Page 39 of Rangers Last Promise

“Still across the street,” Tate says.

“I need the box inside it.”

“So does whoever fired through that window.”

Doc’s face hardens. “Then we retrieve it before he gets another chance.”

“We’ll bring the truck around back,” Sheriff Tate says. “Parker can drive it while two deputies cover the street.”

“No one drives my truck.”

I stare at Doc.

“You traveled all the way to Eagle River to protect me, but you draw the line at someone touching your truck?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

Despite everything, a laugh threatens to escape me.

“You sound like Grant.”

“He once threatened to break my hand because I adjusted the seat in his Humvee.”

“That also sounds like Grant.”

The memory catches between us.

For a second, Doc’s expression changes. The hard lines ease, and I see the younger man from the funeral photograph. The one who stood beside my brother in Afghanistan and believed they would all make it home.

Then the walls return.

“I’ll get the truck.”

Sheriff Tate shakes his head. “You aren’t walking across that street alone.”

“I’ll go with him,” I offer.

Two men answer at once.

“No.”

I glare at them.

Sheriff Tate points toward the stairs. “Wolf has rooms upstairs. You’re staying in one until we secure your house and determine whether the shooter is still in Eagle River.”

“I have a home.”

“You also have a bullet hole in the wall beside what used to be your mother’s front window.”

“That was Mom’s house.”

“And we don’t know whether your home has been compromised.”

I hadn’t considered that.

My small house sits three blocks from the sheriff’s department. I’ve always felt safe there. I know my neighbors, the vehicles that belong on the street, and every dog that barks when someone walks past after dark.