Chapter 22
NOEL
Kane is driving through the mountain like a man possessed, the truck bouncing violently over snow-covered ruts and rocks on these barely maintained dirt roads, and I’m in the passenger seat, gripping the handle above the door, staring out at the dense forest trying to recognize anything familiar.
“Left at that fallen pine,” I say, pointing to a massive tree that’s split down the middle, probably from lightning.
Kane jerks the wheel hard without slowing down, and we slide sideways on the snow-packed road before the tires catch again with a spray of ice and gravel.
“Chris looked so fucking pissed when he drew the short straw,” I say, grinning despite the tension coiling in my gut. “Man wants to beat the shit out of Scot as much as we do. Might have actually cried a little when he lost.”
Kane barks a laugh, and it’s dark. “We’ll tell him all about it when we get back. Give him every bloody detail so he can live vicariously through us. Maybe even take photos.”
“This is a damn long shot, though,” I admit after a moment, scanning the increasingly dense trees.
The forest is pressing in from both sides now, branches reaching across the narrow road like skeletal fingers.
“Might not even be where Scot actually lives. Could be some random cabin he visited once for a weekend, and then we’re back at square one with no reindeer, no time, and Hannah’s event completely fucked. ”
“Don’t say that shit,” Kane snaps, his knuckles bone white on the steering wheel. “Don’t even think it. I mean, where the fuck else would he be hiding eight stolen reindeer? He’s not keeping them in a damn apartment in town. He’s not boarding them at some public stable. This has to be it.”
“You’re right.” I go back to scanning the landscape. “Just nervous as hell. Hannah’s counting on us.”
“Which is exactly why we’re not failing.”
The road narrows even more as we climb higher into the mountains, trees pressing in from both sides, their snow-laden branches scraping against the truck with sounds like fingernails on metal. Then, through a gap in the trees maybe thirty yards ahead, I spot something that doesn’t belong.
Metal. Geometric shapes. Human construction in the middle of wilderness.
“There,” I say, pointing through the windshield. “Slow the fuck down.”
Kane eases off the gas, and we both lean forward instinctively to get a better look through the trees.
A cabin sits in a small clearing carved out of the forest, and far behind it is a thin waterfall, completely frozen to ice.
But the place is not exactly what I expected.
The entire property is surrounded by a high steel fence, seven feet at minimum.
The fence is rusted in places, orange stains bleeding down from the posts, but it’s still formidable as hell.
The front gates give us an easy view of the side of the home.
More than that, there are security cameras mounted at each corner of the fence line, professional-looking equipment with weatherproof housings.
This isn’t some rustic mountain retreat where you go to disconnect from civilization. It’s a damn compound, secured like someone is expecting an assault.
“What the actual fuck is this place?” Kane mutters, pulling the truck off the road and into the tree line where we won’t be immediately visible. He kills the engine.
I’m watching those cameras carefully, studying their positioning. “Something’s off. Those cameras should be rotating on their mounts. You see those motors underneath? They’re pan-tilt models. But they’re completely stationary. Haven’t moved once.”
“The whole place is too quiet too,” Kane observes. “No generator running, no sounds of activity, no smoke from the chimney even though it’s freezing. Place looks abandoned except for that fence.”
We both climb out, easing the doors closed as quietly as possible, and approach through the dense tree cover.
The fence is definitely bizarre for a place this remote. Who needs this level of security out here in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest neighbor, unless they’re hiding something serious? Something illegal?
I grab my metal keys and toss them at the electric wires lining the fence from about ten feet away.
It hits the metal with a clatter, then drops. Nothing. No sparks, no electrical buzz, no alarm shrieking. Complete silence except for wind howling and trees rustling through the forest. I go and pick up my keys and pocket them.
Kane moves closer, watching the cabin windows for any signs of movement, then presses his palm directly against the metal fence.
He holds it there for several long seconds, testing, then looks back at me and shakes his head. “Cold. No current running through it at all. No vibration, no heat, nothing.”
As we creep closer to the front gate, moving from tree to tree for cover, staying low, I catch movement near the cabin’s front porch.
