Chapter Six #2
“As you know, the rest of the family is already en route,” Liis said.
“There’s no avoiding it. The Carlisis monitor Falyn closely, and we assume that extends to the others.
Once the Maddoxes start moving toward the compound to reunite with Olive, the Carlisis will connect the dots that there has been another convergence of Falyn and Olive at a single location.
And if Governor Fairchild challenges them again—another press conference, another refusal, another push into their shell companies or the corridor they want for trafficking—they’ll read it as escalation and begin planning another targeted killing. ”
Marcel nodded once, as if the information had slotted neatly into something already filed away. “Traffickers,” he said, tasting the word. “We hunt them all the same.” His gaze lifted. “The troops will be pleased. Brooks?”
Marcel’s CO immediately rounded the corner from the hall. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice confident and firm.
“Increase perimeter sweeps,” Marcel ordered.
“Consider it done, General,” Brooks said, turning as he spoke into the radio pinned to his chest.
“Maddox,” Marcel said, turning his attention back to me. “What kind of firepower are the Carlisis likely to have?”
“They obviously have access to modern small arms, including rifles and suppressed handguns. They’ve demonstrated the ability to source heavier weapons when necessary.
Their Yakuza connections expand that access, particularly for explosives, though they generally avoid anything that guarantees a federal response. ”
Marcel nodded once. “Understood. We’ll plan accordingly.” He took a sip of coffee, black like mine. “Your family,” he said. “Ibarra said to expect your brothers, women, and children?”
“They tend to stick together,” Liis said. “Four men, including Travis, their wives, Falyn, Camille, Ellison, and Abby. They have multiple children between them ages ranging from one to teens.”
“Naomi is making sure we’ll be ready for that as well.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I recognize this is disruptive.”
“It is,” Marcel said. “But Travis hand-delivered my daughter when the alternative was death. And as I’m sure you can relate, I would do anything for my daughter.”
I nodded once, and we let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before Marcel picked up his fork again. “I’m aware of the circumstances,” he said. “Emotions will run high when your family arrives. I trust you’ll keep it contained.”
“You’re correct,” I said, already dreading the first hour of their arrival. “I’ll do my best to keep it to a minimum.”
“Family is… complicated.” He lifted his eyes. “But it stays in the Longhouse. I won’t tolerate physical altercations or unrest inside my gates. Handle it quickly. Remind them that your stay here is necessary. Theirs is not. Not even Travis.”
I looked at him, searching his face for the slightest crack. There was none. He cut into his eggs as if he’d just updated us on the weather.
The teens moved around us, refilling water, clearing plates as they emptied. Tanaka collected General Marcel’s plate the moment he finished, retreating without a word. Kohler paused near Liis, waiting until she’d finished the last bite of toast before taking hers.
Marcel folded his hands on the table. “You’ve been given an overview of the rules.”
“Yes,” I said. “Ibarra covered them.”
“Good. Because enforcement won’t be flexible.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “That’s usually where federal agents bristle.”
“As you said, we’re guests. Any bristling will be done internally.”
That earned me a low chuckle. And then it was gone.
“This arrangement is ironic. Militia and federal government.” He continued, “Different philosophies. Different lines of authority.”
“Same end goal,” Liis said. “Protecting people.”
He leaned back slightly. “Breakfast will be served at the Longhouse in an hour. Pack your things. Familiarize yourselves with the accessible areas of the compound while you have the time. Your belongings will be moved to a semi-permanent residence while Orientation is underway.”
I nodded, and Liis and I stood. “Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Any questions before you go?” Marcel asked.
Liis and I traded glances, and I took the opening. “Perimeter response time,” I said. “If someone breaches the outer fence.”
“Immediate,” Marcel answered. “We’ll know they’re coming long before they knock on the door.”
“Rules of engagement?”
“Containment first. Typically, we escalate to force only if necessary. I anticipate hostile action. Your sidearms will be reissued immediately if circumstances require it.”
Liis followed. “Medical support on-site?”
“We have a state-of-the-art infirmary with two surgeons, four physicians, and a dozen nurses. Two trained combat medics are on deck at all times. More if needed.”
“Evac routes?” she asked.
He smiled then. A real one—thin and sharp.
“That will be covered during Orientation,” he said, “but you won’t need it.
” He stood. “For what it’s worth, I don’t tolerate bullies.
