Page 39 of Forgiveness River

Wyatt’s mind raced through implications. “This changes the timeline. If those are reinforcements, Kwan’s team could be outnumbered.”

“The shipment’s already at the cabin,” Blaze’s voice cut in. “We need to move now before they distribute it.”

“Agreed,” Kwan said. “Alpha team moving in. Breach in thirty seconds.”

Wyatt made a split-second decision. “Bravo team initiating simultaneous breach on the lodge. All units move on my mark.”

The next moments unfolded with the controlled chaos of well-trained units executing a carefully choreographed plan. Wyatt led his team through the underbrush, approaching the hunting lodge from the service entrance Duncan had identified. Through his earpiece, he could hear the organized ballet ofKwan’s team at the Murphy cabin—commands issued in clipped, professional tones, the dull thud of a breaching charge.

“Alpha team breaching now,” Kwan announced.

“Bravo team in position,” Wyatt responded, crouched by the service door with his team fanned out behind him. “Breaching on three, two, one?—”

The door gave way under the controlled force of their entry tool, and Wyatt moved through the opening with practiced efficiency, weapon raised, senses hyperalert to any movement. The service area opened into a gleaming kitchen with copper pots hanging from a rack overhead and marble countertops glowing in the morning light.

“Clear,” murmured the agent behind him as they swept the space.

They moved toward the main great room where Wyatt had seen Moss earlier. Through his earpiece, he could hear the controlled chaos from the Murphy cabin—Kwan’s clipped commands, the sounds of resistance, the declaration as each room was secured.

“Alpha team has secured the shipment,” Kwan reported. “Four suspects in custody, one attempting to flee on foot. No casualties.”

A small relief washed through Wyatt as he approached the arched doorway that led to the great room. He signaled to his team to hold position, then risked a glance around the corner.

The space was exactly as Duncan had described—soaring ceilings, glass walls offering panoramic views of the mountains and valley below, rustic luxury in every detail from the massive stone fireplace to the antler chandelier overhead. Moss stood at a large wooden desk, his back to Wyatt, focused on a laptop screen where Wyatt could see multiple video feeds—including one of what appeared to be Raven’s boutique.

Two armed men flanked him, their weapons not drawn but within easy reach. A third man sat on a leather couch, speaking rapidly into a satellite phone.

Wyatt pulled back, signaling the count to his team. Four targets. He held up three fingers, then two, then one?—

They moved as a unit, bursting into the great room with coordinated precision.

“Police! DEA! Hands where I can see them!” Wyatt’s voice boomed through the space as his team fanned out, weapons trained on the surprised occupants.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. The man on the couch dropped the phone and reached for his weapon. One of Moss’s guards did the same. The second guard dove behind a massive leather chair.

Wyatt focused on Moss, who had spun around at their entrance, his expression shifting from shock to calculated rage in an instant.

“On the ground, Moss. It’s over.”

For a moment, it seemed Moss might comply. His hands raised slightly, his body tensing as if to lower himself down. Then his eyes flicked to something behind Wyatt and narrowed.

“I don’t think so, O’Hara,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Not while I still have leverage.”

The laptop screen behind him flickered, and Wyatt’s blood ran cold as the camera feed shifted to a live image of the O’Hara ranch.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t have a contingency plan?” Moss sneered. “I’ve had men watching your wife’s movements for weeks. When she suddenly appeared at the ranch yesterday—such an obvious change in pattern—I knew it was significant. My men are already on their way there. One word from me, and everyone at that precious family gathering?—”

Wyatt never let him finish the sentence. Later, he would recall the surge of protective rage that overwhelmed his tactical training, the split-second decision that put his family’s safety above protocol. He lunged forward just as Moss reached beneath the desk.

The room erupted in chaos—agents engaging the other men, furniture toppling as bullets splintered wood and thudded into walls. Wyatt tackled Moss with enough force to send them both crashing into the desk, the laptop shattering as they fell. Moss was stronger than his lean frame suggested, managing to get his hand on a weapon from a hidden holster beneath his jacket.

They grappled for control, rolling across the polished wood floor. Wyatt felt the searing heat of a bullet as it grazed his upper arm—too close. He locked his hand around Moss’s wrist, slamming it against the floor until the gun clattered away.

“Command center to all teams,” Raven’s voice came suddenly through his earpiece, a new tension evident. “Perimeter sensors show vehicle movement approaching the ranch from the north access road. Two SUVs, moving fast.”

“Copy that,” Tommy responded immediately. “Security teams moving to intercept. Maintain position in the secure room.”

“Tactical teams be advised,” Blaze’s voice cut through. “Possible additional hostiles en route to the O’Hara ranch. Ranch security teams engaging.”

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