But it couldn’t last. It never lasted.
“I’m in over my head, Em.” Nimue’s voice cracked down the middle. “I hate this. Moving the bus every few weeks, checking every shadow, never sleeping, never safe. I miss…home.”
Home wasn’t just a place—it was safety, stability, a life without fear constantly breathing down her neck. She’d come close to a home—a real place to land—in Florida until it was ripped away again. Or rather, burned to the ground.
Emberly’s voice softened, warm and grounding. “I know, Nim. The house is coming along though. Sheetrock’s done, roof’s going up. It’s slow, but it’s happening. Be patient. With the house, with this. The Lord hasn’t left you. Remember what He says: ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.’”
Nimue’s throat constricted. Her faith felt like a frayed thread these days. “I don’t know, Em. If God’s here, He’s not exactly sending me a map.”
She rubbed her eyes, the weight of her choices crushing her.
“Patience, Nim.” Emberly’s voice sharpened—she was back in Black Swan mode. “Right now, you need to protect Liam. Keep tabs on him.”
“I just don’t know how without stepping into the open. He’s not a system I can hack. He’s…unpredictable.”
“What does he love? Where are his interests? Start there.” Emberly’s voice grew muffled for a moment, then returned. “Steinbeck needs help with something. But you’ll figure it out. Just keep him safe. Don’t get attached. I believe in you. Love you.”
The call ended, and Nimue pocketed the phone. Emberly was right—she needed to protect Liam, or at least keep an eye on him to see if he needed protection. But every move toward him was a risk, a step closer to the danger she was trying to outrun. She needed to find a way to get him to come to her.
“Lord, a little help here,” she whispered, the words clumsy but sincere. If Emberly was right and the Almighty still had a plan in this chaos, then maybe He’d show her the next step.
She climbed back into the bus, unstrapped her monitors, and reset her home base. The familiar hum of her laptops pulled her back into her element. In moments, her screens glowed to life, alive with encrypted logs and surveillance pings. Step one: find out everything she could about Ranger Liam Kingsley.
Home was out there, waiting. She just had to survive—and keep Liam alive—long enough to find it.
FIVE
If he could just get one parent to see reason, then he could let this go and assume they’d take care of it.
Liam leaned forward and flipped through the photos that Nimue had given him on her iPad yesterday morning one more time—crystal clear images of eight teenagers laughing, cans of beer in hand. He’d spent hours identifying each one, cross-referencing park records and social media. Now he was on the phone with Mr. Hensley of Hensley Enterprises, father of Tyler, the lanky kid in the red hoodie.
“Mr. Hensley.” Liam fought to keep his voice controlled, but tautness betrayed him anyway. “These photos clearly show your son below the rim without a permit. He’s sixteen, holding a beer. That’s not just a citation—it’s dangerous.”
“You’ve got nothing, Ranger. Those pictures are too close up to prove where they were. Could’ve been anywhere. All I see is my kid maybe having a drink. Kids will be kids. I’ll talk to him, all right?”
Liam glanced at the photos again, each one a frozen moment of reckless bravado. He’d hoped the parents would at least take it seriously, but this was the fifth call, and they were all singing the same tune.
“Sir.” Liam’s voice gained an edge as he leaned forward. “This isn’t about underage drinking alone. The fines for camping below the rim without authorization are hundreds of dollars per person, not to mention the having a fire in a non-designated area.”
“So you’re just trying to get money out of me?”
“No. The rules are in place for a reason. And have you thought about the fact they were drinking near those edges? One wrong step?—”
“I’ve heard enough.” Hensley switched to his CEO voice, all authority and dismissal. “You can’t prove they were down there. You’re fishing. We’re done.” The line went dead.
Liam slammed the receiver down, the sound cracking through the quiet office. He leaned back in the chair again, running a hand through his dark hair, his blue eyes fixed on the photos. Something about this case gnawed at his gut. Drinking and edges didn’t mix—he knew that better than most.
A memory flickered: Christiana’s laugh, her blonde braid catching the sunrise as she’d waved him off, insisting she could handle the climb. He’d seen her drinking more than normal at lunch and should’ve stopped her, should’ve trusted the warning bells in his gut. But she’d insisted, assuring him that where she’d grown up, drinking wasn’t a big deal—just part of the culture. And he’d believed her. After all, what did he know about her Eastern European background? But a cliff face wasn’t forgiving and didn’t care where you grew up. It took what it wanted if you weren’t at the top of your game. A half-second delay in reaction time could mean the difference between life and death.
And it had.
Liam blinked, shoving the thought down, but it left a familiar ache throbbing in his chest.
The office door creaked and Noah stepped in, his large frame filling the doorway. One of the few guys who made Liam feelsmall at just over six feet. Noah’s long sun-bleached hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and his easy grin—half hidden by his bushy beard—faltered as he caught Liam’s expression. He pulled up a chair across from the desk. “How’d the call go?”
Liam exhaled, his voice tight. “Same as the others. Hensley’s covering for his kid, says the photos don’t prove they were below the rim. Thinks it’s just kids drinking, no big deal. Hung up on me.”
Noah whistled low, leaning back in his chair. “That’s five for five.”