Chapter 12
THE CABIN’S KITCHEN WAS finally put back together as much as it could be with three five-year-olds roaming around. Callen had just wiped down the counter for what felt like the third time when a sharp clang rang out from the living room, followed by silence.
Callen stilled before picking up his blade to sharpen it, letting the silence settle deep into his bones.
He exhaled slowly. Not from relief exactly, but from the fragile, fleeting quiet that had become a rare commodity.
He didn’t hate the kids, not really. But three little bodies buzzing with endless energy in a small cabin felt like living inside a shaken soda can. And he hated soda.
This moment, the absence of noise, was a damn gift.
He leaned a hip against the counter, blade in one hand, whetstone in the other, letting his eyes sweep across the cluttered kitchen.
Sticky places, mismatched cups, crumbs that multiplied like bacteria.
Chaos, sure. But temporary. He agreed with Meaghan.
They needed to get them home, and then he needed to get her to her father.
Or at least somewhere safe. He doubted she would want to go to D.C.
after everything they discovered about the senator.
He would call Blaze, and he could get them all somewhere safe.
Let Meaghan handle the soft things. He’d get them through the fire.
He’d never stayed in one place long enough for things like bedtime stories or crayons on the walls. Even before the military, he wasn’t what anyone would call paternal. Kids always made him nervous: too honest, too fragile, too needy.
And yet, for the past twenty-four hours, he’d been crawling on the floor searching for missing socks, cutting crusts off grilled cheese, and learning the subtle difference between a tantrum and a full-blown emotional crisis.
It wasn’t that he disliked them.
It was that he didn’t know what the hell to do with them.
The silence now? It was a balm, and he hoped it stayed that way for a while longer.
But silence, he knew all too well, never lasted.
Callen was halfway through sharpening the blade of his old camp knife when the noise caught his attention.
Not a noise, exactly. A voice.
Faint and tinny. Robotic.
“Dude, no! You can’t skip levels!”
It was Lucas’s voice, followed by a high-pitched laugh from Willie and a squeal from Sophie. Meaghan had taken them to the back room to color, leaving Callen to stew in his own thoughts while he tried, and failed, to relax.
But that sound didn’t come from crayons or sketch pads.
He eased around, the blade in his hand forgotten. That voice…
It was coming from a speaker.
From a table.
He strode toward the back hallway, his boots thudding heavier with each step. The laughter paused as he reached the doorway, and there it was. Lucas hunched on the floor with something in his hands.
A sleek, black iPad.
He played some sort of kid game, the screen bright with colorful creatures hopping around like hyperactive jellybeans.
Callen’s gut turned to stone.
Lucas stood frozen, small hands clutching his iPad like it had transformed into a live grenade as he stared up at Callen. “What?”
Callen took one look at the screen and saw it: the tiny icon in the top right corner. 4G. And four glowing bars.
His pulse stuttered. “Where the hell did that come from?” His voice was too sharp. Too loud. The kids all flinched, backing away slightly.
“Ummmmmm, you said a bad word,” Willie said. “Miss Harrington doesn’t like those words.”
He turned to ignore Willie, snatching the iPad from Lucas’s grip. “How long have you been playing on this?”
“Since breakfast,” the little boy said, his lips downturning in a pout. “It was in my backpack. I just wanted to play the fish game. My dad put it on his plan. Says it keeps me quiet. Wasn’t I being quiet?”
“Willie’s right. Miss Harrington doesn’t like bad words.” Meaghan entered from the hallway, drying her hands on a towel, eyes narrowing at Callen’s tone. “What’s wrong?”
Callen closed the game and checked the settings, the network ID. His gut twisted into a solid knot. It wasn’t Wi-Fi. The damn thing had data, probably still pulling from the family’s phone plan.
“It’s pinging cell towers,” Callen muttered, too quiet for the kids to hear.
He looked up, guilt already flaring. “I didn’t think to check their damn electronics because I don’t even get signal here.
Should’ve stripped the bags the second we got here, but hell, I don’t even have signal out here. How the hell does he?”
Meaghan went pale. “You think someone could find us with that thing?”
“I think someone already has.” He glanced up at her.
“I’m sure by now, whoever is after you, knows the kids who are with you as well.
I’m sure it was all over the news. All they had to do was get a glimpse of us running away, and they’d have something to work with.
