“The only request she has coming in today,” Logan said, his tone carefully neutral, “is that no one try to assist her. She said if she’s going to work here, she needs to do it independently.”
Devlin’s chin jerked back, his eyebrows drawing together. “Independently? What the fuck does that mean? We work as a team.”
Logan met his gaze steadily. “I know, but it’s important to her that we see she can handle herself. So we respect that. Clear?”
Bert shared a confused glance with Devlin and Sisco. The request struck him as odd, but glancing back at Logan, he saw their boss had already made up his mind about it. Logan’s expression was calm. It was the same look he’d worn when planning missions and wasn’t interested in debate.
“Okay,” Bert muttered, shrugging. He turned his attention back to the equipment manifest, making notes about delivery schedules and storage requirements. They’d need everything organized before the rest of the Keepers were hired. Logan was building this operation to match what Mace Hanover and Carson Dyer had built on the coasts. That meant being prepared for anything.
Several hours later, Bert emerged from the main headquarters building, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. The air had warmed, and he’d shed his jacket somewhere inside, working in just his T-shirt that stretched across shoulders still broad and muscled from years of carrying heavy gear through hostile terrain. His body might have been sidelined from active duty, but he’d refused to let it soften. The weight room in the bunkhouse was where he was most mornings before dawn, maintaining the strength and conditioning that had once been mission-critical. Old habits died hard, and Bert had learned that keeping his body sharp helped quiet the restless part of his mind that missed being in the field.
Activity near the temporary office building caused him to glance that way. That was where Logan conducted interviews, keeping potential hires away from the sensitive areas until they were officially part of the team. Bert’s tactical mind automatically cataloged the sight lines, the approach routes, the defensive positions. He shook his head at the ingrained habits from his SEAL days.
He spotted Sisco and Devlin putting the finishing touches on a ramp leading to the office’s small porch. They’d built it this morning, following Logan’s specifications, though, at the time, Bert hadn’t thought much about why it was needed. Now, watching them secure the last of the boards, he felt a flicker of curiosity.
Another noise caught his attention. The electronic gate system, one of the first security measures they’d installed, hummed as it opened. Bert turned, shading his eyes, and watched as Logan strode toward the entrance. A white van with handicap plates was waiting. Logan worked the manual override, waving the vehicle through and pointing toward the office building.
Bert walked over to join Devlin and Sisco, arriving just as Logan did. The four men stood together, a united front, though Bert still wasn’t sure what they were about to witness. The van pulled to a stop on the packed dirt near the building, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then, through the windshield, Bert could see movement inside the vehicle. The back passenger door slid open automatically with a mechanical whir. A woman sat in a wheelchair just inside, working with practiced efficiency to position herself at the edge of the ramp that deployed from the van. She wore dark jeans, a burgundy blouse that looked professional but not stuffy, and her dark brown hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail. Even from this distance, Bert could see she was younger than he’d expected. Much younger.
She rolled forward, and the wheelchair moved smoothly down the ramp to the hard-packed ground. Once at the bottom, she operated the controls, and the ramp reversed smoothly into the van. The side door slid shut with a solid click.
Bert took a step forward, the movement automatic. Assisting was deeply ingrained through years of protecting teammates, watching flanks, and covering exits to make sure everyone under his care made it home safely. But Logan’s hand shot out, catching his arm with a grip that carried authority.
His boss shook his head once, firm but not harsh, and Bert forced himself to step back. His jaw tightened with the effort of remaining still, muscles coiling with the tension of going against every protective instinct he’d honed over a decade of service. In combat, hesitation could get people killed. But this wasn’t combat, and sometimes the best way to help someone was to give them the space to prove they didn’t need help.
It went against everything his SEAL training had drilled into him, but Bert understood the message. This woman had asked to do this alone. Making that request had shown her strength, and following it was testing his own.
The woman rolled toward them, moving with a confidence that suggested she’d been doing this long enough that she knew how to handle the wheelchair. As she drew closer, Bert got his first clear look at her face, and something in his chest stuttered.
She was beautiful. Not magazine-cover beautiful, with heavy makeup or a photoshopped face, but real. Intelligent eyes stared up at him. A determined set to her jaw and a warm smile transformed her features from merely pretty to genuinely striking. She looked to be in her early thirties, and the spattering of light freckles across her nose suggested she might enjoy time outdoors under the Montana sky. There was something about the way her hands rested on the wheels of her chair and the directness of her gaze that spoke of competence and no small amount of pride.
She reached the base of the newly built ramp and looked up at the four men standing above her. Her warm smile widened. “Hello. I’m Mary Smithwick. I believe I’m expected.”
Her clear, confident voice had just a hint of a local accent, suggesting she was originally from Montana. There was no tremor of nervousness, no hint of apology. She simply looked at them as if this were any other job interview, which Bert supposed it was.
Logan stepped forward and descended the ramp so he stood on level ground with her. His hand reached out for her to shake. “I’m Logan Bishop. Welcome to Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Bishop. Admiral Brenner spoke very highly of you.”
Logan’s expression softened slightly… as much as it ever did. “Both his and the colonel’s recommendation carries a lot of weight here. Let me introduce you to the team.” He gestured to each man in turn. “This is Sisco Aguilar, Jim Devlin, and Bert Tomlinson.”
Sisco and Devlin moved down the ramp, turning on their natural charm. “Ms. Smithwick, it’s a pleasure,” Sisco said, his smile genuine.
Then it was Bert’s turn. He descended the ramp, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as he approached. Up close, Mary Smithwick’s eyes were a light blue that seemed to shift in the sunlight, and Bert found himself caught off guard by the directness of her gaze. He’d faced down enemy combatants without flinching and had stared down the barrel of more guns than he could count. But this woman, looking up at him with intelligence and determination radiating from her, somehow knocked him sideways in a way he’d never felt before.
She looked up at him expectantly, one hand extended, and for a moment, every coherent thought in his head simply evaporated.
“Welcome. Um... welcome,” he managed, his voice coming out rougher than intended. What the fuck is wrong with me? He wanted to make a good first impression, but he could hear the way he’d stumbled over his greeting.
Her hand was warm in his, her grip firm and assured. It was the solid grip of someone who’d learned that respect was earned through competence, not granted through pity. Bert’s own hands were calloused from years of handling weapons, rope work, and now the thousand physical demands of working on the compound in any capacity Logan required. He was careful not to grip too hard, aware that his strength could be overwhelming, but she met his handshake with equal confidence.
He held on perhaps a beat too long before releasing her, suddenly aware that he was staring and probably making her uncomfortable with his intensity.
Her smile faltered slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face, and Bert inwardly cursed his fumbling. He’d faced down enemy combatants and managed logistics for SEAL teams in some of the most hostile environments on earth. But apparently, shaking hands with a beautiful woman had him tongue-tied like a teenager.
Before he could redeem himself with something more intelligent, Logan gestured toward the office entrance. “Let’s head inside, and we can talk there.”