"Copy that," he answers. "Keep her straight and level. You’re doing fine. Just fine."
The words settle over me like the quilt he tucked around my shoulders that first night. I’m still scared. The people behind the crate will not disappear with one turn. But Silas knows now. He knows everything. And he chose to stand in the middle of it with me.
The border fades behind me. Timber Creek grows closer with every minute. I keep flying, keep talking to him over the radio,and for the first time in months the knot in my chest loosens just enough to let me breathe.
Whatever happens when the wheels touch down, I’m no longer flying solo.
CHAPTER 8
Silas
The wheels of the Cessna kiss the runway with a soft squeal, and the plane rolls to a stop just past the numbers. I’m already moving before the propeller winds down, my boots pounding across the tarmac. My heart slams against my ribs the whole way. She’s back. Safe. That’s all I can think about right now.
I reach the cockpit door as she cuts the engine. Hannah sits there for a second, hands still on the yoke, face pale and streaked with dried tears. I yank the door open and extend my arm. She unbuckles and slides out straight into my grip. I steady her on the asphalt, my hands at her waist, feeling the tremor that runs through her frame.
"You’re okay," I say, voice low and rough. I scan her quickly, checking for any sign of injury or shock. Her eyes meet mine, wide and exhausted, but clear. No blood. No bruises. Just fear that has not quite left her yet. I pull her closer for a moment, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, anchoring her against my chest. She lets out a shaky breath and nods.
"I turned around," she whispers. "Like you said."
"You did good." I keep my tone steady even though relief and fury mix hot in my veins. "I have you now. Nothing touches you here."
Two of my deputies, Tom and Reyes, wait a few yards back near the hangar. They know the drill. I give them a sharp nod toward the cargo hold. "Open it. Carefully."
While they work the latches, I keep Hannah turned away from the plane. My arm stays around her shoulders, shielding her from the wind and from whatever comes next. She leans into me without thinking, and that small trust settles something deep in my chest. I will not let her face this alone again.
Tom pries the crate lid free. The sound echoes across the empty field. Reyes shines a light inside and lets out a low whistle. I glance over just long enough to see what they have uncovered. Guns. Rows of them. Handguns, rifles, a few with suppressors still in packaging. Serial numbers filed on some. Enough firepower to arm a small crew or worse. My jaw tightens until the muscle aches. Someone is running guns out of my town, using a scared woman and a small plane to slip them across the border. The thought turns my stomach. Timber Creek is supposed to be safe ground. Not a launch point for this kind of poison.
I mutter a curse under my breath. Hannah flinches at the sound, so I soften my grip and rub a slow circle between her shoulder blades. "Not your fault," I tell her quietly. "You were forced. We will sort it."
Tom secures the crate again and looks my way. "Sheriff, this is serious. ATF level."
"I know." I keep my voice even for Hannah's sake. "Impound the plane. Log the cargo. No one touches it until I say. And keep this quiet for now."
They nod and get to work. I guide Hannah toward my truck, one hand never leaving her back. She hesitates when we reach the door. "My car is at the motel. My things too."
"We’ll get them." I open the passenger side for her. “Together.”
She climbs in without argument. That small victory eases some of the tension in my shoulders. I slide behind the wheel and start the engine, heading straight for the motel on the edge of town. The short drive passes in silence. Hannah stares out the window, fingers twisting in her lap. I reach over once at a stop sign and cover her hands with mine. "We handle this together. All of it."
At the motel she packs quickly. One suitcase, a backpack, a few toiletries. I carry everything out and load it into the bed of my truck. Her car sits in the lot, an older sedan with a dent in the rear fender. I hand her the keys after she locks the room. "Follow me up the mountain. Stay close. I will keep an eye on you in the mirrors."
She nods, eyes still red but steadier now. I wait until she is buckled in and the engine turns over before I pull out. The whole way up the winding road I check my rearview every few seconds. Her headlights stay right behind me, steady and close. Good. The farther we get from town, the safer I feel. Haven 7 is locked down, gated, and full of men who know how to protect what matters. She belongs there now. With me.
We reach the compound as dusk settles over the peaks. Lights glow from the lodge windows. I park in front of my cabin and wait for her to pull in beside me. She steps out, suitcase in hand,and I take it from her without a word. Inside, I set her things in the bedroom where she slept before. The same navy quilt waits on the bed. She looks at it and then at me, something soft crossing her face.
"Thank you," she says.
I shake my head. "No thanks needed. This is where you stay until we clear the threat."
She starts to argue, but I lift a hand. "Later. First we talk with the others. They need to know what we’re dealing with."
I lead her across the short path to the lodge. The men are already gathered inside. Word travels fast here. Rafe stands by the fireplace, arms crossed. Gavin and Eli sit at the long table. Harlan, Boyd, Wyatt, Chase, Rhett, and Thorne fill the rest of the chairs. Harper, Emma, Fiona and Kayley keep the little ones occupied in the next room, giving us space. The air smells of fresh coffee and woodsmoke.
I pull out a chair for Hannah and take the one beside her. My hand rests on the back of her seat, a quiet claim no one misses. "Everyone here knows Hannah by now. She landed safely. But the cargo was guns. Lots of them. Someone is using the airstrip in town to smuggle firearms across the border."
The room goes still. Rafe's jaw hardens. Gavin leans forward, eyes sharp. "How many?"
"Enough to start a problem," I answer. "Serials altered on some. Professional job. And they had her father over a barrel. Cancer treatments. Payments in exchange for the flights."