The words poured out of me, more than I usually managed at once, but they needed saying. I'd spent my whole life being the one people protected, the special one who needed looking after. Even Knox, who respected me more than most, still sometimestreated me like I couldn't make my own choices when danger came knocking.
But Dan was different. Dan saw me. Really saw me. And I needed him to understand that protecting me by excluding me wasn't love—it was just another kind of cage.
"Partners," Dan repeated, the word soft on his lips like he was tasting it. A small smile touched the corners of his mouth, spreading to his eyes despite the pain he must have been feeling. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," I said, helping him to his feet with a gentleness that belied my size. "Because I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
He swayed slightly as he stood, and I steadied him with a hand at his waist. We were close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the mix of sweat and blood and that clean soap scent that was just Dan.
Despite everything—the danger, the wound, the prisoners watching us from the SUV—I wanted nothing more than to pull him against me and hold him until the world made sense again.
Instead, I kept my arm around him, supporting his weight as Knox approached, phone in hand.
"Sheriff's sending backup," Knox announced, sliding his phone into his pocket. "And these two are starting to talk." He nodded toward the captives, now secured in the back of the SUV under Ransom's watchful eye. "Sounds like Collins has been using our northwest property as a base for more than just poaching. There's a whole operation—weapons, drugs, the animal parts. Big money."
"Did they say where Collins is now?" Dan asked, his body tensing against mine.
Knox shook his head. "Claims they don't know. Just following orders, picking up their money at dead drops. Collins keeps his distance, covers his tracks."
"Smart," Dan muttered. "Makes prosecution harder without direct links."
"Your arm needs attention," Knox said, eyeing the blood-soaked bandana. "We should get you to Doc Mitchell before you lose more blood."
Dan shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw I was coming to recognize. "Not until we find Collins. He's still out there, and this—" he gestured at the overturned truck and the captured men, "—was just to keep me busy."
"Keep us busy," I corrected quietly, the weight of those words settling between us. "But why? What's the real plan?"
"That's what we need to figure out," Knox said grimly. "Ransom's calling the sheriff again, seeing if there's been any other reports of trouble in the county tonight."
Dan straightened beside me, pulling away from my support to stand on his own despite the pain it clearly caused him. "We need to move. These two were just pawns. Collins is making his real play somewhere else."
I nodded, something cold settling in my gut. The attack on Dan, the break-in at his apartment, the deliberate threats—it all felt like misdirection now. Like we'd been looking at puzzle pieces without seeing the whole picture.
"Where would Collins strike if he wanted to hurt us most?" Knox asked, looking between Dan and me.
The question hung in the air, heavy with possibilities, each one worse than the last. But it was the right question—the one that would lead us to Collins. And when we found him, he'd learn exactly what it meant to threaten someone under McKenzie protection.
Dan's truck was a mess, dented and scraped with one headlight busted out and the windshield spider-webbed with cracks, but the engine still ran.
I helped Dan into the passenger side despite his protests that he could drive one-handed, then climbed behind the wheel, adjusting the seat back to fit my larger frame. My fingers left smears of his blood on the steering wheel—a sight that made something twist painfully in my chest as I turned the key in the ignition.
"Sheriff's sending units to Collins's known properties," Dan said, wincing as he tried to get comfortable, his injured arm cradled against his chest. "But if he's smart enough to keep his distance from the dirty work, he won't be at any of them."
I nodded, focusing on getting the battered truck back onto the logging road. The engine coughed and sputtered but held steady enough. "Where do you think he'd go? What's his next move?"
Dan shook his head, frustration clear in the tight lines around his mouth. "Hard to say. His operation's blown, he knows we have his men. He might try to run, head for the state line."
That didn't feel right. Men like Collins—men who built empires on others' fear—didn't just cut and run at the first sign of trouble. They struck back. Made examples.
A cold realization swept through me, sudden and terrible as winter floodwaters. My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.
"The farm," I said, my voice hollow with certainty. "He's going after our home."
Dan turned to me sharply, wincing at the sudden movement. "What makes you say that?"
"Everything else has been a distraction," I explained, pieces falling into place like tracking signs in disturbed underbrush. "The break-in at your place. The chase. Even these men shooting at you—it's all been to keep us busy, keep us looking the wrong way."
Understanding dawned in Dan's eyes, followed quickly by alarm. "And if he wanted to hurt you most—"
