Page 13 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"Why fake your death?" I demand. "Why let everyone think you're gone? Why let Bryn...”
He stands and his hand shoots out, grabs my jacket, yanks me close. "Don't." His voice is raw, dangerous. "Don't say her name."
I can feel him shaking. Not from cold. From something deeper. "She searched for you," I press, quieter now but notbacking down. "Three weeks in the snow. They had to pull her off the mountain. She, Caleb and their friends still go out when the weather clears, looking for...”
"Stop." The word comes out choked. He releases me, steps back, turns away. His shoulders heave once, twice. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then enlighten me." I spread my hands. "Because from where I'm standing, you're either a coward or a traitor. And I'm trying to figure out which."
He whirls around fast enough that I take a step back involuntarily. He's tall, broad, suddenly filling all the space between us. The rifle is still in his hands, but he hasn't raised it. Doesn't need to. His presence alone is threat enough.
"You want answers?" His voice is low, controlled, vibrating with fury. "Fine. I was on a mission. Joint task force, investigating trafficking routes through this territory. We had solid intel—coordinates, times, players. Should have been straightforward."
He pauses, jaw working. "It was an ambush. They were waiting for us. Knew exactly where we'd be, when we'd arrive. My team...” He stops, swallows hard. "Two good men died. Joel Martinez. Tate Bishop. I survived. Barely." The pain in his voice is real. Raw. This isn't a man who's lying.
"Someone on the inside set us up," he continues. "Someone with access to our planning, our communications. Someone who wanted us dead. And they succeeded. Everyone except me."
"So you disappeared." I keep my voice neutral, not accusing. Just stating facts.
"If I came back, if anyone knew I survived, the mole would know. And they'd finish the job. But not before using everyone I care about as leverage." His eyes bore into mine. "Bryn. My family. Anyone connected to me. They'd all be targets."
"So you let them think you're dead," I say quietly. "You let your sister mourn."
"I'm keeping them alive."
"You're hiding."
"I'm protecting them!" His shout echoes through the trees, startling a bird into flight somewhere nearby. He takes a breath, forces calm. "You don't know what these people are capable of. The trafficking network isn't just about moving bodies. It's about money. Power. Corruption at levels you can't imagine. And someone very high up is keeping it running."
I study him. Tension in his shoulders. White-knuckle grip on the rifle. Exhaustion carved into his face. He's not lying. He believes every word he's saying.
"What have you been doing out here for eleven months?" I ask.
"Watching. Tracking. Documenting." He gestures vaguely at the forest. "The network didn't stop after the ambush. They adapted. Changed routes. Got smarter. I've been monitoring their movements, intercepting communications when I can, trying to figure out who's running things."
"Have you?"
"Not yet. They use codes. Encryption. Layers of insulation between ground operators and whoever's giving orders." He looks at me. "Why are you here? What did Barrett tell you?"
"I'm a forensic linguist. I decode communication patterns, identify speakers, track networks through language."
Something flickers in his eyes. Recognition maybe. Or calculation. "That's why they sent you."
I nod. "The intercepted communications. They need someone who can crack the patterns."
He turns away, stares back at the frozen creek. "You're wasting your time. The network is too deep, too protected. You won't find anything they don't want you to find."
"Maybe." I take another step closer. "Or maybe you're afraid to face what you left behind."
He whips around, and for a second I think he might actually hit me. But he doesn't. He just stands there, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight enough I can see the muscle jumping. "Get out of my woods," he mutters, but he doesn't walk away this time.
He just stands there, caught between rage and something that looks a lot like guilt. I realize I've cracked something open. Some wall he's built to keep everyone out. And now he doesn't know what to do about it.
"I'm not leaving," I say quietly. "And neither are you. Not really. Because if you wanted to disappear completely, you would have. You would have gone deeper into the backcountry where no one could find you. But you stayed here. Close enough to monitor the network. Close enough to Bryn that you could listen on that radio you keep."
His head snaps up. "How do you...”
"I'm an investigator. It's what I do." I soften my tone. "You're not hiding, Chris. You're fighting. Alone. In the dark. Against an enemy you can't see. And it's killing you."
