He motioned for her to follow, and she fell in behind him as they made their way down the hall. His stride was steady but uneven, and she noticed the slight hitch in his step.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Jackson.” Her tone came sharper than she meant, but worry edged her voice. “You’re limping.”
He stopped by the front door and glanced back at her. “I’m on medical leave. That’s all.”
“How bad?”
He gave a small shrug. “Bad enough they benched me for a while, but I’m still standing.”
Avery frowned. “You shouldn’t be running around protecting me if you’re not at a hundred percent.”
He gave her a look that shut down any more questions. “I’ll manage.”
Before she could press him, the low rumble of an engine cut through the quiet.
Jackson froze. The sound grew louder, crunching over gravel, coming down the drive.
Avery’s heart jumped into her throat.
He set the duffel down slowly, eyes narrowing toward the window. “Get down,” he said, voice calm but sharp.
The vehicle kept coming.
Chapter Three
The sound of the engine crawled up the drive, slow and steady. Every muscle in Jackson’s body went tight, instincts kicking in before his brain caught up.
He’d spent too many years in war zones not to recognize the tone of danger. His pulse steadied, his breath slowed, and every sense sharpened at once.
“Stay put,” he told Avery, his voice low but firm.
He crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed the Glock from the holster hanging by the door. The familiar weight settled into his hand as he flicked off the safety.
Through the window, sunlight caught on polished metal. The vehicle turned off the main road and came to a stop halfway down his drive. Not one of Noah’s SUVs or vans.
Jackson cracked the door open just enough to get a clear look.
A black Cadillac Escalade. Expensive, spotless, and completely out of place on a working ranch road. He leaned forward slightly, watching the people inside. Two in the front. A man and a woman.
Recognition hit like a gut punch.
Charlotte Barker sat in the passenger seat, blond hair pinned back, face composed and cold. The loyal wife of Haver Barker, still playing queen of the Brotherhood while her husband rotted in a federal prison.
Behind the wheel sat Darian Locke, the Brotherhood’s new front man. Younger than Barker but just as dangerous. Word was he ran their money now, recruiting out of old connectionsand pretending the Brotherhood was a law-abiding do-gooder group.
Jackson’s grip on the Glock tightened as he studied them.
Someone else sat in the back seat, half hidden in the shadowed interior. He couldn’t see who it was, but the posture was wrong for a bodyguard. Too still. Too deliberate.
He stepped back from the door, mind racing. They weren’t lost. They weren’t guessing.
They’d come for Avery.
Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them have her.