Page 134 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
I’m watching those cameras carefully, studying their positioning. “Something’s off. Those cameras should be rotating on their mounts. You see those motors underneath? They’re pan-tilt models. But they’re completely stationary. Haven’t moved once.”
“The whole place is too quiet too,” Kane observes. “No generator running, no sounds of activity, no smoke from the chimney even though it’s freezing. Place looks abandoned except for that fence.”
We both climb out, easing the doors closed as quietly as possible, and approach through the dense tree cover.
The fence is definitely bizarre for a place this remote. Who needs this level of security out here in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest neighbor, unless they’re hiding something serious? Something illegal?
I grab my metal keys and toss them at the electric wires lining the fence from about ten feet away.
It hits the metal with a clatter, then drops. Nothing. No sparks, no electrical buzz, no alarm shrieking. Complete silence except for wind howling and trees rustling through the forest. I go and pick up my keys and pocket them.
Kane moves closer, watching the cabin windows for any signs of movement, then presses his palm directly against the metal fence.
He holds it there for several long seconds, testing, then looks back at me and shakes his head. “Cold. No current running through it at all. No vibration, no heat, nothing.”
As we creep closer to the front gate, moving from tree to tree for cover, staying low, I catch movement near the cabin’s front porch.
Big burly guy dressed in dark pants and a jacket. He appears bored as absolute hell, looking at his phone, posture completely lazy and relaxed, clearly not expecting anyone to actually show up out here in the wilderness.
“We’re not walking through that front gate,” Kane whispers.
“Side wall. Around back. Stay quiet and low.” We slip deeper into the trees, circling the property and moving along the perimeter fence until we find a small area where the camera angles create a natural blind spot. The security system might be down, but there’s no point in taking stupid chances if someone is monitoring on backup power or battery.
I grip the top bars of the fence, testing my weight distribution, then swing myself up and over in one fluid motion. My boots hit the ground on the other side with barely a whisper. Kane follows, but the metal groans slightly under his heavier weight and bulk.
We both freeze completely, not even breathing, listening for any indication that we’ve been heard.
Nothing. The guard on the porch is still absorbed in his phone.
Kane deliberately steps on a dry branch half buried in the snow, snapping it with a crack that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet.
The guard’s head jerks up immediately, phone forgotten. He straightens from his lazy slouch and turns, scanning the yard with suddenly alert eyes in our direction. “Who’s out there? This is private property!”
He starts walking toward our position around the side of the cabin.
We let him get close until he rounds the corner of the cabin, and we’re right there.
The moment his silhouette clears the cabin wall, Kane explodes forward, all brute momentum. He slams a fist into the guard’s face with enough force to knock the air out of him in one sharp burst.
The guard’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens to groan. I’ve already moved behind him, and I hook my arm across his throat, my other hand locking on the back of his head, forearm cutting across his carotids. His windpipe stays clear, but the blood flow to his brain stops instantly.
He jerks hard, trying to elbow backward, but Kane traps his arms and pins them in place.
“Easy,” Kane mutters. “Time for a nap.”
I tighten the hold.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
The fight drains out of his body. His knees buckle. I lower him to the ground.
Kane crouches, pats him down—no weapons, no radio, just a cheap burner phone. “Amateur,” he mutters, crushing the phone under his boot.
I drag the unconscious guard into the shadows behind a stack of firewood and check his pulse out of habit. Steady. He’ll be out for a while. Then I zip-tie his wrists and ankles.