They would’ve been tracking them just in case we didn’t leave them behind. ”
Lucas’s lower lip quivered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he whispered, eyes filling. “I always bring it to school. It was in my bag.”
Callen crouched down, suddenly aware of how massive he must seem.
He softened his voice. “Hey, bud. This isn’t you fault.
You didn’t know, and I should’ve checked the bags.
But we’ve got to move now, okay? Like a fire drill.
Fast and quiet. I’m going to need you to help Miss Harrington. Can you do that?”
Lucas nodded, tears welling but holding firm. “I—I didn’t mean to mess up.”
Meaghan swooped in immediately, pulling the little boy close. “You didn’t. It’s not your fault, sweetheart. Mr. Callen already told you that.”
Callen turned away, ashamed at the flare of anger still burning in his chest. Not at the kid.
He could never be angry at the kid for something that wasn’t his fault.
No, he was angry at himself. At how stupid he’d been not to think about traceable devices, even with children so young.
What the hell kind of operator was he now?
Callen powered the iPad off, fingers tight around the frame like he might snap it in half, and shoved it deep into his tactical vest, dead and harmless now, but it made his skin crawl just knowing they’d been that exposed.
“Meaghan, grab the bags. Food. First aid. I’ll grab some weapons.
Whatever we don’t want left behind. It’s time to move. ”
Meaghan lifted her head, her jaw tight. “How long?”
Callen already had the satellite phone out, sending a quick coded message to Blaze.
“Minutes. Maybe less.”
“But how would they know Lucas is connected to us? That he’s even here?”
“All they needed to do was see us escaping the school, and to be honest, I don’t know that they did. But I refuse to take that chance.”
She didn’t argue. Just moved to pack.
He barked quiet orders, checking his weapon, gathering supplies. Meaghan moved like she’d done this before, focused, fast, no wasted motion.
The kids were another matter.
Sophie clung to Meaghan like a koala, enormous eyes shimmering with fear, while Willie looked pale, bouncing on his toes like he needed to pee but didn’t want to say so. And Lucas, still crying, tried to help by dragging the wrong bag toward the door.
Callen knelt beside him, gripping the boy’s shoulder gently. “Hey.”
Lucas sniffled.
“You’re not in trouble, okay? But I need you to listen now. We’re gonna play a game. A fast one. Quiet feet. Big ears. Like deer, okay?”
Lucas nodded, blinking hard.
Callen’s throat was tight as he straightened. They were so damn little. “All right. Let’s finish getting everything together.”
The next few minutes blurred—Callen slinging the emergency bag over his shoulder, double-checking his sidearm, stuffing granola bars into his coat pockets.
They zipped the kids into jackets, boots hastily shoved on the wrong feet, then quickly switched to the right ones.
Sophie whimpered when she couldn’t find her mitten until Meaghan found it under the couch.
Callen paused, just for a breath.
She was crouched low, her hair tumbling from its hasty knot, one hand steady on Sophie’s shoulder while the other pulled the mitten gently over the girl’s fingers.
Her voice was soft, soothing, certain, and he knew she could make a kid believe the world hadn’t just shifted under their feet.
Even in the chaos, she looked… radiant. Wild and flushed and winded, but still somehow the most composed person in the room.
God, she was strong.
He’d seen hardened operatives fall apart in less time under less pressure, but Meaghan was still standing, still thinking ten steps ahead.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t panic. She just kept moving, kept caring, doing the things that had to get done as if these three wide-eyed kids were hers to protect, and nothing else mattered.
He’d known she was smart. He remembered the sharp edge of her wit, the way she always saw through the noise and into the heart of things. But this—this warmth, this fire, this unshakable presence—he hadn’t seen that coming.
And God help him, she looked beautiful.
Not in the magazine-cover kind of way. Not even in the slow-smile-across-a-bar kind of way. But in a way that made something ache deep inside his ribs. She had a beauty that burned low and steady, that whispered of permanence instead of fantasy.
He shook his head, refocusing as she stood, brushing hair out of her eyes.
Not the time, he told himself.
But he knew the truth. Some part of him had just shifted, too.
“Everyone ready?” he asked, standing at the door, hand on the doorknob.
Slow nods were his only answer.
