Page 21 of Guard Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #5)

Chapter

Nineteen

The conference room at Fate Mountain Police Station smelled of burnt coffee and sweat.

Andre stood beside the wall-mounted screen, the small drive clutched in his palm like a talisman.

His knuckles ached from the death grip he'd maintained on the steering wheel during the drive here.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, race back to Joy, wrap himself around her until nothing could touch her again.

Heath Reynolds leaned against the conference table, arms crossed over his broad chest. The police chief's jaw was set in a hard line that Andre recognized—the look of a man holding back rage by sheer force of will.

At the table, Officer Tyler Hoffman hunched over his laptop, fingers poised above the keys like a pianist about to perform.

"Let's see what we've got," Heath said, though his tone suggested he already knew they wouldn't like what they found.

Andre inserted the drive into Tyler's laptop. The system interface loaded with agonizing slowness, each second stretching like an hour. When the eight camera feeds finally appeared on the wall screen, miniature windows into Joy's property, Andre's chest tightened.

Joy’s property. The place he was supposed to protect.

Tyler clicked the first feed. Static filled the window, harsh white noise that made Andre's teeth clench.

"Camera one is down," Tyler muttered, already making notes. He clicked the second feed. More static. "Camera two, same thing."

Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Nothing but electronic snow, as if the cameras had been staring into some digital void. Andre's stomach dropped like a stone into deep water. The skin on the back of his neck prickled with the knowledge of what this meant.

"Seven cameras completely jammed," Tyler said, his voice taking on that rapid-fire quality that meant he'd found something significant. "This isn't interference or malfunction. Look at these signal patterns."

Only camera seven showed anything—the one covering the southwest approach to the bee yard. Andre stared at the timestamp in the corner, and bile rose in his throat.

4:52 AM.

His hands curled into fists. At 4:52 AM, he'd been spooned against Joy in that hotel bed, her warmth seeping into his bones, both of them drifting in that peaceful space between sleep and waking. In less than two hours, they'd discover what these bastards had done.

"Professional signal jammers," Tyler continued, pulling up technical data. "Military grade, probably Eastern European manufacture based on the frequency signatures. Each camera was targeted individually in sequence."

Andre moved closer to the screen. "I installed this system.

Every unit was positioned to create overlapping fields of view, no blind spots.

But look—" He pointed to the pattern Tyler had identified.

"They jammed them in the exact order that would create a corridor of approach.

Northwest camera first at 4:45. That's the high ground position.

Then northeast at 4:47, taking out the secondary angle. "

His finger traced the path. "They knew my installation pattern. Knew which cameras provided primary versus backup coverage. This isn't just someone with good equipment. This is someone who studied my system."

Heath's expression darkened. "Inside knowledge?"

"Or surveillance." Andre's jaw clenched. "They could have watched me install them. Mapped every position." The thought made his bear snarl. Someone had been watching even then, planning this.

Tyler pulled up the surviving footage from camera seven. "This one survived because?—"

"Because it's my failsafe position," Andre finished. "Hidden higher than the others, with a different power source. I installed it separately. If they mapped the main installation, they might have missed this one."

The video began to play, grainy but clear enough in the infrared spectrum. Three figures emerged from the tree line like wraiths, black clothing covering them head to toe, faces hidden behind masks. Andre leaned forward, memorizing every detail.

The leader’s arm gestures were sharp, commanding, pointing out positions like a field general.

The second figure carried the accelerant can, narrow shoulders and quick movements that spoke of nervous energy.

A runner's build. The third was broader, shoulders like a linebacker, carrying what Tyler confirmed was the signal jammer.

Andre's phone buzzed against the table. Joy's name on the screen made his chest constrict. He snatched it up, needing confirmation that she was safe.

Had empty nuc boxes in the barn - getting survivors settled before they disperse. Going to my parents' house when I'm done. I'm okay.

Of course she was rescuing the survivors. Of course she was thinking of her bees even through devastation, even with bandaged hands. That was Joy.

He typed back: Be there as soon as I can.

"Partial plate," Tyler said, pointing to the corner of the screen where a vehicle's edge was barely visible. "Let me enhance this."

His fingers danced across the keyboard, running enhancement algorithms. The image sharpened marginally, revealing three characters: XRT.

"Running DMV search now," Tyler said, accessing the law enforcement database. "This'll take a minute."

Detective Gabriel Reynolds entered the conference room with the controlled energy of someone ready for action.

Heath brought him up to speed while Tyler's DMV search ran.

Andre found himself pacing, unable to stand still.

Seven steps to the wall. Seven steps back.

His bear pushed against his skin, demanding movement.