Big burly guy dressed in dark pants and a jacket. He appears bored as absolute hell, looking at his phone, posture completely lazy and relaxed, clearly not expecting anyone to actually show up out here in the wilderness.
“We’re not walking through that front gate,” Kane whispers.
“Side wall. Around back. Stay quiet and low.” We slip deeper into the trees, circling the property and moving along the perimeter fence until we find a small area where the camera angles create a natural blind spot.
The security system might be down, but there’s no point in taking stupid chances if someone is monitoring on backup power or battery.
I grip the top bars of the fence, testing my weight distribution, then swing myself up and over in one fluid motion. My boots hit the ground on the other side with barely a whisper. Kane follows, but the metal groans slightly under his heavier weight and bulk.
We both freeze completely, not even breathing, listening for any indication that we’ve been heard.
Nothing. The guard on the porch is still absorbed in his phone.
Kane deliberately steps on a dry branch half buried in the snow, snapping it with a crack that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet.
The guard’s head jerks up immediately, phone forgotten. He straightens from his lazy slouch and turns, scanning the yard with suddenly alert eyes in our direction. “Who’s out there? This is private property!”
He starts walking toward our position around the side of the cabin.
We let him get close until he rounds the corner of the cabin, and we’re right there.
The moment his silhouette clears the cabin wall, Kane explodes forward, all brute momentum. He slams a fist into the guard’s face with enough force to knock the air out of him in one sharp burst.
The guard’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens to groan. I’ve already moved behind him, and I hook my arm across his throat, my other hand locking on the back of his head, forearm cutting across his carotids. His windpipe stays clear, but the blood flow to his brain stops instantly.
He jerks hard, trying to elbow backward, but Kane traps his arms and pins them in place.
“Easy,” Kane mutters. “Time for a nap.”
I tighten the hold.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
The fight drains out of his body. His knees buckle. I lower him to the ground.
Kane crouches, pats him down—no weapons, no radio, just a cheap burner phone. “Amateur,” he mutters, crushing the phone under his boot.
I drag the unconscious guard into the shadows behind a stack of firewood and check his pulse out of habit. Steady. He’ll be out for a while. Then I zip-tie his wrists and ankles.
We approach the main house, and the door opens effortlessly. The structure is dark inside, no lights visible, no power humming, no electronic sounds at all. Weird for a winter day in the mountains when you’d expect heat running constantly.
We slip inside, greeted with the stench of stale sweat and unwashed bodies, old beer and cigarette smoke.
The living room is shabby but appears lived-in recently.
Empty beer bottles scattered across a coffee table.
Pizza boxes stacked in a corner, grease stains spreading across the cardboard.
A couch with suspicious stains that look like dried blood.
This isn’t some weekend hunting cabin. People are living here full-time, and living rough.
From the kitchen area deeper in the house, I hear a distinct creak, that specific sound of someone stepping on a loose floorboard trying to be quiet. A man steps out and freezes completely when he finds us standing there.
I recognize him instantly, and shock jolts through me.
“Holy shit. That’s Carl Brenner,” I murmur.
Carl is a bail jumper we’ve been actively hunting for three months.
Skipped on armed robbery charges totaling fifty grand in bail.
Disappeared completely off the grid, no credit card usage, no family contacts, no known associates turning up anything.
And he’s standing right fucking here in this random mountain cabin.
Carl’s eyes widen in response, and he bolts immediately back toward the kitchen.
I’m faster.
I tackle him before he makes it three steps, driving my shoulder into his lower back and taking us both down hard onto the floor. The impact drives the air from his lungs in a whoosh. We’ve gotten used to taking down assholes without guns or blades if we can help it… then we don’t get sued.
I grab his wrist, twist it at an angle behind his back, and he bucks in agony, then I slam his head into the floor once, hard enough to daze him. He goes limp.
Kane zip-ties his wrists behind his back, then does his ankles, pulling the plastic tight enough to leave marks.
We shove him behind the couch, out of sight from the hallway.
From deeper in the house, voices carry. “Why the hell are all the systems still down? I thought you said it was just a breaker.”
“The grid blew, man. Whole electrical panel is fucked. What the hell is the boss doing about it? We’ve been sitting in the dark freezing our asses off for over an hour.”