I pull out the middle drawer of the island and reach for the taped grip of the weapon stuck to its underside. The tape gives with a familiar rip. The gun fits my hand like it always has.
I cross to the window and angle two fingers between the slats of the blinds, just enough to see.
A single car. A single man.
He climbs out, closes the door carefully, then opens the back and pulls something from the seat—a bag, maybe—and carries it to the porch.
Then he waits.
He doesn’t ring the bell. Doesn’t knock. Just stands there, shoulders square, weight balanced, as if he already announced himself in some way I didn’t catch and is politely allowing me time to answer.
The knot between my shoulders eases a fraction. This is East Coast Irish modus operandi down to the boots and the posture.
Probably one of Kael’s.
Probably.
“Probably” gets you killed, Kelly.
Still holding the gun, I move to the door and open it a crack, body angled, barrel low but ready.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“Scully,” comes the reply, resonant Irish tones solid in the cold air.
I swing the door open fully and flick the safety on, keeping the gun pointed toward the floor.
His gaze flicks to it anyway, cataloguing, and I tuck it beside my thigh, no apologies offered.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “Habit. You’re here from Kael?”
He nods once. Stocky, red-haired, older than me by a decade at least, with the kind of calm eyes you only get after you’ve seen a lot and survived more.
“Aye. I have the girl’s computer,” he says, lifting the bag slightly. “Kael wanted me to take a look around, make sure you were good here.”
Relief loosens something in my chest I hadn’t realized was coiled there.
I take the bag from him. It’s heavier than it looks. “Thanks. Have at it. Just be quiet…Tallulah is sleeping.”
“Tallulah?” he repeats, one brow arching.
Right. To most of them, she’s Twiggy. The nickname I saddled her with years ago that stuck everywhere but in my head.
“Twiggy,” I correct.
Scully nods, tugging his collar up against the mountain chill. His breath ghosts out in short puffs.
“All right, then. I’ll walk the perimeter, see what can be improved,” he says. “Kael wants regular updates.”
“I’ll make sure he gets them,” I say. I shift my weight to block his line of sight into the house. “Thanks for the delivery. I’ll get her set up in the morning.”
He tilts his head, curiosity flickering there for a second. “She’s asleep?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, voice coming out flatter than I intend. “Long few days.”
“Aye,” he agrees quietly. He studies me for another beat. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he just nods, stepsback off the porch, and disappears into the dark around the side of the cabin.
I close the door and throw the deadbolt.
