Page 20 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"Inside. Now. Lock the door."
"I'm not going to?—"
He closes the distance between us in four strides, gets into my space. Not threatening. Just present. Intense. "That person just sabotaged your generator and was carrying accelerant toward your cabin. You want to stand out here and debate, or you want to live?"
His words stop me cold. Accelerant. Fire. They were going to burn me out.
Or burn me alive.
I go inside.
He follows, shuts the door, throws the bolt. Moves immediately to the windows, checking sight lines, angles of approach. His movements are practiced, efficient, military. This isn't his first time securing a position under threat.
"Turn off the flashlight," he says without looking at me.
"I need to see?—"
"You need to not be a target. Off."
I kill it. The cabin goes black except for the fading glow from the wood stove. My eyes adjust slowly. Shapes emerge—Chris at the window, rifle ready. The door. My gear scattered around the cabin.
"Who was that?" I demand, voice lower now that we're enclosed. "Was he trying to?—"
"Yes." Chris moves to the next window, peers out. "And he'll be back with friends if we don't move."
"Move where? This is my assignment. My cabin. I'm not running because some?—"
"Some what?" He turns, and in the dim light his face is all hard angles and frustration. "Some trafficker who decided you're a problem? Some operator with professional gear and knowledge of this terrain who wants to eliminate a threat? You think this is like Chicago, where backup shows up when you call?"
That stings because he's right. "So what, you're my bodyguard now?"
"No. But if you die, it's going to bring heat down on this mountain I'm not ready for."
"Glad to know you care."
"I care about not having federal agencies crawling over every inch of this territory looking for who killed you. That kind of attention gets people killed. People I'm trying to protect."
"Like your sister."
His jaw tightens. "Don't."
I move closer, because anger makes me reckless and I'm tired of being careful. "I cracked something tonight. Before the power went. The communications I've been decrypting—they're using Chicago syntax. Someone from my old case is running operations here. Which means this whole thing is bigger than just Alaska trafficking."
That gets his attention. He turns fully toward me, rifle lowering slightly. "What did you find?"
"Linguistic patterns. Phrase structures. The same verbal markers that got half a gang cell locked up last year in Illinois. Someone high enough to avoid arrest but connected enough to know how the operation worked." I cross my arms. "They're here. And they know I'm here. That generator didn't sabotage itself."
Chris is quiet for a long moment, processing. When he speaks, his voice is different. Worried. "If they're watching close enough to know about you, they might know about me."
"That you're alive?"
"That I didn't die in that ravine. That someone's been monitoring their network for eleven months." He moves back to the window, scans the darkness. "They'll come back. Not tonight—they'll regroup, plan better. But soon."
"Then help me." My voice comes out more desperate than I intend. "You know this terrain. You know these people. You've been tracking them. Help me finish this. We can?—"
"No."
"Chris—"