He threw open the door, and the cold hit him in the face like a slap. The wind had picked up, shaking the pines and scattering fallen leaves across the porch. A breeze that carried the scent of exhaust.
The faint crunch of boots on gravel, too close, too wrong.
They were halfway to the SUV when the first shot rang out with a crack. It echoed off the ridge like thunder, sending splinters exploding from the porch railing behind them.
“Down!” he barked, drawing his weapon and pivoting to shield the group. “Get down now!”
Meaghan yanked the kids into a dip in the ground as Callen dropped to one knee, eyes scanning the treeline.
Another shot. This one closer. Bark exploded off a tree two feet to his left, spewing into the air.
He returned fire. Two quick pops toward the muzzle flash. Then a third when another shadow moved to the right.
More gunfire came in response.
Too many.
They weren’t just being tracked; they were being hunted. Something changed, but he had no time to figure it out. He needed to get them out of there.
He didn’t wait. He bolted for the kids.
“Change of plans,” he hissed, scooping Sophie into his arms. “Into the woods. We’ll follow the ridge down to the old ranger trail.”
Meaghan’s eyes widened. “They’ll follow us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll cover us. And my dad and I set traps around I never really got around to packing up. Now move!”
Meaghan grabbed Willie and Lucas, pulling them toward the thick line of evergreens that bordered the clearing. Callen brought up the rear, crouched low, his breath coming hard.
The forest closed around them in a rush of wind and fallen leaves. Branches whipped at his face as twigs snapped under their feet. A bullet tore through a low-hanging limb to his left, showering him with bark and ice.
Sophie sobbed into his shoulder, her tiny fingers tangled in his coat. Callen’s legs burned, but he didn’t slow.
Another crack of a rifle behind them. Another snap of branches.
“Keep going!” he yelled. “Follow the trail; there’s a game path up ahead!”
He kept them moving, dodging tree trunks, using every inch of terrain knowledge he had.
He remembered this park as a boy: long days tracking deer with his father, the old fire routes carved into the woods like scars.
He could hear the kids gasping, stumbling through the underbrush, Meaghan’s low voice urging them to keep going.
The terrain was rougher here: fallen limbs, slippery moss, uneven dirt.
They reached a ridge of fallen trees and ducked behind a massive pine. Meaghan dropped beside him, shielding the boys.
“Are we safe?” she asked, voice shaking.
“No, but we bought us some time.”
Lucas was crying now, full-body sobs that made Callen’s throat ache. “I’m sorry, Mr. Callen. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want them to find us.”
“You didn’t do this,” Callen said firmly, reaching out to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. “I should’ve checked. This is on me.”
Meaghan reached for him too, her hand warm against Lucas’s back. “He’s right. You’re safe with us. That’s what matters.”
Callen strained to hear a sound, any sound: branches cracking, boots on fallen leaves. But there was nothing.
That’s when it happened.
CRACK!
Fire bloomed across his shoulder as the world tilted.
The pain hit so hard and fast he didn’t make a sound at first. Just stumbled, arms clenching around Sophie to keep her from falling.
“Callen!” Meaghan screamed.
“Shit,” he wheezed, clenching his eyes for a moment. He dropped to a knee, breath gone, blood hot and seeping down his side. The burning spread through his ribs, hot and thick. Blood soaked his shirt. He knew the signs; it wasn’t a graze. But it had hit nothing vital. Not yet.
He could make it. He had to.
He looked at Meaghan, gasping. “Take her. Keep going.”
She didn’t argue. Just peeled Sophie from his arms and cradled her tight.
Willie and Lucas stood frozen, eyes huge.
Callen tried to stand. The trees swam.
“Move!” he shouted, louder than he meant. “Run!”
And they did.
He brought up the rear again, hobbling, teeth gritted, the world narrowing to pain and pine needles and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
He forced one foot in front of the other.
One more step.
One more.
The pain flared higher, his vision tunneling.
Then—darkness.
And then he hit the ground.
Hard.
Meaghan dropped to her knees, grabbing Sophie and dragging her behind a fallen log. Lucas threw himself down beside them, face streaked with dirt and tears. Willie clung to Meaghan’s leg, trembling.
Callen heard her voice, sharp and desperate. “Stay with me, Callen. Don’t you dare quit on me!”
But the forest was going quiet.
Or maybe that was just him.