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If nothing else, I would find a way to get my mind occupied with survival if I couldn’t find him.
And off of Sloane.
It was four hours before I finally saw signs that I remembered, a lake followed by a certain line of tall Atlantic White Cedar Swamp trees.
Another fifteen minutes later, I saw the outline of the house.
Small.
Wooden.
With some brick reinforcements to keep it sturdy, a few windows, a roof made out of what seemed to be ceramic tiles, a row of solar panels, a huge pile of wood he used to heat the place when it was cold.
The barking met me first.
As one would expect.
Because Ranger had dogs.
A lot of dogs.
Dogs that were set to be destroyed because they were considered vicious and unable to be rehabilitated into a normal family.
I’d asked Quin once why he would take clients – often very wealthy, very important clients – to this place around a bunch of rabid dogs.
His answer had been simple, if a bit far-fetched.
When Ranger is around, they might as well be puppies still sucking on teats. He’s got that pack leader vibe.
I guess you couldn’t really argue with that. If you spent more than two minutes with the man, it was clear there was something almost feral about him, animalistic, something that other animals would naturally respond to. But it did seem like a risk.
And talk about a risk.
Ranger was nowhere in sight.
But I was staring down the snarling muzzles of eight – fucking eight – large breed dogs.
Pitbulls.
Rottweilers.
German Shepherds.
Mastiffs.
And, I shit you not, a single Jack Russel.
I liked dogs.
And, in general, dogs liked me.
Hell, Aven’s dog hated her and loved me.
But I had a feeling these weren’t exactly the types of dogs who gave a shit if you liked their species in general or not. That wasn’t, after all, their purpose here.
They were meant to alert.
Guard.
Protect.
Against any outside threats.
Which included me.
“Announce yourself,” Ranger’s voice called from a distance, somewhere I still couldn’t see him.
“Call off your fucking hounds,” I shot back.
“Gunn?” his voice called, less rough, more curious. A couple seconds later, he moved out from behind his house in a pair of jeans, the button undone, no shirt on, his hair and chest wet. “The fuck?”
“Kai told me it was time to make a visit. After Jules kicked me out of the office.”
“Enough,” he told the dogs, tone just the slightest bit more growly than usual, so I wasn’t sure how they even knew he was talking to them, but they all shut up and sat down immediately, still staring me down, though, like they were just waiting for an excuse to pounce.
“They ever a problem with clients?”
“Keep ’em from running off when I’m passed out,” he told me, patting the mastiff on the head as he moved to stand beside it.
“What’s with the little one?”
“Jack Russels are ratters,” he told me as the dog in question moved up to sniff my boots. “Got a lot of animals here now. Animals mean feed. Feed means rats find their way here instead of the campgrounds. Duggie handles them for me. So, what’d you do to Jules?”
“Pissed her off.”
“More than usual?” he asked, lips curving up the slightest bit.
“Guess so. What?” I asked when his head cocked to the side, brows lifting.
“Just thinking,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.
“About?”
“Time. Maps. How long it takes to get from point A to point B.”
“I get it.”
“Way I see it, you had just enough time to get to Nevada, do something fucking stupid, and get back to Jersey to piss off Jules.”
“I said I got it,” I told him again, shaking my head.
“Figured you got it when I brought it up in the cabin. Yet here we are.”
“Shit happens.”
“When you follow your dick, yeah,” he agreed.
“When’s the last time you followed your dick anywhere?” I shot back.
To that, he gave me a nod and the smallest of smirks. “It’s been a while. Got me there.”
“You got coffee?”
“And something stronger,” he agreed, waving a hand back toward his house. As I moved past, he snagged my bag. “Staying a bit?”
“Need to get away.”
“And away from temptation?” he asked, walking ahead of me.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you know cell reception here is shit. You won’t feel tempted.”
“To?”
“Reach out. Tell her you were a fuck.”
“How do you know I was a fuck?” I asked as he opened the door, stopping to turn to look at me.
“It’s you,” he said simply.
“Well,” I said with a smile that I actually felt for a change, “got me there.”
The inside of the cabin was much like the one Sloane and I had stayed in. The only difference was there were two bedrooms – the master that was slightly smaller than the one in the other cabin, and a guest room for clients that was barely big enough to fit the twin bed that was in it.
