“It’s okay,” he told her, keeping his voice low and steady. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
Cole materialized beside them, rain streaming down his face, his expression grim. “We need to move. They’ll be back with reinforcements.”
Ghost nodded, his focus still on Naomi. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” The word was firm, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. Ghost caught her before she hit the ground, one arm sliding under her knees, the other supporting her back.
She was shivering violently, her skin ice-cold beneath the sodden hoodie—his hoodie, he realized. She’d still been wearing it when they took her. The thought pierced him like a knife.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lifting her against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
For a moment, she resisted, her body tense. Then, all at once, she melted against him, her face pressing into the curve of his neck. Her breath came in short, shuddering gasps. Not crying—Naomi wasn’t a crier—but fighting for control.
“The girls,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his skin.
“Cole has them,” he assured her. He looked up to confirm and saw that Cole had indeed already lifted the unconscious girl into his arms while extending a hand to the younger one. “They’re safe. You’re safe.”
Bear appeared at the edge of the clearing, King at his heels. He took in the scene in one glance, then immediately called out their position on the radio and requested support.
“Bear, she needs Narcan,” Ghost called, nodding toward Cole and the unconscious girl. He watched Cole cross the clearing to Bear, who was already pulling his medical supplies from his bag.
The girl would be okay.
No better combat medic in Montana than Dane “Bear” McKenna.
Ghost blocked everything else out but Naomi, holding her more securely against his chest and breathing in the scent of her hair.
He’d almost been too late.
That he’d almost lost her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words meant only for her. “I’m sorry I got pissed about the FBI thing. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
She pulled back just far enough to look at him, rain mingling with blood on her face. “You found me.” Her voice was raw, barely audible above the storm. “That’s all that matters.”
Their eyes locked, and something passed between them—something Ghost couldn’t name but felt in his marrow. He’d spent his life keeping walls between himself and the world. Hiding. Surviving. But this woman had somehow slipped past every defense, and now the thought of losing her felt like losing gravity.
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “That’s all that matters.”
She nodded once, then let her head rest against his shoulder again. Her trembling had eased somewhat, though whether from his body heat or the simple fact of being safe, he couldn’t tell.
Cinder appeared at his side, pressing close to his leg, her eyes fixed on Naomi with unusual intensity. The dog had never shown much interest in anyone except Ghost, but now she whined softly, as if concerned.
“Your dog found us,” Naomi murmured, her eyes closing in exhaustion. “I heard her before I saw anyone.”
Ghost glanced down at Cinder, feeling a surge of something like gratitude. “She’s good at finding things that matter.”
Naomi’s fingers curled into his shirt, holding tight as if afraid he might disappear. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” he promised, and meant it in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. “Not ever again.”
Bear approached, his expression grim. “Medics are on their way. Ten minutes out. How is she?”
“I’m fine,” Naomi answered for herself, though she didn’t lift her head from Ghost’s shoulder. “But Tariah needs help. She’s been drugged. And Angel needs medical attention, too.”
“Already taken care of,” Bear assured her. He looked at Ghost. “You good to carry her out of here?”
Ghost nodded. He’d carry her through hell if that’s what it took.
