Chapter 14
DELANEY
Kane's already issuing orders before the alarm stops wailing.
"Tommy, pull every piece of footage from that gas station. I want to know how they processed it so fast." His voice carries command authority that makes everyone snap to attention. "Willa, prep medical supplies for mobile operation. Stryker, Rourke, weapons and ammunition, priority alpha."
The team moves with practiced efficiency. No panic. No wasted motion. Just professionals executing protocols they've drilled a thousand times.
I stand beside Alex, still processing the fact that my face is now plastered across every law enforcement database in three states. Five million dollar reward. Wanted for treason.
My entire career. Gone. Not just burned but publicly destroyed.
"We run the decoy operation," Alex says. "Now. Before they tighten the net further."
Kane looks at him. "Agreed. But we do it right. Controlled exposure, clean extraction protocol."
"I'll go." The words are out before I fully process them. Every eye in the command center turns to me. "I'm already tagged on the footage. They're looking for me specifically. Use that."
"No." Alex's voice is flat. Final.
"It's the smart play. You said it yourself—give them what they're looking for on our terms." I meet his gaze. "I show up somewhere visible, they mobilize everything they have. While they're focused on me, Echo Base stays invisible."
"She's right." Kane studies me with that same assessing look from when we first met. "It's solid tactical thinking."
"Then I'm going with her." Alex crosses his arms. "Non-negotiable."
"That defeats the purpose," I argue. "If we're both spotted together again—"
"I don't care." His jaw sets in that stubborn line I'm starting to recognize. "You don't go out there alone."
Kane looks between us. His jaw relaxes a fraction.
Recognition. "Fine. You both go. Stryker and Rourke provide overwatch from secondary position.
Tommy coordinates from here. We stage it at the truck stop on Highway 93.
Multiple exits, good sight lines, civilian presence limits Committee's tactical options. "
"When?" I ask.
"Two hours. Gives us time to prep and position support." Kane's already moving to the tactical display. "Tommy, I need satellite imagery of the location. Stryker, check our vehicle options. Something clean, no ties to Echo Base."
The team disperses. Alex touches my elbow, guides me toward the armory. His hand is warm against my skin despite the efficiency in his movements.
"You didn't have to volunteer for this."
"Neither did you." I keep walking.
He catches my arm. "That's different."
I pull free. "How? Because you're trained and I'm not? Because you're Echo Ridge and I'm just the FBI agent who got caught?"
"Because if something happens to you out there..." His voice cracks. "I just got you. I can't lose you now."
My chest tightens. "Then we don't screw up."
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods once. "Agreed. But you follow my lead out there. Tactical decisions, extraction timing—all of it. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"I mean it, Delaney. This isn't profiling suspects or interrogating witnesses. One wrong move and we're both dead."
"I understand." And I do. What we're about to do presses down on me like armor. Heavy but necessary. "I trust you."
His expression softens, the tactical mask slipping. He pulls me close, pressing his forehead to mine. "Two hours. Then we show the Committee exactly what happens when they hunt Echo Ridge."
The truck stop sits at the junction of two highways, surrounded by pine forest and Montana sky. Eighteen-wheelers line the parking lot. Cars cluster near the convenience store. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that they're about to become extras in a very dangerous operation.
I adjust the baseball cap pulled low over my face. Beside me, Alex drives the nondescript pickup Tommy provided. Clean plates, no GPS, no ties to anything Committee could track. His hands are steady on the wheel despite the tension radiating from his shoulders.
"Stryker, position report," he says into the comms unit.
"Northwest ridge, six hundred meters out. Good sight lines on main lot and both highway approaches." Stryker's voice crackles through. "Rourke's covering the east access road. You're clear to proceed."
"Copy." Alex pulls into a parking space with direct line of sight to the convenience store entrance. "Remember the timing. Thirty seconds of exposure, then we're gone."
"Got it." My hand rests on the door handle. "I walk to the store, make sure I'm visible on their security cameras, then return to vehicle. You stay here, engine running."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"I run back to the truck and you drive like hell." I manage a smile despite the fear churning in my gut. "We've been over this."
"I know. Just..." He reaches across the console, threading his fingers through mine. "Be careful."
"You too."
I get out of the car. The air is cold and sharp, carrying the scent of diesel and pine.
Every instinct screams at me to get back in the vehicle, to run, to hide.
