“That’s all I’m asking.” She glanced at her watch—their hour was nearly up. “For next time, I’d like you to consider what aspects of your military service gave you the most satisfaction, beyond just helping others. What specifically about the work connected with you as a person?”
He nodded, already standing, punctual to the end. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he reached for the door, he paused, turning back slightly. “Dr. Perrin? About the break-in... You should report it to the police.”
Johanna stiffened. The suggestion caught her off guard,especially coming from Jonah, who had barely ventured personal opinions before today.
“That’s not necessary,” she said, maintaining her calm, professional tone despite the unease crawling up her spine. “We’ve had minor vandalism before. Kids from town, most likely.”
His gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, she saw the military intelligence officer he must have been—observant, analytical, missing nothing.
“With respect, ma’am, kids don’t typically target medical files. And…” He hesitated. “I can tell this shook you.”
“It’s fine, Jonah,” she said, more firmly this time. “We’ve got it handled.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but the military discipline reasserted itself immediately. “Of course. Just thought I should mention it.”
fourteen
Whoever tried to wedge the window open hadn’t bothered with subtlety. Nor had they bothered with the proper tools. They’d used a kitchen knife or screwdriver, maybe, judging by the wide scrapes and the way the wood was chewed more than pried. Nothing methodical about it.
There was part of a muddy heel print on the sill, but it wasn’t enough to tell Walker anything about the intruder. The tread was worn smooth, and he couldn’t even judge the shoe size. He glanced at the window glass, now smeared with what looked like fingerprints and the faint, clumsy outline of a palm.
Not some pro. Not even a careful thief. A kid, probably.
Boone’s voice came from behind him, low and wary. “What do you think?”
Walker straightened, glancing inside. Jo was doing her thing, deep in conversation with Jonah. He smiled at that. During the short time he’d been her patient, he’d loved watching her work. It was the biggest reason he quickly found himself a different therapist: he’d been too distracted by her compassionate eyes, by the way she tucked her hair behind herear when she was thinking hard, by that sometimes sharp tongue, that animated face, and that big smile.
“Well?” Boone prompted.
Shit, he was staring at her again. He needed to stop that. He’d kept a careful distance this past year, but he’d underestimated how hard that would be working with her every day, sharing meals, and having her living in a cabin just steps from his back door.
He pulled his focus back to the barn window, running a hand through his hair. “Amateur job. No subtlety, no patience,” he said, gesturing to the damage. “Looks like they used something common, not proper tools. But they knew exactly what they were after.”
“Jo’s notes on me.” Boone’s jaw tightened, and his hand dropped to his dog’s head, unconsciously seeking comfort. Bishop leaned into the touch, giving a soft groan of approval as Boone scratched his ear.
The news that his therapy notes had been specifically targeted hadn’t been easy to hear. Walker had watched him process it that morning—the flash of vulnerability quickly buried under stoic resignation, like a man who’d grown used to having his privacy violated.
“Hank,” Boone said, the name like gravel in his mouth.
“Hm, yeah. Probably not the sheriff himself, but on his orders.”
“The fucker was looking for leverage,” Boone said, and squinted toward the door as it opened and Jonah stepped out. “He knows we’re expanding after New Year’s, bringing in more men. He’s looking for a way to shut us down before that happens, and he thinks I’m the weakest link.”
The same thought had crossed his mind. The sheriff had made his feelings about Valor Ridge clear from the start—no town wanted a “rehab ranch for criminals” in their backyard, especially when one of those “criminals” was the nephewHank had written off years ago. But this felt different. More desperate.
“Well, he’s sorely mistaken on that, son. We need better security,” he said, moving to the window again. “New locks today. Cameras by the end of the week. Maybe motion sensors on the perimeter.”
“I know a guy in Wyoming who does installation,” Boone offered, straightening up. “Ex-military. Doesn’t ask questions.”
“Make the call.” Walker rubbed the back of his neck, tension knotting the muscles there. “And we should consider a night watch rotation until everything’s in place.”
“I can take first shift tonight,” Boone said, no hesitation in his voice.
That was Boone all over. Always putting himself on the front line, always the first to volunteer for the hardest job. A year ago, that impulse had been self-destructive, driven by guilt. Now it was protective, channeled toward something that mattered. Progress, though Walker still worried about how much the younger man took on his shoulders.
They continued their assessment, checking doors and windows throughout the converted barn, noting weak points. The place had never been built with security in mind—it was a working ranch, not a fortress. But things had changed. The safety of Johanna’s patients, of the men who trusted them, had been compromised.
