11. Mara
MARA
“You’re not going alone.”
Doc looks at me.
“I know.”
I blink.
Wolf blinks.
Trigger actually leans forward.
“What?” I ask.
“I said I know.”
“You’re agreeing with me?”
“Yes.”
“Without arguing?”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes.
“What are you planning?”
Doc looks offended.
“Why does everyone assume I’m planning something?”
Wolf answers immediately.
“Experience.”
Trigger nods. “Lots of it.”
Sheriff Tate takes Doc’s phone from his hand and studies the photograph of Captain Fred Miller tied to the chair.
“Everyone stop talking.”
No one does.
“I’m serious.”
That works.
Tate enlarges the photograph.
Miller sits in a metal chair with his hands secured behind him. Blood streaks one side of his face. A concrete wall fills the background.
Nothing else.
No windows.
No signs.
No obvious landmarks.
“Did Hampton send a location?” Tate asks.
“Not yet,” Doc says.
“He will.”
I look at the photograph again.
Fred Miller is older than the man in Grant’s unit picture, but there’s no mistaking him.
Alive.
For fifteen years, everyone believed he died in a burned vehicle in Arizona.
Apparently dead men are becoming a problem around Eagle River.
My phone rings.
Every man around me reaches for a weapon.
I stare at them.
“It’s my phone.”
“That hasn't been particularly reassuring lately,” Doc says.
I check the screen.
Mrs. Grady.
I almost don't answer.
Then I remember the dark car she saw outside my house.
“Mrs. Grady?”
“Mara, there are men in your yard.”
I straighten.
“What men?”
“The sheriff men.”
“Deputies?”
“That’s what I said.”
No, it isn't.
I close my eyes.
“What are they doing?”
“Looking at your fake rock.”
Everyone hears her.
Wolf turns away.
Trigger coughs.
Doc looks at me.
I point at him.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're about to.”
Mrs. Grady continues. “One of them picked it up.”
“They're processing it for evidence.”
“Well, tell them to put it back when they're finished. That bare spot looks ridiculous.”
“Mrs. Grady?—”
“And your garage is open.”
My humor disappears.
“What?”
“The deputy opened it.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Do you want me to watch your house?”
“No.”
“I can see the whole front from my kitchen.”
“Please stay inside.”
“I have binoculars.”
Of course she does.
“Lock your doors.”
“I always lock my doors. I don't hide keys in fake rocks.”
Doc looks down.
His shoulders move.
I hang up.
“Go ahead.”
He looks innocent.
“Say it.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Liar.”
“I was going to compliment Mrs. Grady’s home-security practices.”
Trigger loses it.
Even Sheriff Tate laughs.
I glare at all of them.
“I hate this town.”
“No, you don't,” Tate says.
Unfortunately, he's right.
His radio crackles.
“Sheriff, Collins.”
Tate lifts it. “Go ahead.”
“We confirmed the garage key is missing. Fake rock is empty. No damage to the padlock.”
I stop smiling.
“Anything inside?”
“Nothing obvious. Spare house key is where Deputy Ellis said she keeps it.”
Doc looks at me.
“Then whoever took the garage key used it to get inside, took the spare house key, entered your house, and returned the spare afterward.”
“But didn't return the garage key,” I say.
“Maybe they didn't have time.”
“Or they still need it.”
That thought settles badly.
Sheriff Tate speaks into the radio.
“Change the locks on the house and garage. Nobody enters without one of my deputies present.”
“Sheriff—”
He gives me the look.
I stop.
Again.
Doc notices.
Again.
I’m beginning to resent how much he's enjoying Sheriff Tate.
His phone vibrates.
Every trace of humor disappears.
Doc looks at the screen.
“Location.”
Sheriff Tate takes the phone.
A map pin.
No message.
He studies it.
“Old stockyard.”
Wolf moves beside him. “Outside town?”
“About nine miles west.”
“I know it,” Trigger says. “Hasn't been used in years.”
Doc reaches for his jacket.
I catch it first.
He looks at me.
“No.”
“Mara.”
“You agreed you weren't going alone.”
“I’m not.”
“Who are you taking?”
He looks toward Wolf.
“Absolutely not.”
Wolf's eyebrows rise.
“I wasn't aware you were in charge of me.”
“I've known you long enough to know what that look means.”
“What look?”
“The one that says the two of you are about to sneak out while everyone else is arguing.”
Trigger points at Wolf.
“She does know you.”
“I wasn't going to sneak.”
Doc and I look at him.
Wolf sighs.
