Page 55 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"Go to hell." The man's voice is strained with pain.
"Already been there." Chris tightens the tourniquet another turn. The man screams. "Who sent you?"
"I don't?—"
Chris applies pressure to the shoulder wound. The scream cuts off into a whimper.
"I don't have time for this," Chris says quietly. Dangerous. "Neither do you. Who sent you? Where's Healy?"
I crouch beside them, let the man see my face. "We know about the corruption network. We know about the smuggling. We know Healy's involved. The evidence is already in motion—uploaded to secure servers with failsafes. You're done. The only question is whether you die here or live to make a deal."
The man's eyes dart between us, calculating odds. Pain and fear war across his features. Chris applies more pressure to the wound.
"Healy," the man gasps. "He's at the old ranger station. Twenty miles north of here. Coordinating the operation."
"How many men?"
"Six. Maybe eight. I don't know for sure."
"What operation?" I lean closer. "What's moving through tomorrow?"
The man hesitates. Chris's hand moves to the wound again.
"Wait, wait!" He's panting now, face gray with shock. "High-value shipment. Healy's overseeing transport personally. If you miss it, the network goes dormant for months. Relocates. You'll never find them again."
Chris and I exchange glances. This is it. The final piece. If we take down Healy and intercept the shipment, we can expose the entire network. Everyone involved. Justice for all of them.
"We go after him," I say. "Now. Before he knows his team failed."
"We're outnumbered and under-equipped. Two of us against eight of them."
"We have the element of surprise. We have the truth." My voice is hard. Final. "And I'm not letting him walk away."
He looks at me—really looks at me. Takes in the blood on my clothes, the fierce set of my jaw, the rifle I'm holding like I was born to it. Something shifts in his expression. Acceptance. Pride.
"All right." He checks his weapon, counts remaining ammunition. "Then let's move."
"Wait." I touch his arm. "We need to call this in. Barrett needs to know where we are, what we're doing."
Chris's expression goes hard. "No. Too risky."
"Chris—"
"I disappeared for a reason, Sierra. Someone on the inside fed intel to the traffickers. That's how my team got ambushed. That's how my team were killed." His voice is rough. "I don't know who to trust."
"You can trust Nate Barrett." I meet his eyes, hold them. "He's been coordinating the investigation for months. He sent me here. He's the one who gave me access to the encrypted communications. If he was dirty, I'd already be dead."
"Or you're useful to him."
"Chris." I step closer. "I was undercover in Chicago for three months with a human trafficking ring. I know what dirty looks like. Nate Barrett is clean. And if we go after Healy without backup, without anyone knowing where we are, and this goes sideways?" I let that hang. "Bryn loses you all over again. This time for real."
Something flickers across his face at his sister's name. Pain. Longing. Guilt.
"If you won't trust Barrett for yourself, trust him for her," I say quietly. "She deserves to know you're alive. And she deserves backup coming if we don't make it out."
He's silent for a long moment, jaw working. Then he nods once. "Make the call. But I do the tactical brief."
"Deal."
