“No thanks,” he told Jake. He threw money on the bar, grabbed his jacket and the folder, and headed for the door.
Outside, the evening had cooled further. The parking lot gravel crunched under his boots as he walked to his beat-up Ford. Above, stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Montana stars, brilliant and endless without light pollution to dim them.
He got in the truck. Didn’t start it. Just sat there with the folder on the passenger seat and his hands on the steering wheel.
Through the bar window, he could see Jake collecting glasses. A couple at one of the back tables laughing at something. Normal people living normal lives.
Garrett hadn’t been normal since Lily died.
Dr. Montgomery’s words echoed in his head.You’re thirty-three years old and drinking yourself to death in Montana. That’s not retirement. That’s surrender.
She was right. He’d been surrendering for eighteen months. Hiding. Running from the ghosts that followed him from Colombia, from the Teams, from the life he’d built after Lily.
But he couldn’t run from this.
He opened the folder again. Claire’s photo was on top. Professional. Competent. Alive.
For now.
She had days, maybe.
His jaw clenched. His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles cracked.
Three women were dead. Claire was next. And somewhere out there under the same stars was a stalker who’d been watching her for months. FBI protection that wasn’t good enough.
And Lily’s plea echoing across fifteen years.Take care of CJ.
He’d failed once. Lily was dead because he hadn’t been there, hadn’t protected her, hadn’t been strong enough or fast enough or good enough.
But Claire was still alive.
And Dr. Montgomery was right—he couldn’t live with himself if he let her die too.
“Goddammit,” Garrett said to the empty truck.
He pulled out his phone. Looked at the business card Dr. Montgomery had left. Looked at Claire’s photo.
Lily’s voice in his head:Promise.
“I promise, Lil,” he whispered.
Pocketing his phone, he started the truck. He didn’t drive toward his cabin in the woods. Instead, he headed toward the address on the card.
The office on Main Street was small, discreet. Most people probably thought it was just another boring security company.
The lights were still on in the second-floor windows. Garrett parked across the street and stared up at them. Dr. Montgomery was up there, waiting. Knowing he’d come.
I did my research on you, Garrett.
She’d played him perfectly. Showed him the Colombia photo to prove she had leverage. Showed him Claire to prove she had bait. Told him about Lily to prove she knew exactly which buttons to push.
And it had worked.
Because at the end of the day, he wasn’t Bobby anymore—the kid who’d failed his sister. He was Garrett Cross. Former SEAL. Predator hunter. The man who’d crossed every line in Colombia to stop a monster.
And he’d cross them again to keep Claire Dawson alive.
Even if she never knew Bobby was the one protecting her.
