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talk about himself. And when the conversation turned to him, kids, anything that reminded him of New York, he could get foul. To which she had said he always apologized looking more stricken by his outburst than anything.
    Everybody had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Everybody had tried to paint him a different picture. If he didn’t take the shot then he could be dead. There was no way to know it wasn’t a real gun. Riggs had to know that, but he wasn’t allowing himself to accept it. Maybe now he truly was. Maybe now he felt a greater purpose than despair. Maybe now he really was ready.
    “You’re going to have to pick up a gun again; are you sure you’re okay with that?”
    “I’m ready,” he told him. “Protect and serve…and I still have that ingrained in me. We’ll protect her. You cover her and I’ll watch your back, keep eyes on the town and ears to the ground. She will be safe,” he said with finality.
    “Good to have you back, brother.” Keadon gave Riggs their solid fist bump that sealed their promised commitment. “We’re going to be at my place,” he told him. “Get your bag, Debbie. It’s time to go.”
    She nodded and picked up her bag. Typically women wanted the chivalry component, but when it came to protection having to drop her bag before taking the shot would be the difference between life and death. Riggs had teased him about always carrying his weapon concealed. He knew Keadon was hiding it well, even if nobody else did. But Keadon had grown accustomed to having his firearm with him and he wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Now he was glad of that fact because he wouldn’t want to be out here, with this situation, without a loaded weapon for defense.
    Riggs was going to be by his side in this. Keadon smiled at the thought. The Myers boys were back in action. Singular they were formidable enemies, but together they were simply unstoppable. Their mother had always said to them, “God help the unlucky bastard who crosses one of you,” and she had been right. Where there was one there was the other when it came to protecting family, protecting each other, protecting the innocent. Riggs had chosen the world of a cop while Keadon had chosen the military life, but they were both cut from the same cloth. They were protectors, hunters, warriors. They would both move hell to keep Debbie safe.
    Chapter Three
     
    Debbie sat down on the corner of the bed. She couldn’t stop thinking about the life she had lived, the life she allowed herself to live. If she had been stronger, smarter, braver, then maybe she would have left sooner. Maybe she would have runaway after she realized her mother wouldn’t protect her. She was in Vegas, there were plenty of runaways—of course they had all landed on the streets or in far worse situations than she had been in. No, looking back she didn’t know what she could have done differently. But looking at today she was sure of what she would do differently now.
     
    She left out the guest room Keadon had stashed her in—a nice smaller room with a twin bed, a small dresser and a chair in the corner for sitting and reading next to the Tiffany lamp. The mattress was comfortable and felt new which told her he hadn’t had company to sleep in it since he got it. She doubted it came with the house. Of course she didn’t know that for sure. She just knew that the blue and silver setup of the room reminded her of Keadon. He always said he was a red white and blue man both in the patriotic spirit and in his taste in colors; although she noticed he favored more silver than white when it came to colors in his home.
     
    She walked down the hall to the master bedroom and leaned against the open door. “Keadon,” she called to him. His back was to her and he turned sharply to face her.
     
    “Good God woman I thought I told you months ago to stop doing that.”
     
    “Doing what?”
     
    “You walk too quietly. I’m usually good at picking up on what’s