Chapter 5
Ben
The house we were about to infiltrate sat higher up, near the base of the north-facing slopes—a log cabin rental set back from a gravel access road, surrounded by dense pine forest on three sides and a steep ravine on the fourth.
The kind of property that looked like a dozen other vacation rentals on the mountainside.
A network of dirt trails and fire roads connected most of the cabins along the slope, branching and intersecting through the trees like capillaries. Any vehicle coming or going could be a tourist hauling outdoor gear, a property manager checking on a rental, or someone moving drugs.
But there was no way to tell the difference without eyes on every trail, and there weren’t enough officers in Summit Falls to cover half of them.
From what I understood, this bust was based on the main road camera having caught enough action at this cabin to justify tonight. Fourteen vehicle visits in six days. Three registered to individuals with prior drug charges. As of four hours ago, a dark SUV was still parked in front of the cabin.
Vance ran the briefing from the back of the tactical van, his voice low and steady.
Ten officers in full kit listened, faces half lit by the glow of a tablet propped against the wall.
Vests going on. Weapons checked. Comms tested with low clicks and murmured confirmations.
Nobody cracking jokes about who was going to die this time.
Donovan stood beside me near the rear doors, one arm up and leaning against the frame, his eyes moving methodically over each officer, checking how they wore their gear.
You could tell a lot about someone’s experience by how they kitted up—loose straps meant sloppy habits, and sloppy habits got people hurt in tight spaces.
Jolly was already different. The harness had done it—the moment I’d pulled it from the back of the truck and clipped it on, the dozing dog had vanished. But this wasn’t the training building. No paint rounds. No bite suits. Tonight, anything that happened to him would be real.
“Intel says this is a distribution point,” Vance said. “Product comes in, gets broken down, moves out to street-level dealers.”
He tapped the screen, and a rough floor plan appeared. “House is log construction, single-story, three bedrooms. Main entrance faces the access road. Rear exit off the kitchen leads to a deck and then the tree line. Cellar access through a hatch in the main living area.”
Vance let that settle, then moved on. “Once Charlie team secures the outer perimeter, Alpha and Bravo will take their positions, and then Alpha breaches. Bravo will be on standby to push more bodies into the house, should the need arise. You know your assignments.”
He checked his watch. “Time to target is twelve minutes out from objective.”
The van went quiet. Officers checked gear, tightened straps, ran through their own private rituals. Martinez pulled on his gloves with the worried expression of a man who was suddenly remembering all the times he’d been shot during training while carrying the shield.
This wasn’t training. Someone could get killed.
Reeves was across the van, double-checking his magazines, his movements a little twitchy. Youngest guy on the team by at least five years. He caught me watching and gave a tight nod.
I glanced over at Donovan and tilted my head toward Reeves. Donovan gave an almost imperceptible nod. He’d look out for the kid.
I ran my hand down Jolly’s back. His muscles were bunched tight, vibrating with that barely contained energy I knew as well as my own heartbeat.
Seven years of this, and the anticipation never dimmed for him.
Every operation was the first operation.
Every doorway held the promise of the work, the search, the find.
“Easy, boy.” I kept my voice low, my hand steady. “Not yet.”
His tail thumped once. He pressed his head into my thigh and waited.
Twelve minutes later, we were stacked outside the cabin’s front entrance, pressed against the log wall in the dark, breath visible in the cold mountain air.
Charlie had the perimeter locked down. Bravo was in position at the rear.
Vance’s voice came through the earpiece, barely above a whisper. “Alpha, you are green.”
Martinez hit the front door. The ram punched through the dead bolt on the first strike, and he was through the frame before the door finished swinging, shield up, voice booming. “Police! Search warrant! Get on the ground!”
I was third in the stack, Jolly heeling tight to my left side as we flowed through the entry.
The cabin’s main room opened up in front of us. Exposed log walls. Stone fireplace against the far side. A kitchen separated by a counter that ran half the length of the space.
A single lamp had been left on near the front window. A television mounted above the fireplace was still playing, volume muted, the screen casting blue light across fast-food wrappers and energy drink cans on the counter. One of the cans was still sweating.
Martinez swept left, shield angled toward the kitchen. Two officers peeled right, weapons up, flashlights cutting across the darkened hallway beyond.
