He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned down.

Colt looked away, met Logan’s gaze. “We have a conversation in our future, you and me,” he said.

Logan nodded.

Echo stepped away.

Dodge squared his shoulders, lifted the AR-15, and fired at his beloved Piper, the one he’d purchased with his own money, his first plane, first love—

The fuel tank exploded. Flames, a burst of heat and light that had everyone stepping back.

Black smoke billowed from the body of the plane.

Dodge shoved the gun into Pete’s hands, glanced at Colt.

He was already at the door. “On me!”

Then he took off. The smoke burned his eyes, blurring his vision, but he dodged the plane, then followed the smoke around the lodge as shots cracked from the house.

But not at them.

Colt dove anyway, into the tall grasses between the lodge and the lake, near the ladder built into the end wall of the house.

Dodge landed beside him, breathing hard. “Ready?”

Colt had already shoved the gun into his belt. “Let’s go.” He had climbed the ladder so many times he could do it with his eyes closed. “Skip the third rung.”

“I know,” Dodge said.

Up they went, the rungs still sturdy despite a decade of neglect. Colt reached the top, put his hand on the window, and shoved it open.

No squeak, thank you, and he tumbled into his childhood bedroom as quietly as he could.

Rolled away from the window to allow room for Dodge.

Ranger had moved out to share Larke’s old room with Noemi, so Colt had moved in, now that he could climb the stairs. Dodge slept in the next room, beyond a wall their father had built to separate the large loft space.

Colt crept to his feet and eased toward the door. It was open, and from here they could look down to the great room.

Ranger sat up, his back to the wall, and he looked rough. But no worse than their father, who held a pillow to his side, in a pool of blood.

They’d shot their father?

Noemi sat, tied up, on the rocking chair, wearing her bathrobe and pajamas.

Colt held up one finger to Dodge, then pointed to a man standing at the front door, peering out.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t a pro because he’d know that a well-trained sniper could take the guy out from five hundred yards, and there he stood, a bold target at the front door, looking into the horizon.

And Colt was a well-trained sniper.

He lifted the bear gun. The grip was smaller than he liked, and the front heavy, but it had both a rear and front sight.

Colt lay down, propped his elbow on the ground. Found his target through the gun sight. “I’ll shoot. The other will come running, and we’ll end this.”