“What do you need, boss?”
Fingers flying across the keyboard, he pulled up floor plans, traffic patterns, and personnel schedules.The family-style diner in the heart of town would be perfect—public enough to send a message, chaotic enough to provide cover.And when the beautiful Nica Boudreau-Summers lay bleeding on the ground, when her family screamed and wailed over her body, Gabriel would finally understand the meaning of true loss.
“One bullet,” he said, his voice steady as granite.“That’s all it takes to destroy a man’s entire world.Contact our shooter.Tell him it’s time.”
“And if that FBI friend of his gets involved?”
Marcus laughed, the sound echoing off the glass walls of his fortress.“Agent Reynolds?He’s good, I’ll give him that.But he’s also predictable.Honor, duty, loyalty—such admirable weaknesses.He’ll come running to save his friend, and when he does…” He pulled up another file, photos of Mike Reynolds seated at a roulette table in Vegas, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, a look of desperation on his face.“Well, let’s just say I believe in comprehensive planning.”
The red dot on his screen stopped moving.Summers was home now, probably kissing his wife hello, asking about her day, making dinner plans.Living the life that should have been his.
Not for much longer.
Opening the drawer, he carefully placed Melissa’s photo in his desk, next to the small velvet box containing the engagement ring she’d never had the chance to wear with the matching wedding band.Soon, she would be avenged.Soon, Gabriel Summers would know exactly how it felt to lose everything in the space of a heartbeat.
“Send word to our people in Shiloh Springs.Tell them to get ready.”His reflection now sharp and determined in the darkened monitor, his mouth compressed into a straight line.“Game over, Dr.Summers.Your debt has come due.”
The line went dead, and he poured himself three fingers of eighteen-year-old single-malt scotch, raising the glass in a toast to the ghost who haunted him day and night in his memories.
“For you, my love.For our family that never was.”
Outside his windows, the valley sparkled with a million lights, each one representing dreams and futures and possibilities.Soon, Gabriel Summers would watch his own light go out, just as Melissa’s had that terrible day when everything changed.
The hunter had become the architect of vengeance, and every blueprint he’d drawn was about to become deadly reality.
Nica stepped outof the truck and inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the knot of unease curled in her stomach.The night air carried the scent of fresh earth and a distant trace of mesquite smoke drifting from someone’s barbecue, grounding her in the familiar comforts of home.But despite the warmth of the town, something felt…off.
She glanced at Destiny, who leaned lightly against Dane as they walked toward Daisy’s Diner.Her sister-in-law’s pale skin nearly matched the faded yellow glow of the overhead streetlamp, and though she was smiling faintly, exhaustion tugged at her features.Destiny’s pregnancy was taking its toll, the morning sickness relentless.She knew Rafe had pulled Destiny into checking up on Gabe’s background, since Destiny was one of the best computer experts she’d ever met, but it was hard to work on the computer when she spent half the day hunched over the porcelain throne.
“I swear, Dane, if you keep hovering, she’s gonna trip over your feet,” Nica teased, nudging her brother’s shoulder.
Dane shot her a smug look as he adjusted his arm around Destiny’s shoulder.“She’s carrying the next generation of Boudreaus, Nica.My kidandmy wife deserve the best.”
“Well, considering the gene pool, let’s hope the little one gets Destiny’s brains,” Nica quipped, arching a brow.
Destiny chuckled, the sound soft but genuine.“I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”
Douglas held open the door to the diner, ushering them all inside.The familiar hum of conversation wrapped around them, along with the comforting scents of fried chicken, coffee, and fresh-baked bread.Daisy’s had been a staple in their lives for as long as she could remember—warm lights, linoleum floors, the same group of locals sitting at the counter sipping black coffee and dissecting town gossip.
But tonight, Nica felt a shift.A subtle, creeping sensation prickled the back of her neck.She hated this feeling, always looking over her shoulder, wondering which one of the people she passed on the street was watching her.Immediately her eyes scanned the tables, looking for the man dressed in black, the one she’d spotted watching her outside Gracie’s Grounds and at the gas station.The one who’d been bold enough to show up at the school library and deliver the roses.A soft sigh of relief escaped when she didn’t see him.
Ms.Patti slid into the large corner booth next to Douglas, her gaze sweeping over Destiny with motherly concern.“Sweetheart, I know the idea of food isn’t thrilling right now, but you need something in your belly.”
“I know,” Destiny sighed.“I’m trying, but nothing wants to stay down.”
“Try harder,” Dane added, earning a soft swat on the arm from his wife.
Nica smiled at their exchange, but her mind wandered elsewhere.Would Gabe come?They’d talked earlier, but his words had been careful, measured.He’d assured her that he was staying near the clinic in case he was needed—but she wasn’t convinced that was the whole truth.There’d been something unspoken in the way he told her to stay at the ranch.It was only for a couple of days, like she’d planned with him and Mike, but something felt off, like worry…no,fear.
She glanced toward the window, the shadows stretching long under the diner’s sign.The threats against Gabe had started subtly—a whisper campaign to tarnish his reputation, anonymous phone calls, veiled accusations about malpractice that had no merit.Then there was the brick through the clinic window, the break-in and spray-painted threat on the clinic wall, a veiled threat containing the name of a former patient.
And the notes.
Nica shivered, remembering the envelope of newspaper clippings she’d received, the medical records of numerous patients Gabe had treated.The enclosed letter accusing her husband of murder—of malpractice.The most kind, loving, giving man she’d ever met, and this rotten slime, whoever he was hiding behind his anonymity, was trying to smear her husband’s reputation.Then this morning, she found a note tucked under the windshield wiper of her car:You should have learned your lesson.I tried to warn you, but now it’s too late.Your husband is a monster, a killer.You’d better hope you’re not next on his list.
She swallowed, willing herself to push it aside, but the sensation lingered—the weight of an invisible gaze, watching, waiting.
“You zoning out again?”Dane’s voice pulled her back.
