Page 38 of Montana Justice

Lachlan

The Brackenridge warehouse squatted against the darkness like a cancer on my county.

Through my night vision, I watched shadows move behind grimy windows—real shadows this time, not the emptiness of my other failure.

My knees ached from crouching behind the concrete barrier for the past forty minutes, but I barely noticed.

Everything that mattered was happening two hours away in Whitehall.

“Visual confirmation on weapons movement,” Aiden reported through my earpiece. “Southeast corner, they’re loading crates. Long guns, military profile.”

I forced myself to focus on his words, on the operation in front of me.

But my mind kept drifting to that house on Cedar Lane where my daughter was being held a couple hours from here.

Beckett and Lucas would be in position by now, Jude and Daniel with them—four of the most capable operators I knew.

Former Navy SEALs who’d extracted assets from places that made suburban Whitehall look like Disneyland.

They were experienced. I trusted them. But trusting them and being there myself were tearing me in different directions.

“Confirmed eight heat signatures inside,” Martinez added. “Two on the ground floor, six up top. Possibly more in the basement.”

Eight armed traffickers, minimum. We had the numbers—barely. But half my trusted people were in Whitehall right now, moving on my daughter.

“All teams in position,” Hunter’s voice cut through my spiral. “Ready on your signal.”

I pulled out my phone, angling it so the light wouldn’t give away our position. Nothing from Beckett. It had been seventeen minutes since his last check-in:

In position. Surveillance active. Hold for my update.

Seventeen minutes of not knowing if my daughter was safe.

The grocery delivery confirmation had come through that afternoon.

Travis had been monitoring multiple different areas of intel for final confirmation of which house Ray was keeping Sadie in, and when a grocery order was delivered to 847 Cedar Lane, we’d known.

Formula, diapers, baby wipes—someone was caring for an infant at that address.

But confirming the location and successfully extracting a baby were vastly different operations. What if there were more guards than expected? What if they had orders to hurt her if law enforcement showed up? What if?—

“Movement at the loading dock,” Coop reported. “They’re picking up the pace.”

Through my scope, I watched two men carry a heavy crate from a panel truck into the warehouse.

The way they moved—careful but urgent—screamed weapons.

Another man followed with smaller packages, wrapped tight in plastic.

The kind of packaging I’d seen too many times in drug busts.

They were moving everything tonight—guns and drugs, just like Ray had told Piper they would.

“Looks like they’re moving both hardware and product,” I said into my comms. “Confirms our intel about dual trafficking.”

“Copy that,” Hunter responded. “Makes sense. Same routes, same protection, double the profit.”

“What’s the holdup?” The question came through the comms from someone I didn’t recognize. Had to be DEA.

Agent Kowalski had materialized at our staging area three hours ago with his merry band of federal agents in tow.

Somehow he’d gotten wind of our operation—or had enough suspicions that something was going on to make his presence known.

He’d threatened to shut everything down, call in federal oversight, make my life hell unless his team got a piece of the action.

I’d agreed because I needed bodies. We were stretched dangerously thin between the warehouse assault and the Whitehall extraction. But I hadn’t told him about Sadie. That wasn’t information he needed, and I didn’t trust him with my daughter’s life.

“We wait for my signal,” I said into the comms, keeping my voice level despite the acid burning in my gut.

Any other night, stopping this shipment would’ve been my only priority. Tonight, it was a distant second.

I checked my phone again. Nothing.

“This is taking too long,” another DEA voice muttered. “They could be destroying evidence. Protocol says?—”

“Protocol says the ranking local officer calls the breach,” I cut him off. “That’s me. We hold.”

Sweat trickled down my back despite the cool night air. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to do something, to be in two places at once. But all I could do was wait and trust the men I’d sent to save my daughter.

Movement to my left made me turn. Kowalski approached in a tactical crouch, his movements precise despite his obvious frustration. He dropped beside me and deliberately switched off his comms.

“We need to talk off official channels,” he said, voice low but carrying an edge. “My team’s been in position for twenty-three minutes. We have a clear visual of criminal activity. Active trafficking in progress. What exactly are we waiting for?”

“Final confirmation before we move.”

