Chapter 13
MARA
Dawn comes too fast and too slow at the same time.
Gabe moves through the lodge in the grey pre-light, checking weapons and equipment with methodical precision.
Each movement deliberate—magazine checked, chamber cleared, sights verified.
Sarah mirrors him across the room, the same economical gestures, the same tactical rhythm.
They move like siblings even if Gabe doesn't fully remember.
The resemblance is there in small ways—the set of their shoulders, the way they both tilt their heads slightly when concentrating.
Rhett and Colton left three hours ago, ghosts disappearing into the darkness.
By now they're halfway to Anchorage, racing against business hours and whatever surveillance Crane has on financial institutions.
Alex remains outside somewhere in the predawn cold, invisible in his hide with overwatch and communications.
I haven't seen him since they arrived, which Sarah says is exactly the point.
"You don't have to come." Gabe says it without looking at me, his hands steady as he secures a knife to his belt.
"We've been over this."
"Mara...”
"I said no." My rifle leans against the wall—my grandmother's old hunting rifle, kept at the lodge all these years. The wood stock is worn smooth from decades of use, first by her hands, now by mine. "You're walking into a trap. You need someone watching your back who isn't Crane's primary target."
Sarah glances up from her tablet, satellite imagery of Grotto Falls glowing on the screen. "She's right. Crane expects you and me. He won't be looking for a third shooter. Won't have planned for her."
Gabe's jaw tightens. I can see him running through scenarios, calculating risks, trying to find an argument that will keep me here safe. But we both know the logic is sound, even if he hates it.
The satellite phone buzzes, harsh in the quiet lodge. Zeke's voice crackles through, rough with exhaustion. "Caleb's on the ridge with a hunting rifle. I couldn't stop him. Says if Crane's people are on his mountain, they're fair game."
"Tell him to stay dark," Sarah orders, her voice carrying command authority. "No shots unless absolutely necessary. We need Crane focused on the falls, not hunting for flankers."
"Copy that. Nate's got the southern approach covered with his Fish and Game truck—looks natural for the area. And I've got deputies positioned on the main road pretending to run speed traps. Crane tries to bring reinforcements, we'll know about it before they reach the turnoff."
"Good. Keep the channels open but go radio silent unless it's critical."
After he hangs up, the lodge feels too quiet. Outside, the world holds its breath, waiting for whatever violence the morning will bring. I can hear the old building settling around us, the creak of timber and the whisper of wind through gaps in the logs.
"Fifty-one hours," I say, checking my phone. The countdown has become a metronome in my head, marking time until Crane's deadline.
"Early is good." Gabe shoulders his pack, the weight settling familiarly across his back. "Crane expects us desperate, scrambling, making mistakes. We show up on our terms, it throws off his timeline. Makes him react instead of control."
Sarah nods, closing her tablet. "Psychological advantage. Small, but we'll take it. Every edge matters."
We move out as first light touches the peaks, the sky bleeding from black to deep purple to pale grey.
Frost covers the truck in delicate patterns, like lace made of ice.
I take the driver's seat—Sarah's call—since she and Gabe need to be free to engage if we're hit on the approach.
The engine turns over roughly, complaining about the cold before settling into a steady rumble.
The road to Grotto Falls winds through dense forest, narrow and treacherous even in good conditions.
Fresh snow from last night covers any tracks, smoothing the world into unmarked white.
Beautiful, if we weren't driving toward a confrontation that could end with all of us dead.
Pine branches hang heavy, occasionally dumping their loads across the windshield.
"Vehicle behind us." Sarah's voice stays calm, matter-of-fact. "Two hundred meters. Black SUV, keeping pace."
"Crane's people?" My hands tighten on the wheel before I force them to relax.
"Probably. Don't change speed. Act like we don't see them." She's watching in the side mirror, her reflection showing professional assessment rather than fear.
My hands stay steady on the wheel even though my heart hammers against my ribs. This is real. This is actually happening. Professional killers are following us up a mountain to watch us meet more professional killers. The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.
