Page 5 of Her Mountain Man Protector

"Show me."

"You could say please."

"Please show me the pictures before someone uses them to put a hole in you."

I power the camera on. The screen glows. Fog. Water. A rusted gate. The old station with its collapsed porch. A man in the doorway, half turned, too far for a clean face. I didn't even mean to catch him. Didn’t even know he was there. He was part of the frame.

Colt zooms with a thumb that's surprisingly careful on my gear. He goes still.

"You know him?" I ask.

"I might."

"That's a loaded might."

He sets the camera down like it might bite. "My father disappeared. We got a lead that put a man who looks like him near that station two weeks back. Then the lead went cold. This morning I came to see if maybe something might have been left behind. Some small clue."

I stare at him. "Your missing father. Is that him?"

"Might be. But I’m wondering if the teams were there for him or for me."

"I didn't know there were teams."

"Now you do."

I drop into a chair. The wood creaks. "Okay. New plan. You tell me who Vanguard Helix is, and I tell you why their logo made my hands go cold."

That gets his full attention. He braces both palms on the table. "Say that again."

"The patch on the shooter's jacket. Twisted silver helix through a V. I shot a private lab campus last spring for a glossy magazine spread that never ran. They paid kill fees and made me sign a stack of papers taller than my tripod. The security office had that same mark on the glass."

"You kept copies."

"I'm a photographer, Colt. I keep raw files the way you keep knives."

He swears under his breath. One of the phones on the table buzzes. He grabs the middle one, checks the screen, and answers without greeting.

"I'm here."

A man's voice leaks through, low and annoyed. I catch pieces. Ridge. Heat. Civilian.

Colt's eyes stay on me while he talks. "She's with me. Photographer. She tagged the station and she knows the Helix mark." A pause. "No, Banks. I'm not dumping her on the side of the road." Another pause. "Because they already saw her face."

He hangs up.

"Brother?" I ask.

"One of six. Don't get excited. They're worse than I am."

"Impossible. You're the gold standard of grumpy."

He ignores that and crosses to a cabinet, pulls a folded map, and slaps it on the table next to my camera. Woodbridge Falls. Handwritten notes in the margins. Dates. A circled X at the ranger station. Another X farther north, labeled VH-2 in block letters.

"You're in this now," he says. "You stay in the cabin. You don't post. You don't call friends to say you're fine. You don't wander off for the light."

“What about my car?”

“Leave it. I’m sure they’ve found it by now.”