“Confirmation of what?” He shifted closer, and I could smell coffee on his breath. “Intel verification? Because I can see weapons with my own eyes. Are you waiting for them to finish loading so we get a bigger bust? Because that’s risky as hell.”

I kept my eyes on the warehouse, watching shadows move. “Just following protocol.”

“Bullshit.” The word came out sharp. “I’ve run dozens of operations. This isn’t protocol—this is hesitation. If you’ve lost your nerve after last week’s failure?—”

“I haven’t lost anything.” The words came out harder than intended.

“Then give the damn order.” His hand moved toward his radio. “Look, Calloway, I respect what you’re trying to do here. Small-town sheriff, big federal case. I get it. But if you can’t make the call, step aside. No shame in admitting you’re in over your head.”

The condescension in his voice made my jaw clench. This federal prick had no idea what was at stake.

“I’ll make the call when it’s time,” I said.

“Time was ten minutes ago.” He pulled out his radio. “This is exactly why federal oversight exists. When locals freeze up?—”

“Put the radio down, Kowalski.”

How far was I willing to take this? Knock the other man unconscious? Pull my weapon on him?

Both.

All I knew was that we could not breach this building until we had word Sadie was safe. If we went in before that, one call from Ray could cost my daughter her life.

“Listen very carefully,” I said, keeping my voice low enough that our comms wouldn’t pick it up. “I’ve got operational command here. Me. Not you. Not your bosses. Me. We move when I say move, not one second before. You want to write me up after, fine.”

He reached for his radio, and I shook my head, menace in my eyes. “If you have anyone move before I give the signal, I will arrest you for interfering with a criminal investigation.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. All my men will say you attempted to override local command during a joint operation.” I had no doubt every single one of my team would back me up on that.

“Your bosses might eventually sort it out, but by then, you’ll have spent a night in my jail explaining why you blew a major trafficking bust.”

His face went from red to purple. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

“Neither do you.” I picked up his radio, holding it out handle-first. Not surrendering—establishing dominance. “We can do this together, following proper command structure. Or I can have Deputy Martinez escort you to an observation point where you can watch but not interfere. Choose.”

Around us, I could sense the tension. If Kowalski went for his radio, I wasn’t sure I could stop him before he called for the breach.

My phone buzzed.

The soft vibration hit like an electric shock. Everything else—Kowalski, the warehouse, the operation—faded to background noise. I pulled it out with hands that suddenly felt clumsy.

Beckett:

Package secured. She’s safe.

My heart shuddered in my chest. I had to read it twice before the words sank in. Safe . Sadie was safe.

A photo loaded below the text. My daughter— my daughter —in Beckett’s arms. Dark hair sticking up in tiny tufts. Eyes wide with confusion but unharmed.

My knees almost buckled. She was real. She was safe. She was ours.

“What is it?” Kowalski asked, anger momentarily replaced by curiosity.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, squaring my shoulders. Everything I’d been holding back—fear, rage, desperate hope—crystallized into purpose. “You’re about to get your wish. Let’s do this.”

“All units,” I said into my comms, voice steady and sure. “This is Calloway. We are green light. I repeat, we are green light. Breach on my mark.”

The change was instant. Weapons came up. Bodies coiled for action. Whatever questions Kowalski had were swept away by the immediacy of the moment.

“Remember your sectors,” I continued. “We need arrests, not bodies. But protect yourselves and each other. These people won’t hesitate to kill cops.”

I looked at Kowalski, offering my hand. After a long beat, he shook it.

“Ready to do some good?” I asked.

He nodded, professionalism sliding back into place. “DEA teams ready on your signal.”

“Hunter, you’re leading Alpha team through the north. Coop, Bravo takes the loading dock. I’m Charlie team through the south entrance. Kowalski, your teams provide overwatch and cut off escape routes.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

“Roger that.”

I raised my hand, watching the warehouse through night vision. In Whitehall, my daughter was safe in Beckett’s arms. Here, justice was about to rain down.

“All units—execute, execute, execute!”

The night exploded. Flash-bangs detonated with chest-thumping percussion. Doors splintered under breaching charges. Teams flowed into the warehouse like water through a broken dam.

“Contact front!” Gunfire erupted—the sharp crack of hostile weapons followed by the controlled response of our teams.