"They're keeping distance," Gabe observes from the back seat, his voice carrying the same calm as Sarah's. "Professional surveillance. They'll follow us to the falls, report our arrival, then pull back and let Crane's primary team handle the actual confrontation."
"Unless they decide to hit us on the road," I point out.
"They won't. Too much exposure, too many variables. Crane wants this clean and controlled. An ambush on a public road leaves too much evidence, too many ways for it to go wrong."
The logic makes sense but doesn't make me feel better.
The SUV maintains its distance as we climb higher into the mountains, a dark shadow in my rearview mirror.
The falls appear ahead, a frozen cascade tumbling down granite cliffs that rise like cathedral walls.
The parking area sits empty except for a single vehicle—expensive, black, barely visible under fresh snow that hasn't been disturbed. It's been here for hours.
"He's already here," Sarah says quietly, a statement rather than a question.
I park at the far end of the lot, positioning the truck for quick exit like Sarah showed me.
Nose out, engine accessible, clear line to the road.
The black SUV that followed us pulls in at the entrance, blocking the only road out with deliberate precision.
Two men emerge, tactical gear barely concealed under heavy coats. They don't even pretend to be hikers.
"Four visible," Gabe counts under his breath, his eyes moving across the parking area and tree line. "Minimum two more we can't see. Probably on the high ground with rifles, covering approaches."
"Caleb's up there too," I remind him, needing to say it out loud.
"Even odds, then." But his voice carries doubt.
Sarah catches my eye in the rearview mirror, her dark eyes serious. "You stay with the truck. Engine running. If this goes wrong, you drive and don't look back. Understood?"
"Not happening."
"Mara...”
"I can shoot. My grandmother taught me when I was twelve.
Deer, elk, anything that threatened the property.
" I pull the rifle from behind the seat, the weight familiar in my hands.
"And I'm not sitting here while you two walk into whatever Crane has planned.
You need someone mobile, someone he won't expect. That's me."
They exchange looks—some silent sibling communication I can't quite read. Then Sarah nods once, acceptance rather than approval. "Stay back from the primary engagement zone. You're emergency backup only. If shooting starts, you find cover and stay there unless we call you forward. Clear?"
"Clear."
We exit into the cold. The temperature hits immediately—sharp and clean, the kind of cold that steals breath and makes skin ache.
My breath fogs in the morning air, small clouds that dissipate instantly.
Everything feels hyperreal—the crunch of snow under boots, the rifle's weight against my shoulder, the way sound carries differently in thin mountain air.
I can hear my own heartbeat loud and fast.
Crane waits by the falls, standing exactly where visibility is best. Even from here I can read his body language—confident, relaxed, a man who believes he controls this situation completely.
Gray hair perfectly styled despite the cold.
Expensive cold-weather gear that costs more than my truck.
The bearing of a man who's spent decades making people disappear and never faced consequences.
Two operatives flank him, weapons visible but not raised. Professional. Controlled. Waiting.
Gabe walks forward with measured steps, his hands loose at his sides.
I move left as planned, using the boulder formations for cover.
The granite is ancient, weathered, solid.
Real. I press against it, feeling the cold seep through my jacket.
Sarah ghosts right, disappearing into the tree line with barely a sound, invisible within seconds.
The tactical triangle forms naturally—three points of coverage, overlapping fields of fire. I understand the theory even if I don't have their training.
"Gabriel." Crane's voice carries across the frozen landscape, conversational and pleasant. "And you brought your sister. How touching. Family reunions in such dramatic settings."
"I brought the evidence." Gabe stops twenty feet away, far enough to maintain distance, close enough to be heard clearly. "USB drive. Everything you're looking for."
"Show me."
Gabe pulls the drive from his pocket, holds it up. Small. Insignificant looking. Impossible to believe it contains information worth killing for. "Safe house in Billings. You destroyed it, but the drive survived. All your operations, all your crimes."
"That's not the real drive." Crane's voice doesn't change, still pleasant, almost amused. "You're smarter than that, Gabriel. You wouldn't risk the actual evidence on a meet like this. That's a decoy, probably blank or loaded with garbage data."
My grip tightens on the rifle. He knows. Somehow, impossibly, he knows.