"What do we do now?" she asks, breaking the silence.
I can’t speak for a moment. Her question doesn't feel like it's about the mission. It feels like it’s about us.
What do we do about that kiss?
What do we do about each other?
Instead of dealing with it head-on, like a coward, I tactically retreat to mission details.
I check my watch.
"I'm going to go out and recon. Something is in those houses. I'm going to find out what."
"I'm going with you."
Ishake my head. "No, I need you here. Safe. Deadbolt the door. And don’t open it for anyone."
The thought of her out there, exposed and vulnerable, claws at my heart. I've killed men, faced death more times than I can count, but nothing terrifies me more than the idea of something happening to her. This new feeling is overwhelming. But I don't have the luxury of dealing with it right now.
"This is my fight, Walker," she argues, crossing her arms. “I know I enlisted you in it, but it’s not on you to take it on alone."
"I know. I don’t feel alone.” I meant it to assuage any guilt she might have for letting me go alone. But the words give away a little more than I intend. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone.
I place my hands on her shoulders. “I need to know what we're dealing with first. I move faster alone. I can get in and out without being detected." She's about to fight me on it; I can see it in her eyes, but I interrupt her before she can. "Please, Naomi. As long as I know that no one can get to you, I'll be fine. Let me do what I do."
Something in my tone must convince her because her expression softens slightly. She doesn't like it, that's clear from the tight line of her mouth, but she nods.
"Fine. But you have two hours. If you're not back by then, I'm coming after you."
"Deal." I wouldn’t let her do that, but I’m not going to be away from her that long, so it won’t be an issue. I check my weapon, holster it, but leave my Stetson behind. Its profile isn’t going to help me stay unseen. "Keep your gun close. Don't turn on the TV. The noise will mask any sounds you need to hear."
I move to the door, then hesitate. There's so much I want to say to her. About the kiss. About what she's come to meanto me in such a short time. About how protecting her feels like the most important mission I've ever had.
“Walker,” she says, but then stops. She looks like she wants to say something more, but her words look just as stuck as mine.
Instead, I simply say, "Lock this behind me."
After I step outside, I hear the deadbolt slide into place. The sound is reassuring and devastating all at once. She's as safe as I can make her, which isn't nearly secure enough.
Slipping into the growing darkness is like returning home. The night air feels cool against my skin as I become a weapon again—not Walker Cole, not the broken man from Montana, and not the man who can't stop thinking about the woman in that motel room. Just a shadow moving between shadows.
This is what I was made for.
I stick to the edges of properties, avoiding streetlights, moving only when the wind rustles nearby trees to mask any sound. My enhanced vision adjusts quickly to the early night, the world transforming into shades of gray and blue.
The abandoned houses form a small cluster at the edge of town, just beyond where the streetlights end. Perfect placement. Close enough to appear part of the community, far enough to operate unnoticed.
I settle into a watching position behind a large tree, my breathing slowing to almost nothing.
The houses remain dark, still. No movement is visible through the windows, and no sounds except the occasional desert breeze. But they don’t want us to look in there. That much was clear.
I check my watch. Only ten minutes have passed, but each second feels like torture. Naomi is still safe in that motel room, waiting, but the thought of her sitting there, gun in hand, counting the minutes until my return, makes my stomach sink. I could be there. Next to her. My hands inher hair. My lips on hers again. And nothing would interrupt us.
I shake my head. The mission. That’s what she needs me to focus on right now.
A barely perceptible sound catches my attention: the soft hydraulic hiss of a garage door opening, but much quieter than normal. My eyes snap to the source: the third house from the left, its windows still dark.
The garage door has lifted just enough for a vehicle to slip through. A black SUV emerges, headlights off. It glides from the garage and onto the street.
