen politely and then return to Tennessee. But something about the woman in the photograph nagged at him—the defiance in her eyes, the strong yet vulnerable expression barely hidden beneath the surface. Yes, she’d appeared poised and polished, but he’d be willing to be there was a scared little girl buried just out of view. “Professional courtesy,” Noah said. “Nothing more.”

Carpenter didn’t look convinced. “Ms. Baptiste arrives tonight. She’ll be staying at a property owned by your uncle in the Garden District—off the books, untraceable to either the Boudreau or Baptiste families. More importantly, it can’t be tracked by the Amirs.”

“You’re assuming I’m taking the job.”

“I’m assuming you’ve already taken it, whether you’ve admitted it to yourself or not.” Carpenter slid a phone across the desk. “Secure line. My number and Gator’s are programmed in. Ms. Baptiste’s case file is in the encrypted folder you’ll find on there too.”

Noah made no move to take the phone. “I’ve been out of the game for quite a while.”

“And yet here you are.” Carpenter leaned forward. “Look, I understand your reluctance. After what happened in Kabul, I’d be wary too. But this is a straightforward protection detail, not complex counterintelligence.”

“If it’s so straightforward, why not use one of your regular operatives?”

“Because the Amirs have infiltrated nearly every security firm and most of the law enforcement agencies in Texas and Louisiana. They aren’t taking any chances in trying to find Ms. Baptiste. I need someone off the grid, someone with no digital footprint, no traceable employment history for the past three years.” Carpenter fixed him with a steady gaze. “Someone who disappeared into the Tennessee mountains and hasn’t surfaced since.”

The implication was clear. Noah’s isolation—what he’d considered his sanctuary—had become his most valuable asset in this situation.

“Two weeks,” Carpenter continued. “Then Nate returns from assignment in Colombia and takes over. All you must do is keep her alive and prevent her from doing anything reckless until then.”

Noah immediately read reckless for stupid. “From what I’ve heard, preventing reckless behavior is a full-time job where Ms. Baptiste is concerned.”

A hint of a smile touched Carpenter’s lips. “You’ve heard about what the Texas branch has been saying.”

“They seem to think she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

“Ms. Baptiste…marches to her own drummer.”

“Great,” Noah muttered.

“Her determination is what’s kept her alive this long,” Carpenter pointed out. “And it’s what will eventually bring down the Amirs, if she survives long enough to prove they are behind the attempted abduction.”

Noah finally took the phone, turning it over in his hand. “If—and that’s a big if—I agree to this, I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

“I work alone. No team, no backup unless I specifically request it.”

Carpenter nodded. “Done.”

“I need complete access to the case file, no holding back. I don’t want any surprises jumping up to bite me in the butt because somebody didn’t give me all the information.”

“Already on the phone.”

“And when this is over, I go back to Tennessee, and nobody—not Gator, not you, not any Boudreau—comes looking for me again.”

Carpenter studied him for a long moment before nodding. “That last one isn’t up to me. But I’ll respect your wishes on my end.” He glanced toward the door where Gator waited in the hallway. “Though I suspect your Uncle Gator might have other ideas.”

It wasn’t the guarantee Noah wanted, but it was the best he was likely to get. He pocketed the phone with a curt nod.

“I’ll be at the safe house at seven. Have someone text me the address.”

“It’s already done,” Carpenter said, indicating the phone in Noah’s pocket. “One more thing.” He opened a drawer and removed a sleek handgun and holster. “Your Louisiana carry permit has been reactivated. Courtesy of your uncle’s connections.”

Noah took the weapon, checking it with practiced hands. A Glock19—reliable, familiar. He hadn’t carried a firearm since leaving the military, if you didn’t count the shotgun he kept at the cabin. You never knew when you’d have to chase away unwanted varmints.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve agreed,” he said, securing the holster at his hip.

Carpenter’s expression remained neutral. “Of course not.”

As Noah turned to leave, Carpenter called after him. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the right man for this job.”

Noah paused at the door. “Why’s that?”

“Because Jennifer Baptiste doesn’t need a bodyguard. She needs someone who understands what it means to stand alone against powerful people who want you silenced.” Carpenter’s gaze was knowing.

The words hit closer to home than Noah cared to admit. He left without responding, the weight of the gun at his hip both foreign and familiar, like stepping back into a life he’d tried to leave behind.

In the hallway, Gator waited, eyes sharp as ever. “Well?”

“I’ll be at the safe house at seven,” Noah said, which wasn’t exactly an agreement, but close enough.

Gator’s smile was slight but satisfied. “Knew you’d come around.”

“I haven’t come around to anything,” Noah countered, but there was less conviction in his voice than he’d intended. “Just doing a favor for family.”

“That’s all anyone can ask.” Gator clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the property myself. Give you the lay of the land before our guest arrives.”