I sat up in one smooth movement and reached for my jeans on the floor. My T-shirt was still on, my boots by the door where I’d left them, my gun under my pillow where I kept it in case of trouble.
I was halfway through zipping my jeans when the bedroom door opened, no knock, no warning, just the sudden movement of hinges in the dark. My hand went under the pillow and came up with the Glock in one motion, aimed at the large shape filling the frame.
It was Rawley.
I lowered the weapon, finger already off the trigger, but didn’t holster it. Rawley wouldn’t be in our bedroom in the middle of the night if something wasn’t happening.
“Heard something on the property,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “Not an animal. Already alerted Macon and Burke. Burke’s moving Danny and the baby to Macon and Carter’s place now. Everyone else is in the safe room until we know what we’re dealing with.”
He was gone before I could respond—back into the hallway, his boots silent on the hardwood—leaving the door open a crack behind him.
I turned back to the bed, sat on the edge, and leaned over Jasper. His face was relaxed in sleep, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other resting on top of the covers. I covered his mouth gently with one hand, careful not to startle him.
The moment Jasper’s eyes opened—wide, instantly awake—I held one finger to my lips. His body went completely still, only his eyes moving to track my face, reading the situation without me having to explain it. He nodded once, the quick, definitive movement that meant he understood and would comply.
I pulled Jasper’s clothes from the chair beside the bed—jeans, a T-shirt, the flannel button-up that had become his when he’d stolen it from me three weeks ago—and handed them over. Then I finished dressing myself, boots included, moving with the quietness of a man who’d done this a hundred times before.
Jasper dressed fast and silent, his movements quick but controlled, no wasted motion. He didn’t ask questions. He’dlearned the value of getting information when it was available rather than when he wanted it.
I could feel the fear coming off him—not in the way he moved or the expression he wore, but in the quality of the air between us. A specific change in temperature, in density, in the way the room suddenly felt smaller. He was afraid, and trying not to show it, and doing it mostly successfully.
I kept my face and body locked into deliberate calm because Jasper was watching me the way he always did—reading my expression, scanning for information about how bad this was. He’d been a nurse before Nebraska; he knew how to spot the difference between professional confidence and actual certainty.
I checked the Glock’s load—chamber confirmed, full magazine—then took Jasper by the arm with my free hand. I put my mouth close to his ear, voice low enough that only he could hear it.
“Stay close,” I said. “Don’t speak. Don’t stop moving.”
Jasper nodded again, the same quick, definitive movement. He was barefoot, I realized, his shoes still by the door where he’d left them after dinner. I’d get him into boots when we reached the safe room.
I looked at him directly, taking in the firm set of his jaw, the careful way he held himself. “You’re with me,” I said, the simple statement carrying more weight than its three words should have been able to.
He understood what I meant—not “you’re under my protection“ or “I’ll keep you safe,” but the truth of us standing together against whatever came next. Not a transaction or a performance, but a choice freely made.
“We’re ready,” he said, keeping it simple.
I checked the hall through the gap in the door—empty, the night light casting a low amber glow across the worn hardwood—then moved Jasper in front of me with one hand on the small of his back.
Whatever was happening, whatever had brought Rawley to our room in the middle of the night, we would handle it the way we’d handled everything since Nebraska: together, with eyes open and weapons ready, no one making decisions the other hadn’t already agreed to.
In the hallway, we met Rawley, Jojo, and their infant son coming from the opposite direction. Jojo had the baby cradled against his chest, one hand cupped over the boy’s head, his face set in lines I recognized—the quiet carefulness of a man who knew panic was contagious and couldn’t afford to catch it. The baby was awake but silent, eyes wide in the dim light, one fist wrapped around the collar of Jojo’s shirt.
Rawley nodded once when he saw us—the simple acknowledgment of a plan coming together—then gestured toward the back of the house with his free hand.
He was armed, the weapon held at his side rather than aimed, his posture of a man who knew exactly how this would go and was already three steps ahead of it.
“Safe room,” he said, voice barely audible. “Now.”
Rawley led. I took the rear with one hand on the back of Jasper’s shirt, Jasper positioned between us with Jojo and the baby. We moved down the hallway in formation.
The farmhouse was dark except for the low amber glow of the hallway night light, and every creak of the old hardwood floors registered enormous in the silence.
Jojo’s breathing was quick and controlled, the baby still silent in his arms. Rawley moved with the quietness I recognized from my own time in service—nothing wasted, just the direct line from point A to point B.
We were ten feet from the utility room door—the reinforced safe room Decker and Rawley built out together two years ago,unknown to anyone outside the ranch—when the first shot came through the front window.
The sound was unmistakable—the crack of a rifle round followed by the explosion of glass across the living room floor. The baby made a sharp sound—not quite a cry, more surprise than fear—and Jojo dropped low without being told, covering the boy with his body, one hand braced against the wall for balance.
Rawley had his sidearm up and aimed toward the front of the house before the last shard of glass hit the floor. I was already moving, putting myself between the front of the house and Jasper, who had pressed flat against the hallway wall with both hands over his belly, his face drained of color, but his eyes clear and focused.
