Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,11

a guard but an electronic sentry. There was a camera above the gate. A code or a card was also required for entry. Each code and card were user specific. Visual as well as digital information was recorded every time a gate opened. It was the same on the other few entrances. No one came or went from the ranch without the information being recorded.

From my limited experience on Mason’s land, this was the first of many checkpoints to get near the main house. Over ten thousand acres was a good amount of land. Once the gate opened, we proceeded within. The first area of habitation was the grouping of buildings that included the house where Seth, the ranch manager, lived with his wife and two children. Over the last year, a sizeable addition had been added for his growing family, giving it a statelier appearance.

Besides the multiple barns and outbuildings, this was where the ranch hands came for their assignments. Not far up the lane was the bunkhouse. For the most part, Mason utilized seasonal workers. They were like guns for hire—cowboys who knew what to do and did it for a paycheck. It decreased personal attachment and questions that may come along due to who lived on the other side of the ravine.

The person who oversaw the ranch hands and the seasonal workers and was dedicated to the land and animals was Seth Dorgan, with help from his wife, Lindsey. Though he was young, he’d helped Mason during a difficult time, was well vetted, and exceptionally paid. In many ways, Seth treated the ranch as if it was his own. That not only suited Mason, but it meshed with the agricultural powers-that-be for the state of Montana.

Seth Dorgan was the go-to man for anything concerning the Jackson Ranch. He answered to Mason; everyone else answered to him. Mason needed that kind of loyalty with spending most of his time in Chicago.

Once the road passed the barns and outbuildings, the land cleared into fenced pastures for as far as the eye could see. Finally, we approached a large ravine with a river below. This late in the summer, the river was more of a stream. In the spring, with the snow melting from the mountains, Mason said it could overrun the banks as it raged through the gorge.

Mason’s house was on the other side of the ravine. The home that had been present when he first purchased the property appealed to him in large part due to its limited accessibility.

As we canvassed the distance, it was clear that with Garrett at Seth’s house, a helicopter could have come from the other direction, virtually unnoticed down at Seth’s house.

The SUV continued along the packed-dirt road.

The main house was only used by Mason and Laurel as a retreat. Since they spent most of their time in Chicago, the lane we were on qualified as a road less traveled.

In the distance, the main house came into view. As it did, the energy in the SUV changed. In a few moments, Patrick and Mason would have their wives in their arms. They could look into their eyes and reassure themselves that all was right with the world.

They could.

They would.

I turned to Sparrow as he turned to me.

Wordlessly we promised one another that one day soon we too would be holding our wives.

Whoever had dared to enter this property, breach the security, and take Lorna and Araneae would pay. Of that we could be certain.

As the SUV slowed, the door upon the large porch opened.

Lorna

“Araneae, you have to eat,” I said, looking at the food she’d been given as we sat side by side on the lower bunk, holding our plastic plates in our laps. Her disheveled long blonde hair lay over her shoulders, veiling her profile.

Pushing it aside, she turned her soft brown eyes my direction. “How do we know it’s safe?”

I stared at the plate that had been given to me and taking a deep breath, lifted a forkful of what appeared to be some kind of chicken dish to my lips. After swallowing, I forced a grin. “I’d be happy to give whoever our cook is some lessons on spices. It’s bland but I think edible.”

Araneae pushed the chicken, rice, and sauce around the plastic plate with the plastic fork. “I want to be home.” She lowered her voice. “What do you think the men...?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He’s so worried. I know he is.”

I nodded. “I’m sure