Something had gone to hell in a handbasket, that much was clear.
He hunkered lower beside her, the ground hard against his knee, a root digging into his shoulder. Avery pressed close, her body tight against his side as they crouched behind the brush. Too close. The scent of her hit him all at once, sweat and fear and that faint trace of vanilla he remembered far too well.
They had always kept their distance. No touching, not after Evan. Not after what came before. But Jackson didn’t have amnesia. He couldn’t forget that before she became Evan’s wife, she had been his.
That had ended with back-to-back deployments and a thousand miles of silence. She had moved on, married a man who deserved her. And Jackson never once blamed her for that.
His body, though, didn’t care about right or wrong. It remembered the feel of her skin, the sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. Now she was pressed against him again, shaking, breathing fast, and every muscle in him tightened for all the wrong reasons.
He shifted slightly, rifle in hand, trying to focus on the threat instead of the past. Footsteps crunched faintly on gravel, closer this time.
Whoever was out there was moving in.
The crunch of boots came again, closer now. Then voices. Muffled, low. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but there were at least three of them.
He shifted just enough to peer through a gap in the brush. Shadows moved between the trees, faint outlines against the light.
Jackson’s pulse stayed steady, but his muscles coiled tight. He’d been in worse situations, outnumbered and outgunned before, but this time was different. He wasn’t alone.
He could take them, maybe. Drop the first two before the third got a shot off. But the moment he fired, Avery would be exposed. If he got hit and went down, there’d be no one left to protect her.
Her hand brushed his arm, trembling slightly, and he felt her breath at his shoulder. She was trying not to panic, but he could feel it. The fear, the trust, both heavy as a weight pressing between them.
He kept his eyes on the movement ahead, forcing himself to stay still. The intruders had stopped near the bend in the trail. One of them said something, voice sharp and frustrated, then another answered, quieter.
Jackson couldn’t make out words, only tone. Command. Obedience. Whoever was in charge had no problem giving orders.
He tightened his grip on the rifle, waiting for his chance.
The voices drifted closer, then faded again. A short burst of static cracked through the quiet, followed by a low murmur that carried on the wind. Jackson strained to listen, every nerve tight, waiting for the sound of boots heading their way.
Instead, he heard retreat.
The intruders shifted direction and were moving back toward the trail. A few seconds later, the heavy slam of a door echoed through the trees. Then another. The engine turned over, coughed once, then roared to life. The vehicle rolled down the dirt path, tires grinding against the ruts until the sound faded into the distance.
Still, Jackson didn’t move. Not yet. He’d learned the hard way that silence could be a trick, and patience was what kept a man breathing. He counted out the seconds in his head, eyeslocked on the dark line of the road. Only when the air swallowed every trace of the engine did he finally ease his hand off the trigger.
“They’re gone,” he murmured.
Avery didn’t answer right away. She stayed crouched beside him, her breathing uneven, her gaze fixed on the empty trail. When she finally looked at him, her eyes were wide, shimmering in the dim light.
Her lips parted, and the words came out in a whisper. “My identity’s been breached. They found me,” she said, her voice breaking. “And they want me dead.”
Chapter Two
Avery watched Jackson’s jaw turn to iron the moment that she said the words.And they want me dead.
His eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable, the way they used to get when something inside him went cold. “Who are they?” he asked. She didn’t have to answer. He let out a hard breath and shook his head. “The Brotherhood.”
Avery nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The name alone made her stomach twist.
The past flashed through her mind, fast and chaotic, like a film reel that wouldn’t stop skipping. Blue lights. Screams. Evan lying on the floor, blood pooling under him. Her own voice breaking when she told the police what she’d seen. Then the trial, the whispers, the glares from neighbors who’d once called her a friend.
The Brotherhood had started as a vigilante group in her hometown of River Ridge. They claimed they were protecting the town, keeping it clean and safe when the sheriff’s office couldn’t or wouldn’t. For a while, people had believed them. But Avery had seen what they really were. Thugs with guns and grudges, using justice as an excuse to control whoever they pleased.
Their leader, Haver Barker, had been the worst of them. A preacher’s son turned self-proclaimed savior, with a smile that hid pure rot. He murdered Evan in cold blood, claiming it was righteous punishment for corruption that never existed.
Avery had taken the stand and told the truth. Her testimony put Haver Barker behind bars. And that very afternoon, the Marshals gave her a new name and a new life.