“Fine. I was going to sneak.”
Sheriff Tate puts Doc’s phone on the hood of his SUV.
“Nobody is sneaking anywhere.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“You aren't going either.”
I turn.
“Excuse me?”
“You're the target.”
“Fred Miller is being held hostage in my investigation.”
“You are personally connected to every piece of this case.”
“So is Doc.”
“Which is why neither of you is making the plan.”
Doc and I look at each other.
I don't like this.
Judging by his face, neither does he.
Tate continues.
“We do this correctly. We establish surveillance. We approach from multiple directions. We assume Hampton chose the location because it gives him an advantage.”
“He expects me,” Doc says.
“Then you'll give him what he expects.”
I stare at Tate.
Doc does too.
“But,” Tate adds, “you'll be wearing a vest, a transmitter, and enough law enforcement will be around that stockyard to make Hampton regret ever hearing of Eagle River.”
Trigger grins.
“I like him.”
I point at Tate. “He's my sheriff.”
“He's my father-in-law.”
“Unfortunately,” Tate mutters.
Trigger presses a hand to his chest.
“That hurt.”
“You'll survive.”
“That's what Doc said about my head.”
Doc looks at him.
“I never examined your head.”
“Exactly.”
Wolf shakes his head.
“We're doomed.”
For the first time since Fred Miller's photograph appeared on Doc's phone, I almost believe we might not be.
The old stockyard sits at the end of a cracked county road surrounded by empty pasture.
Three long cattle sheds lean beneath the afternoon sun. Rusted fencing divides the property into pens overgrown with weeds. An abandoned auction barn stands near the center.
Perfect place for an ambush.
Which is probably why Hampton chose it.
Sheriff Tate stops us almost a mile away.
No marked vehicles go farther.
State police approach from the north.
Tate’s deputies cover the south and east.
Wolf and Trigger stay with the western team.
I stay with Sheriff Tate.
I am not happy about it.
Doc stands beside an unmarked SUV while a deputy adjusts the transmitter beneath his shirt.
He's wearing body armor.
That helps.
Not enough.
“You're staring,” Tate says.
“I'm watching.”
“Same thing.”
“I'm a deputy.”
“You're also worried.”
I look at him.
He raises both hands.
“I didn't say it was a bad thing.”
Doc walks toward us.
His eyes find mine immediately.
“You stay here.”
I stare at him.
Tate mutters, “Here we go.”
“I thought we settled this.”
“We did.”
“Apparently not.”
“I'm walking into the building Hampton chose.”
“With half the county surrounding it.”
“That doesn't make it safe.”
“Nothing about today has been safe.”
His jaw tightens.
I step closer.
“You protect me. I protect you. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“Good.”
“That doesn't mean you walk into the barn.”
“I didn't say I was.”
That surprises him.
“You didn't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because unlike some people, I occasionally listen to my sheriff.”
Tate makes a pleased sound.
I point at him without looking away from Doc.
“Don't ruin this.”
Doc almost smiles.
Then I lower my voice.
“But if anything goes wrong, I'm coming.”
“Mara—”
“That part isn't negotiable.”
His eyes hold mine.
Finally, he nods.
“Fine.”
I blink.
“Twice in one day.”
“What?”
“You agreed with me.”
“Don't get used to it.”
There he is.
Doc turns toward the stockyard.
I catch his hand.
He stops.
I hadn't planned to touch him.
Apparently my body didn't ask permission.
His fingers close around mine.
“Come back,” I say.
Something changes in his face.
Not Grant.
Not the promise.
Me.
“I will.”
He releases my hand and walks away.
Doc disappears into the auction barn.
I listen through the transmitter.
His footsteps echo across the concrete.
Then silence.
“I'm inside,” he says quietly.
Sheriff Tate holds up one finger.
Everyone waits.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Two.
Then a voice comes through Doc’s transmitter.
“You brought company.”
Hampton.
My pulse jumps.
Doc answers.
“You kidnapped my former captain. You didn't earn trust.”
“You never trusted me.”
“You helped murder Grant.”
Silence.
Then Hampton laughs.
“If I wanted Grant dead, Doc, you wouldn't be standing here.”
I look at Sheriff Tate.
He heard it too.
“What does that mean?” Doc asks.
“It means the valley wasn't supposed to end the way it did.”
“Then tell me what was supposed to happen.”
“You were supposed to disappear.”
Every Ranger listening goes still.
Doc's voice turns cold.
“All eight of us?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you saw something you weren't supposed to see.”
