Page 15

14

ZEKE

I ’m already half-dressed when the encrypted ping comes through Caleb’s secure phone. It’s not a phone call or text—just a low-frequency code, the kind only a former SEAL would know how to send or read. The moment I see it, I feel the switch flip in my blood.

Sadie’s still asleep, curled tight into my side, one leg slung over mine like she’s keeping me anchored. At some point, she must have slipped my shirt back on. Her breathing is slow, steady, mouth slightly parted. Peaceful. I watch her for one more second, burning the image into my mind before I slip from the bed and grab my stuff from the floor.

I’m tugging my boots on when she stirs.

Her voice is thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Early.” I keep my voice low, even. “Go back to sleep.”

She lifts her head, blinking. “You’re lying.”

I glance over my shoulder. Her eyes are clearer now. Watching me. Always watching.

“Something’s up,” she says.

I nod once, grabbing my comm from the top drawer and clipping it to my belt. “Caleb picked up something. Might be a signal from one of the ATVs we tracked near the burn site.”

She pushes the covers back, sitting up. My shirt is still on her, one shoulder bare, hair tangled and perfect. Her brow pulls in just enough to tell me she’s trying not to worry. It’s instinct. She’s always trying to stay out of the way, trying not to need too much.

“You going alone?”

“Not a chance.” I step back toward her, lean down, and cup her face in my hand. “Caleb’s already out. He’s triangulating the signal. I’m going to meet him on the southern trail.”

Her lips part like she’s about to ask the question I already have an answer to.

“You’re not coming,” I say. “But you’re not staying here either.”

“Zeke—”

“No,” I cut in, firm but not unkind. “Not negotiable.”

She lifts her chin. “So where am I supposed to go?”

“With Wren.”

“Who?”

“Wren. She’s Caleb’s sister. She knows her way around the woods and dangerous situations.”

That catches her off guard. “Caleb’s sister? Did you know she lived here?”

I nod. “She’s got a cabin about five miles east of town. Wildlife researcher and medic. She keeps to herself, knows the terrain better than most of the men I’ve trained with. She’s smart, fast, and fully stocked. If anything goes sideways, you’ll be safer with her than anyone else.”

Sadie’s quiet for a second. Then, “She knows I’m coming?”

“She will by the time we get there.” I reach for my jacket. “I’ll drop you off. Then I’m meeting Caleb.”

“Zeke—”

“I need to be able to move,” I tell her, stepping close again, lowering my voice. “If I’m thinking about you being alone here, I’m distracted. You want me sharp. You want this done right? You let me put you somewhere I know you’ll be safe.”

Her jaw tightens, but not with anger. With effort. She hates it—being protected. Being watched. She still sees it like a weight. But she nods anyway.

“Okay,” she says. “Wren’s place it is.”

I kiss her forehead, then her mouth. It’s not soft this time. Not rushed either. Just full. Final. Like something I’ll carry with me when I’m walking through the trees, hunting ghosts.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the truck. Sadie’s bundled in my flannel and her coat, coffee in a thermos between her palms, legs tucked beneath her like she’s trying to make herself smaller. But she doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t argue. Just watches the road and me, like she’s already thinking ten steps ahead.

“Tell me about her,” she says after a mile. “Wren.”

“Sharp as hell,” I say. “Born with a scalpel in one hand and a field guide in the other. Ran search and rescue ops on Denali before she moved back out here. Left after one of her team didn’t make it back during a blizzard. She doesn’t talk about it.”

Sadie nods, absorbing it all. “She doesn’t like people?”

“She likes animals better. But she’ll like you.”

“Why?”

I glance at her. “Because you don’t make noise unless you have something worth saying.”

She smiles a little, tucking her chin into her scarf. I can still see the worry behind her eyes. But there’s something else too. Trust.

By the time we hit the trailhead that branches toward Wren’s land, I already see smoke curling through the trees—her chimney. She’s up.

I park and kill the engine. “You wait here.”

I jog up the path, crunching frost and pine needles under my boots. Wren’s already outside by the time I get there—lean, tanned skin, in a heavy cable-knit sweater and jeans, her dark braid swinging over one shoulder. Her eyes—same sharp gray as Caleb’s—narrow as she takes me in.

“Trouble?” she asks.

“Maybe,” I answer. “Need a favor.”

Her arms cross. “If it’s about Caleb, I swear to God…”

“It’s not. It’s about her.” I jerk my thumb toward the truck. “Her name’s Sadie. She’s under threat, and I can’t have her out there right now. I need her somewhere tight and guarded.”

Wren stares at me for a long moment. Then, “She knows how to shut up and follow directions?”

“Better than most men I’ve worked with.”

Wren’s mouth twitches. “She cook?”

I grin. “Better than anyone.”

“Then she can stay.”

I walk back to the truck, open the passenger door. Sadie looks up at me, eyes searching. I just nod.

“She’s good. You’ll be safe here.”