"Got it," Tyler announced. "XRT-429. Registered to Mountain Services LLC. Business address is a warehouse on the outskirts of town." He typed again. "Running a records search now."

"Let me check property records for that warehouse." Digital breadcrumbs led from one database to another. Property tax records. Utility accounts. Each query pulled him deeper into a web of shell companies.

"The warehouse should be vacant," he said. "But utilities are being paid. Water, electric, even internet. Minimal usage but consistent."

"Who's paying?" Gabriel asked, leaning over Tyler’s shoulder.

"Property taxes are current, paid by High Timber Holdings."

The name hit Andre like a physical blow. High Timber Holdings. At the community meeting, multiple ranchers had mentioned receiving letters from them about timber rights.

"They're all connected," Andre said with sudden certainty. Mountain Pure LLC wanting water access. Apex Development Partners approaching about mineral rights. "All these shell companies targeting Fate Mountain properties. This is coordinated."

Heath straightened, decision crystallizing in his expression. "We need to search that warehouse. Now."

What followed was controlled chaos. Heath made rapid phone calls while Gabriel coordinated with dispatch. Judge Morrison had heard about Joy's bees. Her electronic signature appeared on the warrant within minutes.

"Listen up," Heath addressed the assembled team twenty minutes later.

The conference room had filled with officers—Valeria Reynolds checking her weapon, Gunnar Ironwood cracking his knuckles in anticipation, Rafe Stone bouncing on his toes with barely contained energy, Magnus Blackthorne steady as granite beside the door.

"This is a soft entry unless we meet resistance," Heath continued. "We go in fast but controlled. Secure any personnel first, evidence second. Tyler will maintain radio contact from here."

Heath caught Andre's eye. "No heroics. I know she's your mate. But we do this by the book. Clean. Legal."

Andre nodded, though his bear disagreed violently. They needed convictions, not just vengeance.

The convoy rolled out as afternoon sun slanted low across Fate Mountain. Andre rode with Gabriel. His tactical vest felt heavier than usual.

"Joy's tough," Gabriel said quietly. "She'll get through this."

Andre didn't respond. He was too busy replaying the security footage in his mind. The calculated way they'd destroyed everything. The professional precision that spoke of practice, planning, purpose.

The warehouse squatted in an abandoned lot on the outskirts of town, all rust and broken promises. Everything about it screamed it was unoccupied—except for the fresh tire tracks in the dirt. Multiple vehicles, recent.

They positioned for entry. Heath coordinated from the command vehicle while the entry team stacked up at the door.

"On my count," Gabriel said. He stood point, with Andre behind him, then Valeria, Gunnar, Rafe, and Magnus.

"Three... two... one... Execute!"

They went in hard and fast. "Police! Search warrant!" The words echoed in the vast space.

Empty.

Not the dusty emptiness of true abandonment, but the too-clean emptiness of recent use. Coffee cups sat on a folding table. Folding chairs were arranged in a loose circle.

"Single operation setup," Gabriel observed, studying the space. "Just enough for one team. Probably cleared out after the hit."

Andre moved methodically through the warehouse, every sense alert.

Whiteboards had been wiped clean but not perfectly—ghost images of words and diagrams remained.

Power strips with phone chargers still plugged in but devices gone.

An empty accelerant container in the corner, hazmat labels still visible.

"Standard hit and move," Valeria said. "They did the job and cleared out. Professional."

Andre swept his flashlight along the walls, checking corners and crevices. Near the loading dock, something caught his eye—a torn shipping label stuck to the bottom of an overturned milk crate. He dropped to one knee, extracting it carefully with gloved fingers.

The label was mostly intact, adhesive still tacky. His pulse quickened as he read:

Ship to: Mountain Services LLC

Reference: CMDev-MW-3847

"Got something," Andre called.

Gabriel appeared at his shoulder, studying the label. "CMDev. What's that?"

Andre stared at the letters. Some parent company? Another shell corporation?

His phone rang. Joy. He stepped outside to answer, needing the fresh air anyway.

"I know you're working," she said, voice thick with exhaustion. "But I needed to hear your voice."

"I'm here. We found their staging area. We're close, Joy. We're going to get them."

"It's Ryan Holbrook." Her voice hardened. "I know it is. The way he studied my booth. The timeline he mentioned. Andre, he knew this was going to happen."

"We'll find the connection. I promise."

"Be careful."

The call ended, leaving Andre standing in the warehouse that held too many questions.

"Forensics will process everything," Heath ordered. "Every print, every trace, every fiber."

Andre's mind kept circling back to that shipping label.

CMDev.