Page 63 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
We all get out. Chris moves slowly toward the office door like he's walking to his own execution. I hang back with Barrett, giving them space.
The door opens before Chris reaches it. Bryn stands in the doorway, backlit by the office lights. She's smaller than I expected—maybe five-four, but curvy and strong, with light hair pulled back in a ponytail and blue eyes that blaze with fury even from here.
"Bryn," Chris starts. "I?—"
She punches him in the chest. Hard enough that he staggers back a step, hand flying to his taped ribs with a grunt of pain.
Then she's grabbing him, pulling him into a crushing hug, sobbing against his shoulder. "You bastard. You let me mourn you. You let me think you were dead for eleven months?—"
"I'm sorry." Chris wraps his arms around her, holding on just as tight. "God, Bryn, I'm so sorry. I thought I was protecting you. If they knew I was alive, they would have used you to find me. I couldn't risk?—"
"Don't you ever do that again." She pulls back, hitting his chest again, but softer this time. Tears stream down her face. "Don't you ever leave me like that again. I'm your sister. We face things together."
"I know. I won't. I promise."
She looks at him—really looks at him—taking in the healing cuts, the taped ribs, the beard he's finally starting to trim, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "You look terrible."
"You should see the other guy."
A laugh breaks through her tears. "Always with the jokes." She touches his face gently, like she's making sure he's real. "I searched for you. Every weekend. Every day off. I knew you couldn't just be gone. I knew it."
"I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
"You better not." She hugs him again, fierce and desperate. Then she looks over his shoulder at me. Her eyes narrow slightly. "You're Sierra Vale. The cop and linguist."
"Yeah."
She releases Chris, walks toward me. I brace myself, not sure what to expect.
"Thank you. For bringing him back."
"He brought himself back," I say, shaking her hand. Her grip is strong. "I just helped clear the path."
She pulls me into a hug, unexpected and fierce. "He's alive. That's all that matters."
When she releases me, I realize I'm crying. Bryn is too. Even Chris's eyes are suspiciously bright, though he's staring off at the tree line like the forest suddenly needs his full attention.
Bryn wipes her eyes. "Okay. Enough crying. You both look like you're about to fall over. Chris, I'll get you set up at the B&B—Mara always has rooms available. Sierra, you can stay there too if?—"
"She stays with me," Chris says.
Bryn looks between us, a slow smile forming despite her tears. "Good. I'll call Mara right now. She'll have a room ready by the time we get there."
The next week is a blur of debriefings and statements. DOJ agents arrive, then FBI, then Homeland Security. We answer the same questions over and over, walking them through the evidence, the firefights, the corruption network we exposed.
Seventeen arrests across three states. Deputy Director Lawrence Healy in federal custody facing multiple counts. The trafficking network's command structure broken.
The network's still out there—I can feel the loose threads every time I look at the data—but we broke its back. The routes are compromised. The operators are scattered.
Between interviews, Chris and I collapse in our room at the B&B, too exhausted to do more than sleep tangled together. Bryn brings us meals, nags Chris about his injuries, and slowly stops looking at him like he might disappear if she blinks.
On day three, Barrett offers me a permanent position. Lead analyst for Wildlife Protection, based in Talon Mountain.
"Think about it," he says. "No pressure. But you're good at this work, and we could use you."
I don't need to think about it. I've spent my whole career chasing shadows, moving from case to case. Never staying anywhere long enough to put down roots.
But here, with Chris, with this work, with these mountains—I could stay.
