Chapter 3 #2
She traces one of the routes on the map with her finger. "Why leave him? These operations don't make mistakes like that."
"Maybe they didn't have a choice. Maybe the transfer was interrupted. Maybe whoever was supposed to move him got spooked." I tap the equipment shed location. "Or maybe he was never supposed to leave. Maybe he saw too much."
Harlow's jaw tightens. "Which means they'll be back. Looking for him. Or looking for evidence we might have found."
"You need to be careful. I killed one of their operators yesterday and wounded another. They're armed, trained, and if they realize you're investigating, you become a target."
"I can handle myself."
"I know. But these aren't amateurs. This network is organized. Well-funded. They have inside access to this facility." I gesture to the ghost employee files. "Whoever's running this operation has resources."
She's quiet for a moment. Processing. When she speaks again, her voice is steady. "What do you need from me?"
"Access to your security system. Complete logs going back six months. I need to see every anomaly, every gap, every time someone accessed areas they shouldn't have."
"I can get you that."
"And I need you to consult on this investigation. Officially. Your FBI experience and facility knowledge make you the best resource I have for understanding how this operation works."
She meets my eyes. Holds my gaze for a long moment. Weighing the decision. Going back into investigative work. Taking on the risk. Stepping into the world she's been avoiding for a long time.
Her hand rests on the desk between us. Fingers drumming once. Twice. Then still.
"Yes," she says finally. "I'll help."
My chest loosens. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath waiting for her answer.
"Good." The word comes out rougher than intended. "I'll need you to—"
Harlow shifts, reaching for another file, and her shoulder brushes mine. Brief contact. Accidental. But my skin warms where we touched.
She goes still for half a second before moving away. Creating space between us.
Professional distance. Smart. This is an investigation. A trafficking case that might be connected to my wife's murder. Not the time to notice how competent Harlow is. How she moves with purpose. How she handles evidence like it matters.
Not the time to notice any of it.
"I'll get you those security logs," she says, voice carefully neutral. "Give me an hour."
"Appreciated."
She leaves the office. I watch her go, then force my attention back to the evidence spread across the desk.
Focus. This is about trafficking. About finding Emma's killers. About stopping an operation that's been moving people through these mountains for God knows how long.
My phone buzzes. Wells.
"Sheriff, we got a problem. Viktor Petrov's gone."
"Gone how?"
"Disappeared from the hospital. Someone signed him out AMA an hour ago. Security footage shows two men escorting him. He didn't look like he was going voluntarily."
My chest tightens. "Description of the men?"
"Both large. Professional build. One of them had a visible sidearm."
The trafficking network just reclaimed their victim. Which means they know we're investigating. Know we found Viktor. And if they know that, they know about Harlow.
"Wells, I need you at the mining site now. Armed. We might have hostiles in the area."
"Copy that. En route."
I hang up and move to the window. Scan the compound. Nothing looks out of place. But traffickers don't advertise their presence.
The door opens. Harlow returns with a laptop and hard drive.
"Got the logs. Going back eight months instead of six. Figured more data is—" She stops. Reads my expression. "What happened?"
"Viktor Petrov was taken from the hospital an hour ago. Two men, at least one of them was armed, probably both."
"They're cleaning up loose ends."
"And we're on the list. You found him. I'm investigating. We're both problems they'll want to eliminate."
She sets the laptop down. Moves to the window beside me. Scans the compound with the same tactical awareness I'm using.
"How long until your deputy gets here?" she asks.
"Twenty minutes."
"Then we have twenty minutes to secure this location and figure out if they're already here."
No panic. No fear. Just an immediate shift into tactical mode.
Former FBI. Crisis trained. She's done this before.
"Lock the doors," I say. "I'll check the perimeter."
She's already moving. "Watch the north access points. If they're coming, that's where they'll approach."
I head outside, hand on my sidearm. The compound is quiet. Any day shift workers should be here by now. The equipment yard should have noise, movement, the diesel smell of machinery warming up.
Instead, nothing.
The wind picks up, pushing snow across the frozen ground. It hisses against metal siding. The only sound.
I scan the tree line. North perimeter first, like Harlow said. Nothing moves. But the fence line is too far to see clearly from here. I move toward the equipment yard, staying close to the buildings for cover.
Tire tracks near the equipment shed catch my eye. Deep treads in the frost. Leading straight from the north perimeter.
I crouch beside them. Same tread pattern as the ones we found at the access points this morning. Same vehicle.
Which means whoever's running the trafficking operation through this facility was here. Recently. While we were out checking those access points, someone drove right through the compound.