The property opened up before her, and Mary’s breath caught slightly. Rolling grassland stretched toward a cluster of buildings nestled at the base of rising hills. Beyond them, the mountains climbed toward a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at. The main house was set away from the compound, larger than she’d expected. The two-story structure appeared new but had been designed to blend with the landscape rather than dominate it. She wondered if that was Logan’s house. Closer to her, still nestled into the hills, was a building with construction trucks parked outside. Probably the main headquarters.
Near it stood what looked like an expanded bunkhouse, and farther back, she could see the glint of metal that might be hangars. But it was the setting that caught her. The space. The openness. The way the wind moved through the grass in visible waves, and the absolute quiet was broken only by the sound of her engine.
Home. The thought came again, stronger this time.
She followed the driveway to where a smaller building stood near the outer fence, clearly separate from the main compound. A man stood near the gate, watching her approach. Tall, dark-haired, with the kind of stillness that suggested military training. That must be Logan Bishop.
Mary pulled to a stop on the hard-packed dirt near the building, her heart rate picking up despite her determination to stay calm and professional. This mattered. This job mattered. Not just because she needed work, though she did. Not just because the colonel had put his reputation on the line recommending her, though he had. But she needed to prove to herself that she could still do this. That she was still valuable, still capable, still herself despite everything that had changed.
She put the van in Park and took a moment to collect herself. Her hands moved through the familiar sequence of preparing to exit. Seat belt off. Check the hand controls. Make sure her chair was properly positioned. These movements had become automatic over the past year, muscle memory replacing the other kind she’d lost.
Through the windshield, she could see that three other men had joined Logan. They stood in a loose group, clearly waiting for her but not crowding.
Mary hit the button for the side door. The mechanics of the door sliding open were loud in the quiet morning, and she felt the weight of four pairs of eyes on her. This was the moment she’d learned to read people. Some looked away, embarrassed or uncomfortable. Some watched with curiosity that bordered on rudeness. The worst were the ones who immediately stared with pity.
She transferred from the driver’s seat with practiced efficiency and positioned her wheelchair at the edge of the deployed ramp. She rolled forward down the ramp’s gentle angle, and her wheels found purchase easily on the textured surface. At the bottom, she paused to work the controls, sending the ramp back into the van and closing the side door. The whole process took only a few minutes.
Less than five minutes of being watched… of being judged.
She’d told Logan not to help, and to his credit, none of the men had moved. But she could feel their attention, their assessment. Her stomach tightened. This was always the hardest part. The moment when people decided who she was based on what they saw rather than what she could do.
Mary rolled toward them, keeping her chin up and her expression pleasant but professional. The building had a new ramp leading to its small, covered porch, and she noted with approval that the grade was ADA compliant and the surface looked sturdy. Someone had built that recently.
As she drew closer, she got her first good look at the four men. Logan Bishop was easy to identify by his position slightly in front of the others and the way he held himself with quiet authority. The other three were clearly military or former military. All of them were fit and alert with that particular way of standing that suggested they could spring into action at a moment’s notice.
The man on Logan’s left had an easy smile already forming. The one on the right was broader in the shoulders, with laugh lines around his eyes that suggested he smiled often. But it was the third man, standing slightly back, who caught and held her attention.
He was tall, with lean muscles, dark hair, and blue eyes that were currently fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse skip. His expression was serious, almost solemn, but there was nothing harsh about it. If anything, he looked like he was working very hard to keep his expression neutral, as if he was afraid of giving something away.
Mary reached the base of the ramp and looked up at the four men, letting her smile widen. She’d learned that projecting confidence was half the battle. If she acted as if this was completely normal, as if she belonged here, most people would accept that.
“Hello. I’m Mary Smithwick. I believe I’m expected.”
Her voice came out steady. The voice of someone who was competent and approachable and absolutely did not need to be treated like she was fragile.
Logan Bishop stepped forward immediately, moving down the ramp to stand on level ground with her. His handshake was firm without being crushing, and his eyes were direct without being invasive. “I’m Logan Bishop. Welcome to Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana.”
Up close, she could see the intelligence in his eyes and the measured way he took her in without staring. This man assessed situations professionally, who saw assets and capabilities rather than limitations. Her shoulders relaxed fractionally.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Bishop. Admiral Brenner spoke very highly of you.”
Something that might have been pleasure flickered across Logan’s face. “The admiral’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.”
The one with the easy smile moved down the ramp first, and Mary immediately liked him. “Ms. Smithwick, it’s a pleasure,” Sisco said, his handshake warm and his smile genuine. “You can call me Sisco.”
“And I’m just Mary,” she replied easily.
“I go by Devlin, although I’ve been known to be called Devil by some who know me best. If half of what the admiral said is true, we’re lucky to have you here,” Devlin added, his enthusiasm apparent but not overwhelming. He had kind eyes, the type that suggested he’d be quick with a joke but serious when it mattered.
Then the third man descended the ramp, and Mary’s breath caught slightly as he approached. Bert Tomlinson. Up close, his gaze was even more arresting, as his eyes held hers. Blue, clear, and currently holding an expression she couldn’t quite read.
He stopped in front of her, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then he extended his hand.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice rougher than she’d expected, deeper. “Um… welcome.”
His hand was warm and calloused when she took it, the grip firm but careful, as if he was very aware of his own strength. She shook it with the firmness her father had taught her years ago, meeting his gaze directly. For a heartbeat, maybe two, their hands remained clasped, and something passed between them that Mary couldn’t quite name.
Then he released her hand and stepped back, and she saw something flicker across his face. Uncertainty? Discomfort? She couldn’t tell, and that bothered her more than it should have. She’d gotten good at reading people over the past couple of years. She’d had to. But Bert Tomlinson was harder to categorize than most.