Chapter 8 #2
"Rhys."
He's beside me in two strides. "What is it?"
"Motion sensor alert from the cabin perimeter. Multiple contacts. Heading this direction."
His expression goes cold. "How far?"
"Half mile out. Maybe ten minutes."
"They found us." He's already moving, grabbing weapons, checking ammunition. "Get dressed. We need to be ready when they arrive."
I sprint to where my clothes are folded on the couch. Pull on my jeans, my own shirt over his flannel because layers matter in a firefight. My Glock is where I left it last night. I check the magazine. Fifteen rounds plus one in the chamber.
Not enough if they're sending a kill team.
Rhys emerges from the bedroom in full tactical mode. Vest over his shirt. Extra magazines in pouches. Rifle in hand. He tosses me a tactical vest.
"Put this on. It's rated for rifle rounds."
I strap into it. The weight is familiar. Comforting. I've worn vests like this dozens of times during FBI operations. Never thought I'd need one in a remote Alaska cabin.
"Defensive positions?" I ask.
"Two options. Stay here and fortify, or move into the tree line and ambush them before they reach the cabin." He moves to the window, checks the approach. "Staying here makes us sitting targets. Going out gives us maneuverability."
"But we don't know how many they're sending."
"Could be four to eight operators." He calculates quickly. "We're outnumbered either way."
"Then we use terrain to even the odds." I move to the map on the wall. "Where's the best ambush point?"
He traces the access road with his finger. "Here. About a quarter mile out. The road narrows through a stand of spruce. Forces them into a kill box. If we position on either side, we can catch them in crossfire."
"That works if they come straight up the road. But if they're smart, they'll park below and approach on foot through the trees."
"Then we need eyes on both approaches." He grabs the satellite phone, keys in a code. "I've got motion sensors on the perimeter. Not many, but enough to give us warning."
The screen shows a basic security grid. Red dots mark sensors. Most are dark. Three show green.
"They're coming through the east sensor now," Rhys says. "On foot. Which means they parked and they're moving tactically."
"How many?"
As if in answer, another sensor trips. Then another.
"At least four. But probably more." He hands me extra magazines. "We defend from here. Overlapping fields of fire. You take the east window, I'll take south. We funnel them into positions where we have the advantage."
I move to the east window, check the angle. Good sightlines through the trees. Clear firing positions. The approaching operators will have to cross open ground to reach the cabin.
Unless they're smart enough to use the terrain.
"Movement," Rhys says quietly. "Three o'clock. Two targets."
I spot them. Two men in tactical gear moving through the trees with trained efficiency. They're using cover well, advancing in bounds, weapons ready.
"Military training," I murmur. "These aren't local thugs."
"No. These are the same kind of operators who were in Whitewater Junction looking for us."
A third figure appears. Then a fourth. They're trying to surround the cabin, establishing a perimeter before they move in.
"They're setting up for a coordinated assault," I say. "Which means they have at least a fifth somewhere calling the shots."
"Probably with more in the vehicles as overwatch." Rhys moves to the gun cabinet, pulls out something that makes me blink. "If they want to play tactical, we'll play tactical."
It's a rifle. Not just any rifle. High-powered, scoped, the kind that can reach out and touch someone at significant distance.
"You plan to start shooting?" I ask.
"They came to my home. To kill us. Yeah, I plan to shoot." His voice is granite. "But I'll give them one chance to leave."
He opens the window, keeps the rifle out of sight, and calls out in a voice that carries.
"This is Sheriff Rhys Blackwater. You're trespassing on private property. Leave now and no one gets hurt."
The response is immediate. Gunfire rips through the window. I duck as bullets punch through wood and glass. Rhys drops flat, rolls away from the opening.
"That's their answer," he says.
"Then let's give them ours."
We return fire. Controlled bursts. Aimed shots. The tactical training kicks in like I never left the Bureau. Identify target. Assess threat. Engage. My rounds catch one operator crossing between trees. He goes down hard.
Rhys drops a second one trying to flank from the south. His shooting is precise. Economical. Every round counts.
But there are more. They keep pushing forward. Trained. Determined.
"We need to move," I say. "They're going to overwhelm this position."
"Back door. On three." Rhys provides covering fire while I sprint for the rear exit. I kick it open, check the approach. Clear.
He's right behind me. We're out and moving through the snow before the attackers can reposition. The tree line is twenty yards away. Bullets kick up snow around our feet.
Something burns across my arm. Just a graze, but it's enough to spin me sideways. Rhys catches me, keeps me upright, doesn't stop moving.
We hit the trees and the cover improves immediately. Dense spruce provides concealment. We put fifty yards between us and the cabin before stopping to assess.
"How bad?" Rhys checks my arm.
"Graze. I'm fine." The adrenaline is already numbing it. "How many did we drop?"
"Two confirmed. But there's at least two more, probably three." He scans the trees. "They're going to search the cabin to be sure we both left and when they do, they’ll come after us."
"Then we don't give them time." I check my magazine. Ten rounds left. "We circle back, hit them while they're distracted."
"That's aggressive."
"That's smart." I meet his eyes. "You're the one who said they came to your home. Let's show them what a mistake that was."
His expression turns fierce. Then he nods. "East side. We'll have the high ground and better sightlines."
We move through the forest. All those years of training. All those operations. The body remembers even when the mind wants to forget. Rhys navigates these woods like he owns them, and I follow his lead.
The cabin comes back into view. Two operators are inside now, searching. A third stands outside providing security.
Rhys signals. Take the outside one first. I nod.
We fire simultaneously. The guard drops. The two inside react instantly, but they're contained in the cabin. Boxed in. We have position and training and motivation.
They try to return fire but we have every advantage. They go down.
Then it's quiet. Just our breathing and the wind through the trees and the ringing in my ears from gunfire in close quarters.
"Clear?" I ask.
Rhys moves forward cautiously, checks each body. "Clear. Five we know are down."
"Motion sensors showed more contacts than that."
"At least one if not more, got away. Probably heading back to report." He pulls out the satellite phone, keys in Zeke's number. "Zeke, we had contact. Five operators down around or in my cabin. At least one got away. Position is compromised."
Which means they know where we are. They know we survived. And they'll send more.
"We can't stay," I say.
"No. We pack what we need and leave in fifteen minutes." He moves back to the cabin, stepping over bodies without looking at them. "Rally point is two hours from here. We can make it before they send reinforcements."
We move quickly. Grab essentials. Weapons. Ammunition. The files on Emma's investigation. The satellite phone. Everything else gets left behind.
I take one last look at the cabin. The place where we spent last night. Where everything between us changed from survival to something more.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Ready."
We head to his truck, still hidden under the tarp in the tree line. The snow has weighed it down but the vehicle is intact. Rhys clears it quickly, throws our gear in the back.
The engine turns over on the first try. He backs out carefully, navigating through trees until we reach the old logging road that connects to the main route.
"Looking good for getting to the rally point," he says. "Then we finalize the assault plan."
"And tonight, we end this."
"Tonight, we get those women out and start taking apart the network that killed Emma."
I look at him. This man who lost everything and kept fighting. Who opened his home to me, his heart to me, his past to me. Who just fought beside me like we've been partners for years.
He reaches across the console, takes my hand. Squeezes once.
Behind us, the cabin disappears around a bend. The bodies. The firefight. The life I thought I wanted when I came to Alaska.
Ahead, the rally point. The assault. Eight women waiting to be saved.
And Rhys beside me, his hand warm in mine.
Less than twenty-four hours until we find out if we're as good together in the fight as we are in everything else.