Page 202 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Proof.

I lean back in my chair, thumb brushing unconsciously over the worn leather glove in my hand.

“Sherry sees the fake approval at five,” I say evenly. “Jake receives routing visibility at six. Nobody else gets direct notification.”

Annie finally looks up. “And if nobody touches it?”

“Then we reevaluate,” Cody says.

“No,” I answer.

Three pairs of eyes turn toward me.

I hold Annie’s gaze. “Someone will touch it.”

Because they’re confident now. That’s the problem. The escalation at the ranch, the gates, the tampered locks, the threats toward Annie.

Whoever’s behind this stopped behaving cautiously weeks ago.

They think they’re protected. And protected people make mistakes.

The thought settles cold and hard inside me.

Because if I’m wrong, if this trap fails, then whoever’s escalating this situation will realize we’re close, and Annie becomes the most obvious target.

The trap goes live at 6:13 in the evening.

By 8:00, nobody has touched it.

By 10:00, Cody’s still monitoring system behavior from his office.

By midnight, I’m walking the property lines because I can’t sit still anymore.

Cold cuts across the ranch, carrying the scent of pine, horses, and incoming rain.

My instincts haven’t relaxed in weeks.

I circle the north paddocks automatically, scanning gates and fence lines before heading back toward the main house.

The office light is still on.

I step inside.

Annie sits curled sideways in the leather chair near the desk, laptop open as she focuses. Her hair’s half fallen from its bun, one socked foot tucked beneath her. Empty iced coffee beside a stack of paperwork.

She looks up when I enter. “There you are.”

The words land strangely intimate in the office.

I close the door behind me. “You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

Fair.

I loosen my grip around the leather glove still in my hand.

Annie studies my face for one long second. “You look exhausted.”