CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE- ONE YEAR LATER
CADE
I’m not one for ceremonies. Today I brush the dust off my boots and roll into Valor Springs under a sky as clear and blue as a polished blade. The twin office blocks on Main Street rise like a dare, all glass and swagger. I wedge my truck—still caked in cow shit—between a Porsche and a Prius in the Lone Star Security lot. Let the parking enforcers come if they want.
At the entrance, the new receptionist clocks me immediately. “Mr Walker, right? Grayson said you’d be by.” Her voice is so chirpy, she probably touts it on her résumé.
“Just Cade,” I say, fishing out my ID anyway. “He in?”
She nods, buzzes, and I’m inside the nerve center of our town’s only world-class security outfit. I left this place almost a year ago, thinking I’d rather dig post holes than deal with anyone’s bullshit, but the truth is, it feels good to be remembered. Even by ghosts.
Grayson’s at his desk, every bit as spartan as I left it. He half-smiles when he sees me, then clears a space across from him like we’re pretending this is a quarterly review instead of a therapy session in disguise.
“Walker. You look like hell. Ranch life treating you okay?”
I lower myself into the chair; the old leather groans under my weight. “You know how it is. Fences only break when you’re out of barbed wire. The weather swings from bone-dry to swampy. I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like.”
He pours us both a shot—though it’s barely past noon—and lifts it like a toast. “Here’s to honest work. And here’s the real reason you’re in my office today.”
I snort. “You’re the one who told the receptionist I was coming.”
He grins, every line on his face earned in this chair. “I know you, Cade. You wouldn’t haul into town for a social call. So, I’ll get to it. I’ve got a client—old money, old secrets—needs a hand. A couple of weeks, discreet.”
I already know my answer, but he’s been good to me, so I go through the motions. “I’m retired. Remember?”
“That’s what everyone says until the tractor breaks or the bank calls.” He waves his glass at me. “Or until a certain redhead drags you all the way to hell and back.” He eyes me, hunting for a reaction. “Speaking of Delilah—whatever came of that stalker?”
I lean back, take a breath. “Total setup. Munro’s biggest rival in the county commission race hired some creep to tail her—figured if she looked scared, she’d drop out. The only thing it did was make her bulletproof. She ran stronger.”
He whistles low. “Of course it backfired. You two still good?”
“Better than ever.” I shrug. “She’s a handful—barn from dawn to dusk. She razzes me about the nightly news. They’re training her for national riding competitions. Horse show in Dallas next month.”
“Good for her. And for you.” He leans back, laces his fingers behind his head. “You staying out there for good? Thought you’d get bored without a war to fight.”
I shrug. “There’s always a war. I just pick the ones I can win.”
Silence falls, heavy and expectant. Finally, he says, “You never told me how the Munro job slipped through your fingers.”
“Did it?” I say, quieter than I meant.
He smiles. “You, Walker. The hard case who never drops cover. I figured if anyone could guard a senator’s daughter without catching feelings, it’d be you.”
I shake my head, half pissed, half ashamed. “I should never have taken that gig.”
“Bullshit,” he says. “That girl’s been running in circles her whole life. No one ever out-stubborned her before.” He pours us another round but doesn’t drink. “You happy?”
I try to answer, but there’s no single word for the pride, shame, and terror that seasons my days. So I say, “Happier than I deserve.”
“That’s the best kind,” Grayson says, and this time he raises the glass to his lips.
He slides a manila envelope across the desk. “Then you can turn this down, too. But if Munro’s people call, I want to know.”
“They’re done,” I say, meaning it. “She cut the cord.”
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a small velvet-blue envelope. Placing it on the desk, I slide it toward him with two fingers. Grayson raises an eyebrow, pauses, then reaches out and picks it up like it might be rigged to explode.