Sadie hesitates. Then reaches out, her hand slipping into mine. “You’ll come back?”

“Every damn time,” I say. Then lean down, brushing her mouth with mine one more time. “Don’t get comfortable. This is just a pause. Not the end.”

As I watch her disappear into the house with Wren, my phone buzzes in my jacket. Caleb. I answer, already turning back toward the truck.

“Signal’s stronger. Moving west toward the ridge near the old fire road.”

“You think they know we’re listening?”

“I think they want us to follow,” Caleb says.

I grip the wheel, heart thudding once, hard. “Then let’s not disappoint them.”

* * *

The southern ridge smells like pine sap and powder. Caleb is already crouched in the tree line to my left, one eye on the narrow trail below. We’ve got the decoy load packed in the back of my rig—empty crates, a staged signal broadcast from an old smuggler’s radio, and enough false chatter to make anyone listening think we’re dumb enough to be running product through the old trails.

They took the bait.

I hear them before I see them—two ATVs riding staggered, engines chewing up the ground like they’re chasing time. One front, one rear. Classic flanking pattern. It’s them. Has to be.

“They’re moving fast,” Caleb murmurs through the comms. “One’s got a different frame than before—added weight.”

“That’ll be Brent.” I rest my hand over the butt of my sidearm, keeping my pace even as I cut through the trees. “We flank them at the hollow bend. You take Adam. I want Brent breathing when this is over.”

“Copy. Just say when.”

I give the signal and move to intercept, boots crunching the frost-bitten underbrush. The wind howls through the pines, covering our sound, but the birds have gone silent. That’s how I know it’s time.

The second the ATVs curve into the clearing, I step out from behind the stacked crates, my weapon drawn, stance wide.

“End of the line, Brent.”

The ATV screeches to a stop. Brent jerks the helmet off, his face gaunt and angry. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

“I know enough.” I keep the barrel of my gun trained on his center mass. “You’ve been laundering money through Sitka fronts. Adam’s been your errand boy. Joe Hanley was cleanup, and when that got messy, you tried to torch the evidence. You were sloppy. I’ve got it all.”

From the tree line, Caleb appears behind Adam like a ghost, rifle at the ready.

Brent’s lip curls. “You think this ends with a little paperwork and a gun show?”

“I think it ends here if you don’t drop that sidearm tucked behind your belt.” I tilt my chin, and he knows I see it. “You brought this fight to Glacier Hollow. That was your first mistake.”

Brent laughs—bitter and ragged—and slowly pulls the weapon free. But instead of tossing it aside, he raises it.

I don’t hesitate. One shot, center-left. His gun goes flying. He stumbles back, clutching his side.

Adam yells something, spinning to run, but Caleb’s faster. He fires a warning shot that kicks up dirt inches from Adam’s boots, forcing him to his knees with hands raised.

Brent drops to the ground, gasping through his teeth, hand slick with blood. “You son of a bitch,” he spits.

“You’re lucky I wanted you breathing,” I say, stepping in. I knock the gun farther from his reach with my boot and crouch beside him. “You think I’m not capable of more?”

“You don’t know who you’re messing with—what we’re connected to,” he growls.

“I don’t care who’s backing you,” I say, voice flat. “You touched her. You scared her. You tried to erase this town like it’s collateral damage. That ends now.”

He wheezes. “You gonna kill me?”

I shake my head. “No. I want you to live with what comes next. Every trial. Every headline. Every hour spent in federal custody while your empire burns. I want you to watch it all fall apart.”

Brent laughs again, but the sound’s wet and losing strength. He’s fading.

I turn to Caleb. “Get Adam zip-tied and call Travis Holt…”

“I thought he was dead,” says Caleb, confused.

“Not so much. Tell him we’ve got two suspects and a body trail he’ll want to map. I’ll stabilize Brent until he can get the medic up here.”

Caleb nods and moves.

Brent glares up at me. “She’ll never forgive you for this.”

“She already has,” I say. “And she’s not the one who should be afraid right now.”

He tries to speak again, but I press gauze from my field kit into the wound—not gentle, not cruel. Just enough to remind him I’m the reason he’s still alive. A low rumble from the south catches my attention—a second vehicle approaching, slower, cautious. Caleb radios confirmation: Travis, rolling in with the volunteer medic. That’s our wrap.

I rise to my feet, step back, and let the shadows swallow me as the others move in. Brent groans on the ground. Adam swears under his breath as Caleb zip-ties his wrists.

I let my gun hang low and walk to the edge of the trees, my heart pounding in my chest—not from the fight. From what comes next. Because this wasn’t about strategy. This wasn’t about territory or power. This was about protecting what’s mine. And I did.

But now, I have to go back to Sadie. I pull out my phone and text her just two words:

It’s done.

She doesn’t reply right away. I don’t expect her to. But a few seconds later, the dots appear. Then her message pops up:

Come home.

Just that.

I pocket the phone, my chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with her. Brent’s bleeding in the dirt. Adam’s cuffed and hauled to his feet. But all I can think about is the woman waiting for me on the other side of this. The one who wore my shirt to bed.

