Chapter Two

      “I was right. Great, just great,” Garrett said under his breath, cradling a sobbing Molly in his arms.

      He rocked her slightly. She tucked her head against his shoulder and gripped his neck, her little fingers digging into his hair. He held her tighter while his narrowed gaze scrutinized the alley behind his house. A chill bit through the night, and Molly shivered in his arms. He needed to get them both inside and warm, but not in the place he’d never called home.

      Another thirty seconds passed. No movement. The shooter probably didn’t have an accomplice, but he couldn’t assume anything. Assumptions got people dead.

      A quick in and out. That was all he needed.

      He led Laurel into the backyard of the house James McCallister had purchased on Garrett’s behalf and closed the gate. He wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. His time in Trouble had ended the moment he’d tackled Laurel to the ground.

      But he needed his go-bag and a few supplies. On his own, it wouldn’t have mattered. He shifted Molly’s weight in his arms. These two needed more shelter than to camp out in the West Texas desert in December.

      Molly clung to him tightly. He rubbed her back and his heart shifted in his chest. God, so familiar. The memories of his daughter, Ella, flooded back. Along with the pain. He couldn’t let the past overcome him. Not with these two needing him. He led them to the wood stack.

      “Give me a minute,” he whispered. “Stay out of sight, and I’ll be right back.”

      He tried to pass Molly to Laurel, but the little girl whimpered and gripped him even tighter.

      “It’s okay, sugar. Your aunt Laurel will take good care of you.”

      With one last pat, he handed Molly to Laurel, his arms feeling strangely empty without the girl’s weight. Laurel settled her niece in her arms, her expression pained. He understood. “She’s just afraid,” he said.

      “I know, and I haven’t protected her.” Laurel hunkered down behind the woodpile. She pulled out her pistol. “I won’t fail again.”

      Laurel McCallister had grit, that was for sure. He liked that about her. “I’ll be back soon.”

      He sped across the backyard, slipped the key into the lock and did a quick sweep of the house, eyeing any telling details. He couldn’t leave a trace behind. Nothing to lead any unwelcome visitors to his small cattle ranch in the Guadalupes or to his stashed money and vehicle.

      Garrett pressed a familiar number on his phone.

      “Sheriff? What happened? Practically the whole town is calling me.” Deputy Keller’s voice shook a bit.

      “Old man McCreary’s not putting a posse together, right?” Garrett had a few old-timers in this town who thought they lived in the 1800s. This part of Texas could still be wild, but not that wild.

      “I talked his poker buddies out of encouraging him,” Keller said. “It’s weird ordering my old high school principal around.”

      Garrett pocketed a notebook and a receipt or two, then headed straight for his bedroom. “Look, Keller, I’ll be incommunicado tracking this guy. I don’t want to shoot anyone by mistake. Keep them indoors.”

      “You need me, Sheriff?”

      “Man the phones and keep your eyes out for strangers, Deputy. Don’t go after them, Keller. Just call me.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Garrett ended the call. If the men following Laurel and Molly had a mission, his town was safe. Assassins tended to have singular focus. He probably wasn’t the target, except as an opportunity. Still, Ivy had known his name. She’d said he was right. He couldn’t be certain how much of his identity had been compromised.

      If anyone had associated Derek Bradley with Garrett Galloway before today, he’d already be dead. He might still have surprise on his side, but he couldn’t count on it. And if he’d been right...well, that was all fine. It didn’t make him feel any better. There was a traitor in the agency, and he didn’t know who. Ivy’s message hadn’t identified the perp.

      Garrett grabbed his go-bag from the closet, then opened a drawer in his thrift-store dresser. He eased out an old, faded photo from beneath the drawer liner.

      “It’ll be over soon.” He glanced at the images he’d stared at for a good two hours after his shift earlier. Hell, it was almost Christmas.

      Tomboy that she’d been, his daughter, Ella, would have been after him about a new football or a basketball hoop, while Lisa would’ve rolled her eyes and wondered when her daughter might want the princess dress—or any dress, for that matter. His throat tightened. He’d never know what kind of woman Ella would have become. Her life had ended before it had begun.

      Garrett missed them so much. Every single day. He’d survived the injuries from the explosion for one reason—to make whoever had murdered his family pay. He wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved his goal. He’d promised them. He’d promised himself.

      He ground his teeth and stuffed the photo into the pocket of his bag. The perps should already be dead. He and James had failed for eighteen months and now...what the hell had happened? Now James’s daughter Ivy had paid the ultimate price. And Laurel was on the run.

      James was... Who knew where his mentor was?

      The squeak of the screen door ricocheted through the house. He’d been inside only a few minutes. He slipped his gun from his shoulder holster and rounded into the hall, weapon ready.

      Laurel stilled, Molly in her arms. “She has to go to the bathroom,” she said with a grimace.

      “Hurry,” Garrett muttered, pointing toward his bedroom. “We can’t stay. I wore my uniform and badge tonight. If they saw it, they’ll find this place all too easily.”

      Laurel scurried into his room and Garrett headed to the kitchen. By the time they returned, he’d stuffed a few groceries into a sack. “Let’s go.”

      Gripping his weapon, he led them outside. The door’s creak intruded on the night, clashing with the winter quiet. Pale light bathed the yard in shadows. A gust of December wind bit against Garrett’s cheeks. A tree limb shuddered.

      He scanned the hiding places, but saw no movement, save the wind.

      Still, he couldn’t guarantee their safety.

      “Where are we going?” Laurel asked, her voice low.

      Garrett glanced at her, then Molly. “I have an untraceable vehicle lined up. We’ll hole up for the night. You need rest. Then after I do a bit of digging, we’ll see.”

      Laurel had brought his past to Trouble. No closing it away again. If his innocent visitors weren’t in so much danger, Garrett would have welcomed the excuse to wait it out. His trigger finger itched to face the men responsible for killing his wife and daughter. Except a bullet was too good for them. They needed to die slowly and painfully.

      Garrett might