Certainly not criminals. Zero tolerance for anyone who targets children.
This group, the Carlisis, have been a thorn in your side for some time now, correct? ”
“Accurate,” I said.
“If they come to my gates looking for a fight,” he continued, “they’ll be a faint memory by dawn.”
Liis side-eyed me.
“We’ve been constrained by federal limitations,” I explained.
“I’m not,” he said, final. “Carry on, agents.”
We shook hands again and then followed Tanaka through the building and out into the early morning sunshine.
As we turned to leave, the irony lingered in the air—two federal agents placing their trust, however temporarily, in a man who answered to no flag but his own.
And somehow, for now, it worked.
The guards closed the double doors behind us as Ibarra waited at the base of the stairs.
The sun had finally cleared the desert rim, a pale wash of light spreading across the sand and warming the stone beneath our boots.
The compound was already awake and moving, the operation running quietly and efficiently.
No excess motion, no unnecessary noise, just a machine doing exactly what it was built to do.
Ibarra led us away from the Strategic Command Hall and down a narrower path that curved between low adobe structures. This walkway felt different. Less fortified. More… lived in.
“This isn’t the way to the Longhouse,” Liis said.
“An extra stop was requested,” Ibarra said. She paused in front of a single-story adobe home with rounded edges and a shaded porch. Warm terracotta-colored exterior. Blue ceramic tiles lined the steps. A bougainvillea climbed one corner, stubborn and bright against the rich palette.
Before we took another step, the door opened.
Naomi stood in the doorway, eyes bright, smile wide.
She had striking features—dark lashes, full lips, sharp cheekbones—but her build was pure function.
Compact muscle. Strength held close and coiled beneath the surface.
Gray eyes that missed very little. Sun-warmed skin that suggested mixed heritage without resolving cleanly into anything specific.
Her sun-touched brown hair was cut into a blunt, chin-length bob that framed her face and did nothing to soften it.
She was beautiful, but in a way that suggested violence was always an option.
She grinned. “I figured you’d look like the rest of your brothers. Quite the plot twist.”
“He more favors his mother, or so I’ve been told,” Liis said, her shoulders finally relaxing.
Two women were behind her in full fatigues, including hats. One was the guard from the gate, Spenser Marcel, the other, this one much shorter, a tad taller than five feet, a short, strawberry blonde ponytail pulled back tight.
“I hear you’ve met my cousin, Spenser,” Naomi said, gesturing to her. Spenser nodded just as Naomi gestured to the other woman. “This is her sister, Kansas. They were just leaving,” she said, more of a prod than a known plan.
“Nice to meet you both,” I said as they nodded and slipped past.
Naomi perched a hand on her hip and smiled. “Wow. You’re here, huh?” She stopped short of a hug. Instead, she stepped in and punched my shoulder once—not hard or aggressive, just the closest thing to a greeting she offered. She nodded to Liis. “Come in. Ibarra, we’re good.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Ibarra nodded and stepped back, taking up position outside, hands clasped behind her lower back.
The house smelled like coffee and citrus cleaner. Sunlight streamed through small windows set deep into thick adobe walls. The floors were terracotta tile, worn smooth. Exposed wooden beams crossed the ceiling, warm but solid.
Photos lined one wall. Naomi and Zeke at their wedding, her in a simple white dress, him in a slick navy-blue suit, mesas rising behind them like witnesses.
Another frame showed them at a shooting range, Naomi mid-laugh, Zeke reloading.
A third caught them at a bar somewhere, beers raised, cheeks flushed, both of them leaning into each other as if their connection gave them no choice.
Knowing she was a widow when she met Zeke, I was glad to see she’d created new memories. She’d never forget Matt, but she deserved to start over.
We followed her past the main space and into the kitchen, water rushing and dishes clinking louder with each step.
Zeke stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, drying a plate.
“They’re here,” Naomi said, pleased.
Zeke turned, his eyes initially lighting up, but then confusion clouded his expression. “Is this… Thomas?”
“He favors his mom… or so I’m told,” Naomi said, winking once to Liis.
Zeke had round, baby-blue eyes that somehow survived everything he’d seen.
Dark brown hair, neatly kept. A well-trimmed beard that framed his mouth and softened his jaw.
Full eyelashes that made no sense on someone who’d spent years running toward wildfires.
Handsome, as men go. He and Naomi definitely made sense.