But I force myself to walk across the parking lot with measured steps.
Not too fast. Not too slow. Just a woman stopping for coffee and gas.
The security camera above the entrance tracks my movement. I tilt my face up slightly—enough for facial recognition to get a clear shot, not enough to be obvious. Then I'm through the doors into fluorescent brightness and the smell of burnt coffee.
Twenty seconds. That's all we need. Long enough for Committee's surveillance algorithms to flag my face. Short enough that we can be gone before they mobilize a response team.
I grab a candy bar from the rack near the register. Make eye contact with the cashier. Let her see my face clearly.
Fifteen seconds.
The cashier rings me up. I pay in cash. She hands me change and a receipt.
Ten seconds.
I'm turning toward the door when I see them.
Two SUVs pulling into the lot. Black. Tinted windows. Moving with purpose that has nothing to do with refueling or rest stops.
"Alex." I keep my voice low, steady. "We've got company. Two vehicles, north entrance."
"I see them." His voice is tight. "Move now. Fast but controlled."
I'm through the door and across the parking lot in seconds. Alex has the truck in gear before I'm fully inside, pulls out of the space as the SUVs accelerate toward us.
"They were already here," I breathe. "Waiting for us."
"I know." He takes a hard right, tires squealing. "Stryker, we're burned. The Committee was in position before we arrived."
"How?" Stryker's voice carries the same shock I'm feeling. "The operation was clean. No way they had time to mobilize that fast."
Gunfire cuts him off. The rear window explodes in a shower of glass. Alex swerves, keeps the vehicle between us and the shooters. More rounds punch through the bed, the side panels. The truck shudders but keeps moving.
Alex's jaw clenches. "Their response time is impossible."
He cranks the wheel hard left, takes us off the highway onto a narrow forest road. Trees blur past on both sides. The truck bottoms out on rough terrain but he keeps accelerating, puts distance between us and the pursuit.
Behind us, the SUVs follow. Close. Too close.
"Can we lose them?" I twist to look out the destroyed rear window.
"Not in this." His eyes flick to the rearview. "They've got better vehicles, more firepower. We need to ditch the truck and go on foot."
"In the wilderness? They'll hunt us down."
"They'll hunt us anyway." He takes another turn, the truck fishtailing on loose gravel. "At least in the forest we can use terrain to our advantage. Level the playing field."
More gunfire. The rear tire explodes. Alex fights the wheel as the truck lurches sideways, skids across the road. He manages to keep us upright but we're slowing. Losing momentum.
"Out. Now." He's already reaching for his weapon. "Head into the trees. I'll cover."
I grab my sidearm and bail out the passenger side as the truck grinds to a halt. My feet hit dirt. Alex is right behind me. Rounds snap past, chew bark from trees. I duck low, zigzag between trunks.
"Left," Alex calls. "Follow the terrain down."
The ground slopes away sharply. I half-run, half-slide down the incline. Use trees for balance. Behind us, vehicle doors slam. Voices shout coordination. They're coming on foot now. Organized. Professional.
We reach the bottom of the slope and Alex grabs my arm, pulls me behind a fallen log. We press flat against the earth, weapons ready. My breath comes hard.
"How many?" I whisper.
He listens. "At least six. Maybe more."
"Stryker and Rourke?"
"Too far out. By the time they reposition, this will be over." He ejects his magazine, counts rounds, reloads. "We're on our own."
Outnumbered. Outgunned. Miles from any support. Just the two of us against a Committee kill team that somehow knew exactly where we'd be.
"There." Alex points to a structure barely visible through the trees. "Old mining operation. Stone walls, limited access points. Better than dying in the dirt."
"That's the standard we're working with now?"
"Welcome to my life."
We move fast, stay low, use every bit of cover. The mining structure looms ahead. Weathered stone and rusted metal, half-collapsed but still solid enough. Alex reaches it first, clears the entrance before pulling me inside.
The interior is dim and smells of rot and mineral. Support beams crisscross overhead. Piles of debris create natural barriers. It's defensible. Barely.
"Openings," Alex says, positioning himself near a gap in the stone wall that provides sight lines on our approach route. "Cover the north side."
I take position opposite him. My hands are steady on my weapon despite the adrenaline flooding my system. FBI training takes over. Controlled breathing. Clear sight picture.