Chapter 19

Ranger

Once we’re back at the house, Tory heads straight for the living room, clutching her book like it’s a lifeline. She offers me a soft smile before settling into the corner of the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. I know she’s trying to seem calm, but the tension in her shoulders tells me otherwise.

I head to the small office in the back of the house, shutting the door behind me before pulling out my phone. My jaw tightens as I open the photos I snapped earlier—the guys from the diner, their faces clear in the frame. Tank Top and his buddies might’ve acted harmless, but I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.

I forward the pictures to Dean, adding a quick message:

Need a full check on these guys. Followed us from the diner. Probably nothing, but I want to be sure.

It’s only a few minutes before my phone buzzes with his reply:

Will get on it. Any issues with Tory?

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me, and type back:

No. She’s fine. Just didn’t like the way they were watching her.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzes again, this time with an incoming call. Dean.

I answer on the first ring. “Talk to me.”

“Got your picture,” Dean says, his voice low and steady. “I’ll run it through our systems, but they look like your run-of-the-mill idiots. Still, I’ll check.”

“They followed us all the way to the boardwalk,” I reply, my tone sharp. “Idiots or not, they’re watching her. I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” Dean says. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”

There’s a brief pause, and then he adds, “How’s it going otherwise? Tory okay?”

“She’s fine,” I say automatically, though my gut twists at the memory of her nervous glance over her shoulder earlier. “Worried about her dad, but she’s holding up.”

Dean sighs. “Things are heating up over here. Chatter’s picking up, and brAVO team’s already in motion. We’re doing everything we can to lock it down, but it’s a pressure cooker. Something’s gotta give.”

“Define ‘something,’” I demand, my voice hard.

“Could be nothing,” Dean says, though his tone doesn’t match the words. “Could be a demonstration, or it could be worse. That’s why brAVO’s on-site. If it goes sideways, they’re ready to act.”

I don’t like it. Not one bit. The idea of something happening at the G20 Summit with Tory’s father right in the middle of it—it sets my teeth on edge.

“What about Malser?” I ask. “How’s his security?”

“Locked down tight,” Dean assures me. “He’s got the best of the best. But you know how these things go. The wrong person gets through, and it’s chaos.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “Keep me updated. I don’t care what time it is—if something happens, I want to know.”

“You’ll be the first call,” Dean promises. “Just keep Tory safe. She’s your priority.”

“Always,” I reply firmly.

We end the call, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the screen. The unease in my gut hasn’t eased. If anything, it’s worse.

After a deep breath, I push to my feet and head back into the main part of the house. I find Tory in the living room, her book open in her lap, but she’s not reading. Her phone is in her hand, her thumb swiping across the screen, and her brows are furrowed in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping closer.

She looks up, and the worry in her eyes hits me like a punch to the chest. “I’ve been trying to call my dad,” she says softly. “I can’t get through. It just keeps going to voicemail.”

I sit down beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “He’s probably busy. These Summits are chaos—they’ve got a million moving pieces.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “But I just… I need to hear his voice, you know? Just to know he’s okay.”

I hate seeing her like this—her usual calm and steady demeanor replaced by uncertainty and fear. I squeeze her knee gently, trying to offer some kind of reassurance.

“He’s okay, Tory,” I say firmly. “Dean’s got eyes on everything, and your dad’s surrounded by top-level security. They won’t let anything happen to him.”

She nods, but the worry doesn’t leave her face. “I just hate not knowing. Not being able to do anything.”

“I get it,” I say softly. And I do. I know what it feels like to be powerless, to watch from the sidelines while the people you care about are in danger. “But you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders seems to ease. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

I nod, my hand lingering on her knee for a moment longer before I pull away. “If you want, we can try calling again in a little while.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “That’s a good idea.”

I lean back against the couch, watching her as she sets her phone aside and picks up her book again. She doesn’t start reading, though—her fingers just trace the edge of the pages absentmindedly.

I don’t know what’s coming, but I know one thing for sure: no matter what happens, I’ll keep Tory safe. Even if it means putting myself in the line of fire to do it.