I held Jolly at the threshold, keeping him behind the clearing team. Every muscle in his body vibrated against my leg.
“Kitchen, clear!”
The first officer posted at the hallway entrance, weapon trained down the corridor. The second stacked behind him, and they moved together toward the first doorway.
I followed with Jolly, maintaining distance, watching the dog’s body language for any change. A stiffening of the ears. A shift in focus. Anything that said someone was close.
The first bedroom door stood open. Two officers swept in, one cutting left, one right, flashlights raking across walls. Mattress on the floor, sheets tangled at the foot. A phone charger still plugged into the wall, cord dangling. Closet door standing ajar.
“Checking the closet.”
The officer yanked it wide, weapon up. Wire hangers. Nothing else.
“Bedroom one, clear!”
They posted at the door as I brought Jolly past, his nose already working the air from the hallway. We moved to the second bedroom. Same procedure—two officers in, splitting the room, checking corners. Another closet, another empty space.
“Bedroom two, clear!”
One room left at the end of the hall, door closed. The officers stacked on either side. Briggson, the point man, reached for the handle.
A sharp crack came from behind the door. Then another. Wood hitting wood, rhythmic and uneven.
Every weapon in the hallway swung toward the sound. Jolly’s body went rigid against my leg.
“Something’s moving in there,” Briggson said. He was stacked against the wall beside the closed door, weapon up, chest heaving. Reeves mirrored him on the other side.
“Stack up,” Briggson whispered. Reeves nodded and tested the handle. Locked. The point man stepped back. Raised his boot. Drove it into the door just below the handle. The frame splintered and the door flew inward, and both officers rushed the room, flashlights and weapons sweeping left and right—
The bedroom was empty. A window on the far wall hung open, its frame swinging free in the mountain wind, catching the edge of the sill each time the breeze pushed it back.
Briggson and Reeves swept the corners, checked the closet. Nothing.
“Bedroom three, clear!”
I stepped into the doorway. Jolly’s body had loosened beside me—no alert, no focus. Just an empty room and a window nobody had bothered to shut.
“All rooms clear.” Donovan appeared at the end of the hallway from the rear of the cabin. “Bravo swept the back. Kitchen, utility space, rear entry. Structure is empty.”
“Structure is secure.” Vance’s voice came through the radio. “All teams, structure is secure.”
Shit. Nothing.
The energy drained out of the hallway. Officers straightened, safeties clicked, breathing slowed. The window banged once more before someone crossed the room and latched it shut.
You could almost inhale the disappointment.
I keyed my radio. “Vance, let me run Jolly through before anyone else moves around in here. He’ll tell us what was in this place.”
A pause. “Copy. All teams hold position. Garrison’s running the dog.”
I gave Jolly the command. “Such.” The German word for search sounded like zoo, but Jolly knew exactly what was expected.
He shifted instantly from heel to search mode, nose dropping to the floor, body flowing forward with purpose. I followed him back down the hallway, letting the leash play out, reading his body the way I’d read it through hundreds of searches across two continents.
Jolly worked the bedroom perimeters quickly, alerting three times across both rooms—clean sits, definitive, no hesitation.
He’d found drug residue along baseboards, in closet corners, places where product had been stored or handled.
The pattern was consistent with this being a drug distribution point, but the product itself was gone.
But between the alerts, I was looking at everything else.
The tangled sheets on the mattress. That phone charger still plugged into the wall, cord dangling like whoever owned it had yanked the phone free and run.
The energy drink still sweating on the counter.
The television nobody had bothered to turn off.
These people hadn’t cleared out on a schedule. They’d gotten a warning and bolted.
“Ben.” Donovan appeared at the end of the hallway, flashlight angled down. “Cellar. It’s clear.”
I followed him back to the main room, where someone had already pulled up the hatch in the floor near the fireplace. Rough-cut wooden stairs dropped into darkness. Jolly went down ahead of me, his nails clicking on each tread, his nose already working before we reached the bottom.
Concrete floor, poured over the original dirt—recent work, the surface still smooth in places. The space ran most of the length of the cabin, with a ceiling low enough that Donovan and I both had to duck under the floor joists.