Page 26 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

Warden pointed down a short hallway. “Second door on the left. Towels are in the cabinet. There’s a full tank, so don’t worry about running out. Get some sleep after. You look like you need it.” His gruffness was a thin veneer over what Dog knew was a profound, if unspoken, sense of responsibility.

Margaret nodded, a faint ‘thank you’ whispered, before disappearing down the short hallway. Soon, the faint, welcome sound of running water echoed through the cabin.

Dog watched her go, a small measure of tension easing in his own shoulders. He then turned to Warden, Jake joining them. “Enzo and Thorn are running a decoy with the tracker. Headed towards the Canadian border, hoping to send Charles’s goons on a wild goose chase.”

Warden’s eyes narrowed. “Good. We’ll need every hour that buys us. We need to get you two completely off the grid.” He then gestured towards a large tactical map spread out on a heavy wooden table. “Let’s talk about what’s next.”

Evening settled in, bringing with it the sounds of the forest. The distant call of a loon, the soft rustle of wind through pine needles. Radio static crackled briefly from the comms unit on the table as Enzo and Thorn checked in, confirming the tracker was heading north at sixty miles an hour and they were looping back to position.

Dog followed Warden through the cabin’s narrow hallways as the older man moved with a deliberate calm, pointing out reinforced walls, sensor placements, and supply caches. The heavy timber and sturdy construction gave the place an almost fortress-like feel, but Dog could see past the physical defenses to the weight his friend carried inside.

They reached a small sitting area near a window that framed the pitch-black forest outside. Warden paused, his eyes distant, staring into the dark as if waiting for a ghost to step out of the trees.

Dog leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Cabin looks good, Warden. But you look like hell.”

Warden’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine. Just keeping sharp.”

“You’re not sleeping,” Dog stated, keeping his voice low but firm. “I know that look because I’ve been fighting it myself. I’ve had the same nightmares since the crash. You’re still in that helo, brother. We both are. Still in Syria.”

Warden turned away from the window, his expression hardening. “Tank didn’t make it out. We did. Someone has to carry it.”

“Carrying it doesn’t mean letting it bury you,” Dog pressed gently. “Survivor’s guilt is a heavy rucksack. You can’t march with it forever without breaking your back.”

“I said I’m fine,” Warden snapped, the steely edge returning to his voice, his leader’s voice. He grabbed a rag and began wiping down the spotless surface of a nearby table, a kinetic burn of nervous energy. He didn’t want to talk about Tank. He didn’t want to talk about the blood or the fire. “Besides, I’m not the one with a million-dollar bounty on his head. How are things on your end? Link told me Charles firebombed the clinic site in Monterey. That was supposed to be your sanctuary project.”

Dog recognized the deflection, but pushed no further. Warden would open up when he was ready; pushing a SEAL only made them dig their heels in deeper.

Dog sighed, moving to sit in one of the worn leather armchairs. “He did. Burned it down to the studs. Honestly, when I saw the smoke, I thought it was over.” Dog leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But it actually might be a blessing in disguise.”

Warden stopped wiping the table and looked over, eyebrows raised. “A blessing? How do you figure?”

“Originally, I just wanted a place in town where the doctors could consult with patients and their families away from the main lodge up in the mountains. A quiet, clinical annex,” Dog explained, his eyes brightening slightly as he thought about the future. He traced the outline of the clinic’s footprint on the arm of the chair, his gaze lingering on it. “Then I realized I was thinking too small.”

“How so?”

“Monterey needs more than a consult room. Right now, if anyone in that town has a real emergency, they have to drive forty-five minutes to the next county just to hit an ER,” Dog said. “With the clinic leveled, we have a blank slate. I’m going to rebuild it, but bigger. A full-fledged urgent care facility. Trauma bays, an on-call doctor 24/7. Something that actually serves the town, not just my lodge.”

Warden stared at him for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. A faint, genuine smirk touched the corner of his mouth. “Only you could look at a pile of smoldering ash left by an asshole billionaire and see a zoning opportunity for a trauma center, Dog.”

“We build back better,” Dog said quietly. “It’s what we do.”

Warden nodded slowly, looking back out the window. “Yeah. Build back better.” He fell silent, the words hanging between them in the quiet cabin, carrying a double meaning neither man needed to explain.

18 - MARGARET

Margaret woke to the unfamiliar scent of woodsmoke and sharp pine. For a disorienting second, she stared up at the heavy, exposed timber beams of the ceiling, her heart doing a panicked stutter. Then, the memories of the frantic flight, the armored SUVs, and the tracker in her Nonna’s necklace came rushing back.

She was in Maine. At Warden’s cabin.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed back the thick wool quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floorboards were freezing against her bare feet. As she stood, she took a deep breath, smoothing down the wrinkles in her borrowed clothes. She was entirely out of her element, surrounded by five lethal men in a wilderness fortress, being hunted by a billionaire with a limitless budget. It was terrifying. Yet, why did she feel so simultaneously suffocated and strangely safe in this rugged cabin?

So, she did what she had been trained to do since she was a little girl in Richmond Heights. She put on her armor.

It wasn’t Kevlar; it was a perfectly constructed, impenetrable facade of polite pleasantness. It was the same serene, detached smile she used at tedious charity galas or when dealing with aggressive board members. Until she figured out the exact dynamic of this remote cabin, politeness was her safest shield.

Following the low rumble of male voices and the heavenly smell of roasted coffee, Margaret padded softly down the short hallway, the worn wooden floor creaking faintly beneath her steps.

When she stepped into the rustic kitchen, the sheer size of the men made the room feel instantly claustrophobic. Dog, Warden, Jake, Enzo, and Thorn were gathered around a heavy oak table, finishing off an early breakfast of eggs and bacon. Soft morning light filtered through the window, casting warm patterns on the worn wooden floorboards, adding a quiet calm to the bustling space.