I don’t trust that.
Not yet.
I open a new tab, typing fast.
Devil’s Peak security
private protection Devil’s Peak
local ranger Devil’s Peak
Search results populate, mostly useless—tour guides, hunting permits, emergency numbers.
I scroll, impatient.
There has to be something.
Someone.
I click through forums, local boards, anything that looks even remotely unofficial. My pulse ticks faster with every dead end.
“Come on,” I whisper.
And then I see it.
Buried halfway down a thread that looks like it hasn’t been updated in months.
No website. No contact form. Just a name and a number.
Bride wanted. Protection offered. Discretion guaranteed. – Ethan Cole
That’s it.
No explanation. No credentials.
Just… that.
I stare at it, something tightening low in my stomach.
“That’s not sketchy at all,” I murmur.
But I don’t click away.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, eyes still locked on the screen.
Protection.
Discretion.
Exactly what I need.
Exactly what I shouldn’t trust.
I scrub a hand over my face. “This is insane.”
I don’t know this man.
I don’t know anything about him.
