Snow Angel: Rebirth

Chapter Five

Doc had taken Jake’s place by the fireplace and was snoring softly,. He’d been up and down throughout the night, checking on the woman. Jake sat in the wooden chair beside the bed, his rifle resting across his lap. Someone was out there coming for her, and they weren’t coming nice.

The cabin was dim, lit only by the hearth’s fading glow. Shadows stretched long across the log walls, shifting with every flicker of the fire. Jake kept his eyes on the woman’s chest, watching the fragile rise and fall, listening to the soft, uneven breaths of her drug‑induced sleep.

He’d seen bodies breathe like that before — shallow, uncertain, fighting for every inch of life. His mind drifted, unbidden, to the desert heat and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The day the IED hit. The blast. The ringing. The sudden absence of sound. And then Doc — hands deep in Jake’s torn leg, shouting at him to stay awake while gunfire cracked overhead.

Doc had saved his life long before he’d saved hers.

Jake shifted in the chair, pushing the memory back. He didn’t like revisiting the past. It had teeth.

After his medical retirement, he’d built a private security firm from nothing. For years, it thrived. He’d thought he’d finally carved out a life where he could keep people safe. Then, five years ago, his team dismantled a brutal Eastern European syndicate. The syndicate retaliated by running his family’s vehicle off a dangerous mountain road, murdering his wife, Lindsay, and their young son, Fletcher. The grueling, four-year-long investigation and trial took an immense toll on his psyche. He attended every single courtroom session. When the four hitmen were convicted a year ago, he delivered a crushing victim impact statement. All four were sentenced to death for first-degree murder and racketeering.

Jake thought the definitive sentences would be a salve to his wounded soul. Instead, they left him feeling hollow.

After that, his heart wasn’t in it. The last year had been brutal. He’d been dropping the ball, snapping at people, shutting down. Doc had confronted him just days ago, telling him to take time off before he drove the whole team away.

Jake had retreated to this mountain to clear his head. Instead, he’d found her.

Near dawn, Doc rose. Checked the woman’s vitals, changed her IV bag, and settled back down. Jake let him sleep.

Jake studied the woman more closely in the dim light. Her blonde hair — honey and wheat — was matted with dirt and dried blood, tangled across her freckled shoulders. Even lying still and vulnerable, her eyelids shut tight, her features held a delicate symmetry. She was beautiful, Jake thought — and immediately shoved the thought aside. He hadn’t let himself notice a beautiful woman in a long time.

He pulled the wool blankets up to her chin, careful not to disturb the fresh dressings.

Her hand twitched.

Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused and glassy with fever. She looked around the cabin in blind panic before her eyes locked onto Jake.

“Am I…” Her voice was a rasp. “Did he…”

“You’re safe,” Jake said, pulling the chair closer. He leaned in, expression steady, eyes intense. “Your back is patched up. The bleeding stopped. But we need to talk.”

She swallowed, throat dry. Jake reached for the cup of water on the nightstand. When he moved to lift her head, she flinched, trying to pull away. He raised an open hand.

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to help you drink.”

He slid his hand behind her head slowly, lifting just enough for her to take a small, cautious sip.

“You told me not to call anyone,” Jake said, setting the cup aside. “I kept my end of the bargain. No cops. No calls. But I’ve spent a lifetime dealing with the worst people on the planet. Whoever you’re running from — he’s one of them.” He leaned closer. “Who is coming for you? Give me a name.”

Her bottom lip trembled. She looked at the timber door, then back at Jake, weighing whether she had any hope left at all. Seeing the finality in his posture, she let out a shaky breath.

“My husband,” she whispered. “It was my husband.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jake didn’t blink.

In his line of work, some of the most vicious monsters didn’t wear gear. They sat in boardrooms. They tucked their kids into bed at night. They wore wedding rings.