The storm abated sometime around midnight. Katie had long since fallen asleep on the sofa. The dark shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin worried him, but he didn’t see any signs of other injuries. Fear and stress could debilitate a body. Despite trying to set her at ease, the day dragged as the weather continued to lash the house. At one point, he’d gone to the phone to call Hank back to suggest they wait the storm out, but there was no dial tone.

When Katie asked him if he wanted to watch a movie, he’d let her pick whatever one she wanted. It gave her something to do, and she’d fallen asleep ten minutes into the romantic comedy or whatever it was. He’d barely noticed it, instead he turned over all the information he’d learned since arriving in Eagle Rock.

After putting his truck in the garage, he’d used the phone installed out there to call Mickey. Katie trusted her friend Hank and his people—and while he couldn’t fault her faith in another SEAL, Angel trusted his guys. Mickey worked with Flint and Cannon on their special project. While he didn’t have all the particulars, he trusted them and their contacts. Mickey promised to reach out to Jacko, and they would work up the background on her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend. She’d been touchy on the subject, not that he could fault her. Angel made sure to keep the fire fed. A part of him argued, he should take her up to wherever her room was or at least wake her up so she could get in her own bed. The rest of him didn’t want her out of his sight. They might be snowed in a remote ranch house in the middle of nowhere Montana, but his gut warned him to keep her close.

He trusted his gut.

He’d barely left the room to even make coffee, but he could go forty-eight hours before he’d need to at doze. And he could go 96 with light naps.

They’d need all that to get back to New York, as long as the weather didn’t hold them hostage. So aware of the low-level roar of the wind, he’d noticed the moment it ceased. Staring out the windows, he traced what buildings he could make out in the near absolute dark—the faintest shadow of what might be a barn, and the line of fences. He hadn’t noticed any animals when he’d driven in, and she hadn’t mentioned going to tend any…

“Angel?” The whisper of her voice pulled his attention.

“I’m still here,” he assured her. “Go back to sleep.”

“What about you?”

“Everything’s fine, sleep. You’re tired.” Glancing over his shoulder, he studied her. She’d risen on one elbow, and her dark hair tousled over her face. The firelight played over her, casting her half in shadow and the rest in the soft orange gold of the flames. “Are you comfortable there?” If she wasn’t, he could adjust his watch to be near her room or in it once she was asleep again.

“Yeah, I’ve slept here plenty of times.” Yet she didn’t pull the blanket over her or curl onto her side. Instead, she ran a hand over her face, then studied him. “What was your plan?”

“To get you back to New York, to have you identify the others involved, give the cops the information on the apartment.” Though there was a damn good chance they’d already scrubbed the place. If it had been him, he would have.

“No, I meant when you got here? What if Old Tom had been at the house? He’s the ranch foreman. Or my parents? Or if I hadn’t recognized you? What was your plan?”

Scratching the stubble at his chin, he considered the question. “Always been more of a make it up as I go along kind of guy.”

“Okay, so make it up. Say my dad answered the door. What then?” She worried at this thread like a dog with a bone.

“Would have said I was here to apply for a job, or said I’d gotten turned around in the storm.”

She appeared to consider the idea as she sat up the rest of the way and pulled her knees to her chest. “Dad would have invited you in, especially with the storm in the offing. He has a sixth sense about these, I used to—but I totally missed it until the white out happened.”

Based on what he’d observed when she’d roused from her collapse, PTSD sounded about right. Was she even aware of the way she clenched her fists, the white knuckles the tense lines around her mouth? She’d survived an explosion and a murder attempt. If she needed to play this game, he’d play it. “Once inside, I’d have seen those family photos.” Photos he wouldn’t admit he’d studied earlier. She’d been a wild child, riding horses, four wheelers, and snow mobiles. There were skinned knuckles and knees in some of the images, her long hair always pulled back into ponytails or braids. In the summer, her skin looked a deeper shade as if she’d tanned by being outside so much. While in winter, there was a rosiness to her cheeks.

What he’d noticed more than anything were all the recital photos, and awards, and constant smile. It kicked him like a mule, she’d been happy. The bombing that ripped through his life had done the same to hers.

“What would have said to my parents?” Her eyes seemed so large, they reminded him of an anime character’s. The woman was a knockout, and absolutely unaware of it in her baggy pants, socked feet and sweatshirt. Dressed for comfortable warmth, she seemed to be dwarfed by the clothes.

“Found a way to strike up a conversation, see if you were here and if necessary, apply for that job so I could meet you. Recognizing you wasn’t enough, I needed to see you—to know if you remembered the event, and…” Here he hesitated. She’d already kicked herself enough in his opinion.

