Chapter 7 Ridge #2
I check the back lock and ease the door open just enough to scan the tree line beyond it. The forest is still, damp, and quiet in a way that never lasts.
I slip outside and pull the door shut with two fingers. I wait until the latch settles without a sound.
I move downslope and settle behind a low rise, dirt cool and wet against my knees. The morning air clings to my skin as I bring the rifle up. I can see one of them now, cutting through the trees with quiet precision. He is about twenty yards out, attention fixed on the cabin as he advances.
I set the rifle against my shoulder and bring the scope up. My breathing evens out as the crosshairs steady over his chest. Hesitation would get someone killed. I do not allow it.
I squeeze the trigger. The silencer dulls the report to a short, muted crack that disappears into the trees.
The man stiffens and drops, the sound of his body hitting the ground swallowed by brush and wet earth.
There’s no relief in it, only the certainty that this cannot be undone.
I stay still, already shifting focus. There is at least one more, possibly more, behind him. I adjust my position, tracking the approach the second man was taking, eyes sweeping for movement.
I check my phone and pull up the camera feeds. I want him before he realizes his partner is gone.
Western perimeter.
I move ahead of him, staying covered, cutting the distance so I can wait instead of chasing. I reposition and wait, forcing him to make the mistake instead of me.
I hear him before I see him.
“Guest, come in,” he mutters into his radio. “Where the hell are you?”
I bring the rifle up and find him through the scope. He is right where I expected him to be.
I aim lower this time, careful with placement. I want him alive long enough to talk.
I fire.
He staggers but stays upright, catching himself against a young pine. The forest goes quiet again as I wait, counting breaths, listening for anything else moving through the trees.
Nothing.
After a minute, then another, it is clear there is no immediate backup. If anyone else is coming, they are not here yet.
I move in, rifle steady. He stumbles forward, one hand clamped to his leg, blood pools below his foot, darkening the fabric of his pants as he struggles to stay upright.
I step into view, and his eyes snap to mine.
I glance at the wound, then at the tree line.
“You’re bleeding out,” I say flatly. “I’m not calling it in.”
He shakes his head, teeth bared. “You think I’m talking?”
I don’t answer with words, and instead, take his radio and start to walk away.
His breathing stutters. “Pierre. Pierre Guest.”
I turn around and look at him before responding, “He’s not answering because he’s dead.”
Fear finally breaks through. His breathing turns shallow as he scrambles for words.
“I’m nobody,” he rushes out. “Recon only. I don’t matter.”
“Then talk,” I say. “Why the fuck are you on my property?”
“I was called in for recon. That’s it. I don’t matter. I’ll tell them whatever you want. I swear.”
“How did you know where to look?” I ask.
“We got intel,” he says, wincing as he shifts his weight. “That you took Laurent’s girl. We traced you here, but we weren’t supposed to engage. Just report back.”
That settles it. I study him for a moment, letting the silence stretch.
“What’s your name?”
“Mal Bouchard.”
The name isn’t familiar. Whoever he is, he’s no one, as he said.
“Anyone else on the property?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Just us.”
I already know that isn’t the whole truth. Even if no one else is on the property, someone sent them. Someone is waiting for confirmation. Someone will come looking when it doesn’t arrive.
I lift the rifle because leaving him alive gives him time, and time is the one thing I cannot afford now.
A dull, muted crack snaps through the trees and is gone almost as soon as it appears.
I stay where I am for a moment, scanning the tree line, letting the quiet settle back into place.
Then I turn toward the cabin.
Every step back is measured as I roll through my options at this point. The perimeter has been breached even though this place was supposed to be invisible. It’s not anymore, and therefore, it’s not safe for her to stay here until she goes back home.
On the porch, I strip off my boots and outer layers, damp with blood and pine needles, leaving the worst of it outside before stepping in and locking the door behind me.
I secure the rifle in its compartment and pause, my gaze drifting toward the closed door down the hall.
Coco’s door.
The threat outside has been neutralized. The one inside is something else entirely.
Her family knows she’s gone, and they’re already on the hunt. The idea gnaws at me. They know something they shouldn’t.
I pull out my phone and type a text to Vin.
Send someone to the cabin to clean up this mess. Two of Boudreaux’s cronies on the edge of the property. Keep it quiet and get them out of here.
The moment I hit send, the phone rings in my hand. Vin. Of course.
I swipe to answer, his voice sharp and immediate. “Who?”
“Hell if I know. Boudreaux’s men,” I say, keeping my voice flat. “Pierre Guest and another one I didn’t recognize. Bouchard, someone.”
“Laurent’s guys. So they’re definitely tracking her, then. What happened?”
I grind my teeth, irritation rising with each of his questions. “They were prowling around the property. I neutralized them before they got too close to the cabin.”
There’s a pause. “You’re sure it was just those two?”
“They looked like they were here for recon, not an ambush. The guy I questioned said as much and confirmed it was just them. Didn’t seem like they were expecting anyone to catch them, let alone gun them down.”
“Interesting,” Vin murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. “And they knew to look there? Strange, considering no one knows about that cabin. No one outside the circle should know—”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” I snap, temper flaring. “That’s what I need you to figure out.”
Vin’s quiet for a second, then his tone shifts, eager. “Did they say anything useful?”
“One of them mentioned they had intel that I’d taken Laurent’s daughter, and they were here to see if there was a property out here. He was just sent to look. He didn’t have any information.” My grip tightens around the phone. “Now, find out how the hell they got that intel.”
“Sure thing,” Vin says, his voice too smooth, almost amused. “But think about it. This means they’re more resourceful than we thought. That means their information pipeline is better than we assumed.”
“Vin, I don’t need your analysis. I need you to handle it.” I can hear him clear his throat, but I don't offer any softness.
I don't have time for his questions. That's his job, to find answers.
“Handle the cleanup. And find out who talked. I’m going to figure out how I want to proceed from here.”
A brief pause, and then Vin answers, his voice steady but with an edge that feels off. “Understood. I’ll let you know what I find out. I’ll bring Wells in on it, too.”
The line goes dead, and I throw my phone across the room.
Two men dead before lunch, a compromised safehouse, and someone close enough to know where I keep my secrets.
That changes the rules.
I turn toward the hallway, toward the room where Coco is locked behind a reinforced door.
Whatever Laurent thinks he’s doing, whatever game he believes he’s playing, he just escalated it.