“What?”
“Operation Twenty-Three.”
I grip my weapon tighter.
There it is.
Doc doesn't speak for several seconds.
“You said Twenty-Three never existed.”
“It didn't.”
“Then how did we see it?”
“You saw what was left after someone erased it.”
“Who?”
“Fred Miller can tell you.”
“Where is he?”
A scraping sound comes through the transmitter.
Then a groan.
Miller.
“I'm here,” an older male voice says.
Doc goes silent.
“Captain?”
“Been a long time, Shaw.”
I hear something in Doc’s breathing.
Fifteen years disappears for him in an instant.
“Did you send us into that valley?”
Miller doesn't answer.
“Captain.”
“Yes.”
My stomach drops.
Wolf curses through the tactical channel.
Doc's voice remains frighteningly calm.
“Why?”
“Because I was ordered to.”
“By whom?”
Miller coughs.
“Hampton.”
Everything inside me stops.
Doc says nothing.
Then Hampton laughs.
“You always were a coward, Fred.”
“You gave me the coordinates.”
“I gave you coordinates. You chose to transmit them.”
“Because you told me?—”
A gunshot explodes through the transmitter.
I move before anyone can stop me.
“Mara!”
Sheriff Tate catches my vest.
I twist free.
“Shot fired!”
The tactical channel erupts.
Teams converge on the barn.
Then Doc's voice comes through.
“Hold positions!”
I stop.
Barely.
“Doc?”
“I'm okay.”
“What happened?”
“Hampton shot the chain holding Miller.”
Sheriff Tate closes his eyes.
I may kill both of them.
Doc continues.
“He's releasing him.”
That makes no sense.
“Why?”
Hampton answers loudly enough for the transmitter to catch him.
“Because Fred is going to take you to the place Grant found.”
“Why would you want that?” Doc asks.
“Because I've spent fifteen years trying to find it too.”
My mind races.
Hampton searched Mom’s house.
He stole Doc’s coordinates.
He knew about my key.
But he doesn't have Grant’s lockbox.
He doesn't have the key.
And apparently he doesn't know where Grant’s evidence leads.
He isn't controlling this mystery.
He's chasing it too.
“Who took Mara’s key?” Doc asks.
Silence.
Then Hampton says, “What?”
I look at Sheriff Tate.
That reaction sounded real.
Doc must think so too.
“Someone entered her house and removed Grant’s key from her bracelet.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Hampton swears.
Not softly.
“Get her out of Eagle River.”
My skin turns cold.
“Why?”
“Because if they have the key, they know she found the journal.”
“Who are they?”
Hampton doesn't answer.
“Who?”
“Men you don't remember.”
“I remember all seventeen names.”
A pause.
Then Hampton says something that changes everything.
“There weren't seventeen.”
Doc goes silent.
“So what does the message mean?”
“Seventeen were waiting.”
“Yes.”
“How many men?”
“Eight.”
My heart pounds.
Eight entered.
Eight waiting.
Then what is seventeen?
Doc asks the question.
“What was seventeen?”
Hampton answers.
“A file.”
I look at Sheriff Tate.
Operation Twenty-Three.
File Seventeen.
This is getting bigger.
“What was in it?” Doc asks.
“The reason your team was supposed to disappear.”
“And where is it?”
Hampton laughs without humor.
“That's what Grant hid.”
A vehicle engine roars through my earpiece.
Sheriff Tate turns toward the barn.
“Movement!”
A truck bursts through the rear doors.
State police converge.
Gunfire erupts.
I run.
This time Tate doesn't try to stop me.
By the time I reach the barn, deputies have Miller on the ground behind cover.
Doc is nowhere in sight.
“Where's Doc?”
Miller points toward the rear.
“Hampton took him.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“No.”
I run through the shattered doors.
A dark truck tears across the pasture.
Doc is in the passenger seat.
Hampton drives.
Wolf and Trigger race toward their vehicle.
I reach Sheriff Tate’s SUV first.
He catches up as I open the driver's door.
“Mara.”
“Don't.”
“You aren't driving.”
“This is not the time.”
“You drive like your mother.”
I stare at him.
“What does that mean?”
“She was terrifying.”
He takes the keys.
“Get in.”
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me.
Then I climb into the passenger seat and draw my weapon.
The SUV launches forward.
Ahead of us, Hampton’s truck disappears over the rise.
Doc came to Eagle River because he promised Grant he would protect me.
Now Hampton has him.
And Hampton is about to learn something Grant already knew.
I don't leave my people behind.