“You needed to know if I was involved.” Blowing out a breath, she shoved a hand through her hair. “Which I answered by freaking out.”

“And shooting the ceiling.” The action brought him through her door, and reminding her about it made her laugh. A far better look on her than the vicious self-reflection she often fell into. “What about you? You said you were an actor and a singer, earlier. Was that why you were in New York?”

“Yep. My parents didn’t always get why I wanted a career in the showbiz as they called it, but they were always supportive. Daddy drove me into Bozeman once a week for a day of lessons for voice, dance, and acting—usually on the day he had business there—every week for twelve years. When I had musicals or plays that I got into, he and Mom always made sure I got back and forth. Once, I had an opportunity to do a two week intensive in Seattle, so Mom and I packed up the truck and drove there. We stayed at this hotel for the whole time, and when I was in classes, Mom went exploring.” A wistful look eased the stress in her face. “They were amazing. After I graduated high school, I got accepted into a college in Eastern Pennsylvania, great theatre program. I finished in three years, and I had the bug. I loved being on the stage.”

Settling against the wall next to the window, Angel spared the occasional glances to the darkness in between watching her come alive. The subject had been the right one, animation flooded her smile and she released one of her knees to sit forward.

“When I told them I wanted to go try my hand at some Broadway and off Broadway roles, I know they were disappointed. I kind of always got the impression they were waiting for me to get it out of my system. Dad wired me money to get an apartment, and said he’d help out in whatever way I needed. But I didn’t want him to underwrite the experience, the best way to measure success is if you can feed yourself on the profits.”

Not a bad analogy. “So were you successful?” Moira would have been better at this conversation. She loved living in the city, loved going to the theatre as often as she could. His sister would have made the aspiring actress her best friend. Loss accompanied every thought of his twin, the idea he’d never hear her laugh again or be able to tease her. That he wouldn’t get to see her fat and sassy when she began having the half-dozen kids she’d always said she wanted…but even though that pain flowed through him, so did the elbow to his soul as if his twin stood right next to him.

She would have mouthed, “She’s cute, you should go for it,” at him. Moira never knew when to butt out of his business. The feeling went both ways. Meeting her Delta Force fiancé had given him the chance to playfully ignite the rivalry between the services when he said he’d kick his ass if the man hurt his sister. Jammer agreed with him wholeheartedly. The army guy promised he’d cut his own throat before harming her.

Son of a bitch…

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Katie said, concern filtering back into her tone.

“I want to hear,” he assured her, and not because of Moira or the grief pulling him back down. Worse than the pain of losing her was all the good memories they lost out on.

“I wasn’t, not anymore than anyone else. I’m not even the golden girl of Eagle Rock. There are lots more successful people who came out of this town, you know like Hank’s wife Sadie. She’s a bona fide star.”

If she said so.

“It was easy to be the best here, without a lot of competition and at school, there were my classmates and fellow theatre nerds. In New York, though? I was one of the thousands looking to make my bones.” With a wry twist of her lips, Katie spread her arms. “I was good, but I wasn’t always the best. There were dozens just like me, some with more experience, some with less. The best I ever managed was a chorus part in a huge ensemble. I didn’t have any solos, and sang only back up—but I got to dance on that stage and hear the audience cheer and clap. The rest of the time I worked as a waitress to pay the bills. I still took loads of classes every chance I got, so I pretty much ate, drank, and slept theater.”

The laughter in her eyes faded, and it added another reason to his growing list to kick Nash Guiness’s ass. The man used her naiveté and genuine warmth against her.

Fucking pissed Angel off.

“I suppose all of that is over now. They probably evicted me from my apartment since I disappeared, and my stuff is probably in the dumpster if not already claimed by someone else. If I go back, I start over from scratch…”

“Not if,” he told her, spurred by the idea she might give up entirely. “When. If you want to reclaim your life, then you do it. I’ll help you, do whatever you need to make it happen.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, stretching. The act pulled her sweatshirt up, and revealed her toned midsection. He had no trouble believing she was a dancer. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“We already covered this. You were as much affected by all of this as I was.”

“Except,” she argued. “You saved my life. And I didn’t manage to do the same for you. I didn’t do it for anyone.”

Self-pity was a dangerous and seductive trap, especially in the dark of the night, when the temperatures outside were frigid. Determined to ease her out of it, he took a step toward her. That was when the glass next to him cracked. The hollow sound pulled his attention. A whisper of icy air punched through the glass, and splinters crawled away from the hole punched into the glass where he’d been standing.

