Page 70 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

"I'll be alone," Liv finished. "And vulnerable."

"Exactly."

She crossed to the table slowly, like she was approaching something that might bite. Stared down at the items spread across the surface, proof that someone had been close enough to touch the fence posts, to leave these deliberate reminders that she wasn't safe, that they could reach her whenever they wanted.

She picked up the photo of herself and Charlotte making pie, forced herself to really look at it. The angle suggested it had been taken from the tree line near the barn. Which meant someone had been standing there, watching, for who knew how long.

"They photographed Charlotte," Liv said. Her voice didn't shake. Didn't waver. It came out cold and flat and absolutely furious. "A child. They used a child to threaten me."

"Liv—" Mike started.

"No." She set the photo down with deliberate care. "They think I'll run because they've proven they can get close. That they can reach the people I care about."

"That's exactly what they think," Joe said carefully.

"Then they don't know me very well." Liv's jaw tightened. "Because I'm not running. Not anymore."

Mike's expression shifted to surprise, then something that looked like pride.

She looked around at all of them, these men who'd become her family, her protectors, her home. "You've all put yourselves at risk for me. The least I can do is stop being a liability and start being part of the defense."

"You're not a liability," Lyle said firmly.

"I have been. Hiding. Hoping. Letting you all handle things while I make biscuits and try to pretend I'm not terrified every second of every day." She pulled in a breath. "I'm done with that. I talked to Heather today. I'm starting self-defense training tomorrow morning. And I need you, Joe, to teach me about surveillance. How to spot it, how to avoid it, how to know when I'm being watched."

She turned to Mike. "And I need you to teach me more about firearms. Not just target practice. Real training." Her voice was steady, certain. "I want to feel comfortable carrying a weapon. Because if they come for me, I'm not going down without a fight. And I'm sure as hell not going to let them use the people I love as leverage."

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then Quentin's voice came from the doorway. "That's my girl."

They all turned.

He stood there in his bathrobe and boots, shotgun in hand, looking like he'd been ready for trouble even in his sleep.

"Heard the commotion," he said. "Figured I'd come see what the fuss was about." His gaze moved to the items on the table, and his expression went hard. "Well, hell."

"Eloquent as always, Grandpa," Lyle said.

"I'm old. I've earned the right to be blunt." Quentin crossed to the table, studied the photos with sharp eyes. "They're professionals. Military trained, probably. The kind who don't make mistakes."

"How can you tell?" Liv asked.

"Timing. Coordination. The fact that they left evidence but no tracks." He picked up one of the peonies, turned it in his weathered hands. "This is psychological ops. They're trying to break you before they take you. Make you so scared you'll do something stupid."

"Like run," Mike said.

"Like run." Quentin set the flower down and looked at Liv. "But you're not gonna do that, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Good." He nodded approval. "Then we make a plan. A real one. Not just defense and offense. Figure out who sent these bastards and hit them where it hurts."

"How?" Liv asked.

Joe's laptop pinged. He opened it, scanned whatever message had come through, and his expression went cold.

"Johan just sent me something." He turned the screen so they could all see. "Russo's operation got raided by the Feds three hours ago. Manhattan office, records seized, multiple arrests."