Yet, I lingered longer than I should’ve, watching the shape of her porch, the soft spill of light across the ground.
I felt the minutes pass, each one feeling shorter than the last. Hours moved slowly in the eerie glow of my goggles, the night air biting cold against my skin.
Then, just after ten, Lilly’s cabin lights blinked out. I told myself she’d gone to bed early. Normal. Harmless. Nothing to read into.
But the front door opened.
Even through night vision, I’d know that silhouette anywhere.
Lilly.
Her purse was swung over one shoulder, and in her free hand she clutched something slim, dark—looked like a bottle catching the faintest gleam. She moved quickly, shoulders squared, like she didn’t want to be seen.
She slid into her car, headlights flashing on as the faint sound of the engine humming to life reached me. A second later, she was backing down the drive, taillights bleeding red into the night until they disappeared around the bend.
My chest went tight. Where the hell was she going at this hour—with a bottle, no less? To see someone? Some man none of us in town even knew about? The thought landed like a sucker punch. I’d faced ambushes in the desert with steadier hands.
I hated how fast the heat rose in me, sharp and hot, twisting in my gut. Anger. Jealousy. A flash of something darker, the same surge that used to tear through me when a convoy vanished into the dust and I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that something ugly was waiting. The old shadows stirred, whispering,she’s leaving you, too.
My jaw locked. My hand found the rifle propped at my side—habit, I told myself, nothing more. Protection, not use. I forced my fingers to ease their grip, forced air into my lungs until the storm in my head dulled to a low, grinding hum. This wasn’t awar zone. She wasn’t an enemy. She was just a woman driving into the night.
But it didn’t stop it from burning. Didn’t stop it from feeling like betrayal.
The radio crackled at my hip, yanking me back. Bruce’s voice came through low and steady, wrapped in static. “Nothing tonight. Let’s pack it up.”
I swallowed hard, thumb pressing the button. “Copy.” My voice came out even, though the pulse in my throat said otherwise.
Below, Grace shifted, stamping once before settling again, her steady frame outlined in the green wash of the goggles. She was patient, unshaken, waiting for me to climb down.
I slid the rifle strap across my back, dropped from the stand, and landed softly in the damp earth. She leaned into my hand as I rubbed down her neck, her warmth steadying me in a way no amount of money or bourbon could.
The brush crackled, and Bruce emerged, King trailing behind him with his usual regal toss of the head. Bruce hoisted the trail cams into his pack, gave me a look that said more than his words ever did.
“Nothing gained, nothing lost,” he repeated, tugging his cap lower. “I told the captain we’d need more than rumors to make a case.”
I almost laughed. Nothing gained? Maybe. But nothing lost?
Watching Lilly’s lights disappear, then seeing her drive away into the darkness with God-knows-what tucked under her arm, that didn’t feel like anything. It felt like losing ground that I didn’t even realize I’d been fighting to hold.
I swung up into the saddle, letting Grace find her rhythm as we started down the slope. The night pressed close, full of thawing earth and cold stars, the leather creaking in time with her patient stride.
Bruce could call it even if he wanted. For me, I wouldn’t rest until I found out where Lilly was going this late at night.
Chapter Three
Silk and Wine
Lilly
Evening settled over the lake, the kind that seeped into your bones after a long day’s work. The drip from the cabin’s eaves had its own rhythm—slow, steady, relentless. Each drop hit the tin flashing outside with a hollow ping, keeping time with the clock on my kitchen wall.
Beyond the window, Lake Lovelace stretched out in a dull sweep of pewter, the last scraps of snow clinging stubbornly to the shaded banks. Early spring in Montana brought the damp chill that snuck right through your sweater, no matter how many layers you wore.
I sat at my small kitchen table, surrounded by papers like a general hunched over battle plans. But these weren’t strategies—they were invoices.
Electric. Water. Three from Martin, both stamped overdue in a bright red that looked almost smug. The tulip order I shouldn’t have placed, but did anyway, because who wants to walk into a flower shop in March and see only empty shelves? The rent bill Ikept pushing to the bottom of the pile as if it might disappear if I ignored it long enough.
Sunny stretched out under the table, head resting on her paws, warm and solid against my bare feet. Every now and then her tail thumped softly, a quiet reminder that at least one creature in my world didn’t care about numbers or deadlines—just that I was here.