Diving away from the window, Angel tackled Katie right off the sofa and another spray of shots hit the mantle. The bullets tore up the wood. She let out a cry, then tucked her head down as he pressed her into the thick rug. More bullets shattered the glass, and a rush of icy air invaded the warm cocoon of the living room.

She crawled out from under him, moving like a trained soldier and staying low. Determined to cover her, Angel followed. Then she reached the hallway and sprang to her feet, out of sight of the windows. A half-dozen steps, and she was at the gun cabinet.

“They’re shooting at us,” she said, even as she entered the combination and got it open. A couple of shotguns and a pair of rifles were secured inside. Katie reached for none of them, instead she opened the drawer and pulled out a .38. A revolver. The gun was too damn big for her.

Taking possession, he checked the load and then handed her the shot gun. “Don’t shoot the ceiling—or me.” Then he pointed to the corner. “Hunker down there.”

“Where are you going?”

“To take care of the guy shooting at us.” With that in mind, he slid the strap of the rifle over his shoulder. The revolver looked and smelled clean. Based on the condition of the other weapons, he could only hope her dad took as good care of the rifles. After loading the revolver, he added more bullets to his pocket then pulled out ammo for the rifle. “Stay. Here.”

The position was defensible. If anyone came through the front door, she was out of the line of sight and could get a drop on them. At her nod, he brushed his knuckles lightly down her cheek. Though he didn’t want to leave her, he had to move fast. Up the stairs to the second floor, he identified the window above the living room. The lights were out, giving him the cover of shadow. Assuming their assailant had night vision, he slid across the floor belly down until he found a good position.

Cloud cover kept the stars obliterated and there was little moonlight to illuminate the landscape. The sound of gunshots ceased, and he settled into position with the rifle and checked the scope.

Someday, Angel hoped he met her dad. Then he could kiss him. The man had a night scope. Fixed, he used it to check the distances where the shots could have come from. The land outside looked like icy tundra, but then he caught the hint of metal—a car. No an SUV. They’d been firing from the road. It was a hell of a shot, and the vehicle pulled away even as he fixed on it.

The rifle he had was accurate, but not at that distance. He also had no guarantees whoever was in the SUV was behind the shoot. Still, he tracked it as it vanished. There was only one curve in the road he’d driven that gave them the line of sight, otherwise the house was tucked back and away from the road. He’d only glimpsed the one side as he passed.

So had they been firing blind? Like some stupid teenagers? Or had they been sitting there waiting for her to expose herself at that window. Based on the weather, and the terrain, he might have done that.

He’d once lain in the same spot for twenty-seven hours waiting for his target. With the right amount of patience, anything was possible. Shifting his position slightly, he checked the drive approaching the house. It was still heavily covered in snow, and no tracks disturbed the pristine covering. Adjusting his angle slowly, he skimmed across the open land between the house and the woods nearer the road.

Same, nothing moved, and no sign of tracks in the snow.

Still, he continued to wait. The easiest way to go from live target to dead one was to rush to judgment.

Thirty minutes later, he finally abandoned his post at the window, but drew the curtains tight. They’d had little light to make him out with downstairs, except he’d stood between the window and the fire, that gave him a shadow profile.

At that distance, without the right scope, they could have mistaken him for her.

Either way, her house wasn’t safe for her anymore.

And they still had another—he checked his watch—six hours until dawn.

Dawn brought Katie first relieved breath of air since someone opened fire on the house. Someone shot at her house—who did that? The thought seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the next several cold hours. Angel put some plywood over the damaged window. Thankfully, he’d noticed it in the garage. It didn’t help with the heat, but they retreated to the kitchen at his behest. The windows back there faced away from the road, and toward the mountains.

He’d also covered them and kept the lights out inside. They’d sat in the dark, armed, and drank their coffee while he asked her about the shows she’d done and he told her about some of his Navy buddies, though he didn’t talk about his work specifically. She got the feeling it wasn’t on the list of acceptable subjects

When the first rays of morning began to edge around the window treatments, she’d never felt so relieved. Stealing a peek from the edge of the sink, she blew out a breath. The clouds had begun to break apart, allowing the occasional gray-blue sky to appear. The sun wasn’t visible, not really, but the curtain of darkness parted.

“I’m going to shower,” she told him. “I can use the one in my parents’ room if you want to use mine.” The minute the words left her mouth, she grimaced. It came out sounding far more like an insult.

“I’ll be fine. Show me where the bathroom is so I can check the access.”

