But I'm walking out of the kitchen, straight out the front door. I step into the night, get into my SUV, and drive. I don'tknow where I'm going until I'm already on the county road heading toward Blackthorn.
Toward Luke and the family they’re creating out there.
Because the one I was born into just died in that kitchen, and I can't go back.
52
LUKE
I’m sitting in my living room with my laptop, looking over some intel Hendricks forwarded on Turner’s operation. It’s late, but I’m waiting for Harper to call me. If Jake knew, he’d tell me I was like a teenage girl sitting by the phone, hoping her crush would call.
He’d be right.
All day I’ve been thinking about Harper, wondering how she is, wishing she was here. I want to text her, but I know she needs to take care of her shit on her own.
Doesn’t mean I like it.
My phone pings at 1247. I pick it up and frown at the text notification that one of the cameras or sensors on the ranch has been tripped—the one at the entrance of the main driveway. The security system we’ve installed is sophisticated: layered coverage across the entire property with cameras at every access point. Nothing gets within range of Blackthorn without us knowing.
I swipe to the security app and pull up the camera feed. A single vehicle, headlights cutting through the darkness, moves steadily up the main drive toward the house. I recognize the car instantly—it’s Harper’s SUV.
I shoot out the door that leads from my suite into the main house.
In the foyer, I intercept Jake coming down the stairs. He’s pulling a shirt over his head, his expression hard and focused, a gun tucked into his pants.
"It’s Harper," I tell him, heading to the door. “Something’s wrong.”
"Any idea what?” he asks, checking his gun.
"Betting it’s got to do with her father.” I open the door and step onto the porch.
The night air is cold, sharp with the scent of pine and approaching winter. The main drive is visible from here—a long stretch of gravel cutting through open pasture before disappearing into the tree line.
I whistle, a short trill that sounds like the chickadees around the ranch. Jake stops next to me as Mason emerges from behind the stables, his rifle in hand.
Headlights appear through the trees, and Harper’s SUV emerges from the trees and into the open. The vehicle pulls to a stop twenty feet from the porch, and I see her face through the windshield.
She looks resolute and hollow. Even from here, I can see she's shaking.
I start toward her as she opens the door and gets out. She's dressed casually—jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and boots. No coat. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but strands have come loose around her face. She's holding a manila folder against her chest like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
It’s the expression on her face that guts me. Red-rimmed eyes. Smeared mascara. The kind of anguish that comes from losing everything you thought was solid.
I know that look. I've worn it myself.
I open my arms and she walks right into them. I hold her to me tightly, trying to absorb her unhappiness.
"You’re barefoot,” she murmurs, the folder pressed between us.
I kiss her temple. "Which shows I’m willing to reverse gender roles for you."
She snorts and then sniffles. Disengaging from me, she looks over my shoulder at Jake and Mason, standing just behind me, both still locked in. “Sorry I disturbed you guys. I hope this makes up for it.”
She holds out the folder.
Jake takes it. “This is…”
"Evidence. I confronted my dad and he admitted to all of it. Five years of covering for Turner, signing off on cases, making evidence disappear." She moves back to my side, shivering, and I put my arm around her. "He said Turner threatened me, that he did everything to protect me."