I know this isn’t over… not yet.

Adam’s cuffed and propped against the back bumper of Travis’s truck, his face pale, eyes darting like a cornered animal. He’s been quiet since Caleb dragged him off the trail—too quiet. But I know that silence. It’s not defiance. It’s self-preservation. And it won’t last.

I lean against the hood of my SUV, arms crossed, watching him with the kind of stillness that makes men sweat. Caleb stands off to the side, rifle slung and ready, keeping eyes on the tree line while Travis and the medic work over Brent’s bleeding side.

I give it another thirty seconds before I push off the hood and walk toward Adam. He flinches, just barely, but I see it. His nerves cracking.

“You ready to talk?” I ask, voice low and sharp.

He shakes his head, jaw clenched, but his eyes don’t meet mine.

“Then I’m going to help you understand the situation.” I crouch, bracing one forearm on my knee so I’m eye level with him. “Brent’s going down. That garage fire? Arson. We’ve got photos, boot prints, cell tower pings, everything. The burn site? Blood and debris. The Feds are already interested, Adam. When they come knocking, and they will, you’ll want it on record that you cooperated. Because if you don’t, you’re going down with him—and I promise, he won’t protect you.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Adam blurts, too fast.

I nod once. “Then tell me who did.”

He hesitates. Swallows. His lip trembles, and I know I’ve got him. All I have to do is keep pushing.

“I just moved money,” he says finally. “Brent set it all up through the LLCs. I didn’t even know the names on half of them. I’d get a packet, do the transfers, keep my head down. That was the deal.”

“And Tom Davies?” I ask, voice suddenly cold. “You keep your head down there too?”

Adam freezes.

I lean in closer. “You were there. The night he disappeared. Tell me what happened.”

Adam’s mouth opens, but no words come out. His breathing starts to go shallow, like he’s choking on his own guilt.

“Folks around here seemed to think the two of you were friends, or at least friendly.” My tone is sharper now. “The sheriff died trying to protect this town. Trying to stop whatever the hell Brent was bringing in through those trails. What did Hal have to do with it?”

That breaks him.

Adam’s head drops forward, and the words tumble out fast, like he’s been holding them in so long they’ve rotted. “Hal knew. About the drops, the ATV runs, the shell companies. He didn’t want to, not at first, but Brent leaned on him. Said the town needed funding. That he’d ‘take care’ of Tom if he didn’t back off.”

“And he let him,” I say, fury spiking through my blood. “Hal let him.”

Adam nods miserably. “Tom found a cache spot near Ridge Hollow. Said it didn’t feel right. Said he’d go back the next day and report it. He never got the chance. Brent confronted him in the woods that night. I wasn’t there, I swear—I just heard them talking about it after. Brent said he ‘handled’ it. I didn’t ask how.”

I stand slowly, fists clenched at my sides. Caleb’s already moving toward us. He heard enough.

“We get a location?” Caleb asks, quietly.

Adam doesn’t hesitate now. “Half-mile past the old power line marker. There’s a rock shelf, and a dry streambed behind it. That’s where they put him.”

Caleb’s already turning toward the trail. I follow. We leave Travis behind to secure the site and deal with Brent’s transport. He’s stable now, conscious, which is more than he deserves.

The hike is short but brutal—tight switchbacks, roots slick with snowmelt. Caleb leads, flashlight beam cutting ahead in rhythmic sweeps. We reach the power line marker, a rusted pole barely standing. Just past it, the ground levels, then dips into the streambed Adam described.

“Here,” Caleb says, kneeling beside a stretch of churned earth.

I drop beside him. The soil’s been disturbed—months ago, maybe more—but the freeze didn’t reach deep enough to hide everything. Caleb pulls a folding entrenching tool from his pack, and together we start to dig. The silence between us is grim, determined.

Six inches down, the stench hits. Earth and death. We find the body ten minutes later, wrapped in plastic sheeting. Not buried deep. Just hidden. Forgotten by the men who wanted him erased.

But not anymore.

Caleb strips his gloves, jaw tight. “It’s him.”

Tom Davies. Former sheriff. Good man. Honest. Loyal. And dead because he tried to do the right thing. I stand and take a long breath, staring out over the ridge.

“They thought they could bury him,” I say. “But all they did was plant the fuse.”

Caleb nods once. “You gonna bring Hal in?”

“Yeah,” I reply, voice low. “But not tonight.”

“Why?”

I turn toward the darkening trees. My phone buzzes again—another message from Sadie. No words. Just a photo of the fire crackling in Wren’s hearth and a glimpse of her curled up on the couch in my flannel.

Because tonight, I need to remind myself why I’m doing this.

Because when I go after Hal, there’s not going to be any more hiding.

I slide the phone back in my pocket and start toward the trail.

“Let’s go,” I say. “It’s almost time.”

Caleb doesn’t ask for what… he knows.