Not a thought that would ever have occurred to her, but he made security checks sound so matter of fact. Up the stairs, she waited in the hallway while he inspected the room, then the bathrooms. Finally, he said, “Hall bathroom is better. The window in there is much smaller. Let me cover it with something to keep the light from escaping. I don’t want to give them any more targets than we have to.”

A chill coiled around her spine. “I hate that we have to think this way.”

“Better to be careful than to be dead.” The admonishment reminded her she had little to complain about. At his scowl, she folded her arms. “I’m not mad at you, Katie.” The patient tone chided her more effectively than if he’d raised his voice. “Someone took a shot at the house last night. You can argue it was stupid teenagers, though I have a hard time believing even teens would go out after a blizzard. You could argue they were shooting at me, but the only guys who know I’m here aren’t going to take shots at me.”

He paused as if to consider his words. “Then again, if those guys wanted to shoot me, I’d be dead.”

“Not comforting.”

“Not trying to be, the most obvious culprits are the people who want to keep you quiet. The one person who can tie them to the event.” Valid point or not, it didn’t do much for her system to be reminded of the fact someone wanted to kill her. Maybe multiple someones. “That means where you go, I go. You want to go somewhere, I clear it first. I will keep you safe, but you have to let me do it.”

“Deal, but with one caveat.” She didn’t have a martyr’s bone in her body. If he said duck, she’d duck. If he said hide, she’d hide. Running away may not have been her finest moment, but looking back—she didn’t know who to trust or how complicit she’d been. Running had seemed her only option. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

Eyebrows raised, he studied her. “I can’t make that promise. If someone’s shooting at you, they are shooting at me. I’m not going to run into the line of fire, if you don’t.”

“That’s not what I mean.” The right words were elusive, like a leaf chasing away from her on the wind. “I mean—you went through hell. You still are. I can’t put myself in your shoes, I can’t know what you feel or how you’re feeling. But if you lose anything else because of me, I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I can live with that.”

To her surprise, he put his hands on her shoulders. The contact was electric, then he pulled her into his arms. The strength in his embrace held her up, buoyed her and then he set his chin to the top of her head. With the steady thump of his heart against her ear, she closed her eyes.

“Katie,” he spoke in a soft voice, one she had to strain to hear. “I can’t make you believe that nothing that happened to me was your fault. If anything happens on the way, know I’m where I am choosing to be. That doesn’t make it your fault either. It makes it my choice. If you want to back out, if you want to stay hidden and not go back to New York…I won’t force you.”

For real? Forcing her arms to unfold, she slid them around him. Sturdy muscles met her hands when she gripped him. Solid. Warm. The promise of a port in the storm. “If I don’t go back, will they catch them?”

“Yes,” he promised her.

The easy answer would be the one that said keep running, hide. Don’t face the guilt or the shame. Don’t face the danger.

Staying on the ranch had been the easy answer growing up, too. Coming home after college would have been easier than living as a struggling artist in New York, or working and auditioning until she was ready to collapse.

Easy didn’t mean right.

“I’m going back,” she said against his shirt, aware of the rich masculine scent of him. Sweat. Snow. Smoke. And something more. “It’s the right thing to do, and I want to be able to look myself in the mirror.”

“Then I’ll make sure you get there.” Pulling away, he braced his hands on her shoulders again and met her gaze. “Thank you.”

Less than 24 hours had passed since he’d pulled up in front of her place in the rental truck. A man she couldn’t imagine ever seeing again or wanting to see again, not when their only meeting had been amidst raining debris and unimaginable loss. After they got back to New York, would that be it? Would she not see him again?

Shuttling that thought to the side, she summoned a smile. They had to get there first. “Thank you,” she repeated his earlier words. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

“Go shower.” With a gentle nudge, he released her and ushered her into the bathroom. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Um…” She hesitated and he gave her a long look. “I kind of need to get a change of clothes first.”

He didn’t roll his eyes or laugh. “Which bedroom is yours?” After she pointed to it, he checked it first, and made sure to block the window before letting her inside. Ten minutes later, she brushed her teeth while the water heated in the shower. Instead of worry about the people gunning for her, or having to see Nash again, or even confronting what might be the accusations of being involved when she returned to the city—the only person on her mind was the man waiting for her in the hall.

Liam promised to take the risks to get her there, to stay by her side. He’d already proven both. Could she do any less for her angel?

Meeting her gaze in the slowly fogging mirror, she nodded and the fear fisting in her chest since she’d first discovered the second apartment released.

Come hell or high water, this Montana girl was going back to New York and she would take on those bad boys.

They weren’t getting away with it on her watch.

Not again.