7. Falcon #2
I straighten. "Condor, pull every camera from eleven thirty to noon. Zip, nobody leaves the gate without vehicles checked first."
We go back into the living room together, and the fear in it isn't loud, the women are all quiet. Emily's sitting now with Frankie beside her. Maya's clutching the security phone like it's the only solid thing in the room.
"What do you know?" Cara asks, and her voice is steady in a way I know doesn't mean she is.
“Someone interfered with the rear camera for approximately ninety seconds and tested the kitchen window,” I tell Rachel. “They didn’t get inside.”
Rachel folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Could they have?”
“The latch held,” I answer.
Her expression hardens. “That isn’t what I asked.”
I glance at Vulture. He gives me the smallest nod, and I remember what we agreed to give the women.
The truth, even when it’s ugly.
I look back at Rachel. “If they’d had more time, they might have managed it.”
The room shifts around that. Cara doesn't look away from me. "Thank you," she says, and I understand it's for the honesty, not for anything I actually did.
Maya sets the phone down. "Why touch the window if they weren't coming in?"
"To see what happens when they do," Ice Pick says, and softens his stance the second every woman in the room looks at him. "We think someone's testing response times."
"So, they're coming back," Emily whispers, going pale.
"We don't know that," Vulture says.
"But you think they might," Cara says.
He meets her eyes. "Yes."
Nobody likes it, but it's the right answer. Cara sits beside Emily. "We know more now than we did yesterday. The system worked. The camera showed the outage. The latch held. The club responded."
Emily's breathing is still too fast. Cara puts her hand palm up between them and waits, and Emily takes it.
"There are men outside," Emily whispers.
"Yes," I say, quietly.
"What if they get in?" She looks at Cara.
Cara looks at me, and I know she's not asking me to promise the impossible, but just to truthful with my answer.
I move one step closer, no more. "They won't get through this house without going through us first."
Her eyes change the second I say it. I catch myself.
"No, actually that's not fair either. I can't promise nobody ever gets through a door.
What I can promise is you're not sitting here waiting for it alone.
We know there's a threat now, and every brother on this property is working it.
" I gesture at the phone. "You get updates.
If you want something different, you tell us. "
Sterling appears in the doorway, his expression urgent. “Condor found something.”
I turn toward him. “What did he find?”
“A vehicle on a county camera,” Sterling reports. “Black SUV travelling eastbound at eleven forty-eight.”
That’s five minutes after the camera outage. “Did he get the plate?” I ask.
“Part of it,” Sterling replies. “Condor thinks it’s enough.”
Vulture looks at me and jerks his head toward the door. “Go.”
I hesitate, and Cara notices.
“Falcon,” she calls softly.
I look at her.
Cara holds my gaze. “Go do your job.”
Hearing her say it lands harder than it should.
“You’ll get updates,” I promise.
“I know,” Cara replies.
There’s trust in those two words. It isn’t much yet, but it’s there.
Outside, the compound is fully awake. Brothers are moving into position, and prospects are hauling equipment across the yard.
Condor stands in the clubhouse doorway, shouting information at us because apparently walking would waste seconds he doesn’t have.
“I’ve got part of the plate,” he calls. “Four characters. It’s enough to narrow down the model.”
Rook looks toward him. “Did you get a face?”
“The tint is too dark,” Condor answers.
I look at the map on his tablet. Eastbound, toward the warehouse tied to the feeder company. Not a coincidence.
"Maybe," Vulture says, when I say it out loud.
Harrier arrives behind him. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
"We don't move yet," I say, and Vulture watches me say it like he half expected a different answer.
"Why?" Rook asks.
"Because they just poked the women's house and drove straight toward the one location they know we'd want to investigate." I look at Rook when I’m talking.
"Bait," Ice Pick says.
"Looks like it." I point at Condor. "You watch the warehouse remotely." At Rook, "You and Ice Pick take civilian vehicles, no cuts, stay three miles out, eyes only." At Zip, "Perimeter." At Harrier, "Keep the prospects inside the main compound."
"They'll bitch,” Harrier says.
"They'll live." I don’t care if they moan or not.
Vulture nods once. "Do it."
The brothers move the way we always do, fast and quiet and together, and I stand in the yard for a second and let it all sink in.
Yesterday, an SUV on the road would've had me on the bike inside a minute.
Today somebody touched the window of the house Cara sleeps in, and I made a plan instead of a decision, and used my brothers instead of my temper.
It shouldn't feel like a victory, but It does anyway.
Zip stops beside me. "You okay?"
I look toward the women's house. "No."
He waits.
"But I'm here."
"Good answer." He nods his head.
We spend the afternoon waiting, which is worse than fighting in every way that matters.
Condor traces the partial plate to a rental company, false ID, cash deposit, exactly what we expected and no closer to a name.
Rook and Ice Pick watch the warehouse for four hours and nothing moves.
By five I call them back. No chase. No hero shit.
No giving whoever's out there exactly what they want.
At six I take the first evening perimeter rotation, not to punish myself, Vulture made me say that distinction out loud before he let me leave Church, but because I'm VP and I said I would. Zip walks part of the south line with me. For once, neither of us says much, but it’s a good kind of quiet.
It’s the kind we’ve shared for years, comfortable and undemanding.
We reach the stretch closest to the women’s house. The new patrol line sits farther back now. Through the trees, I can see lights glowing inside and shadows moving past the windows.
It looks like a normal evening, well their version of one, anyway.
“You know they’re okay,” Zip says, following my gaze.
“Yeah,” I reply.
His attention stays on the house. “Cara too.”
“I didn’t ask,” I remind him.
“No,” Zip agrees, completely unbothered.
I give him a sideways look. “You’ve got an irritating habit of answering questions nobody asked.”
“It’s part of my charm,” he says with a shrug.
We continue along the patrol line. A few yards later, Zip breaks the silence again.
“You did well today,” he tells me.
“We didn’t catch them,” I point out.
"That wasn't the job." It’s the same thing he told me before, and I understand it better now than I did the first time.
Nothing moves outside the fence the rest of the shift, no engines, no headlights, and that bothers me more than if I could see something coming. When my shift ends I hand the south line off to Rook instead of staying another six hours. Small decision. Nobody else would notice it. I do.
The front door of the women’s house opens as I make my way back toward the clubhouse.
Cara steps onto the porch, and I stop.
She sees me standing in the yard, but neither of us moves closer.
“How are they?” I ask.
“They’re settling down,” Cara replies. “Emily’s doing better.”
“Good.” I glance toward the kitchen window. “The latch is being replaced tomorrow.”
“I saw the message,” she tells me.
“Condor is adding a second camera,” I add.
“I saw that too,” Cara says.
Something about her already knowing makes me smile.
She notices. “What?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
Cara tilts her head. “That word again.”
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “I like that you already knew.”
Her expression softens. “So do I.”
Twenty feet of yard separates us. Neither of us tries to close the distance. For a moment, we simply exist in the same place.
Cara looks toward the tree line. “Do you think they’ll come back?”
I could lie, but she would know.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Me too,” she says calmly.
There’s no panic in her voice. Just the truth, shared between us.
“But next time, we’ll be ready sooner,” I promise.
Cara looks back at me and nods. “We will.”
The word settles somewhere beneath my ribs.
We.
Not me. Not her. Not the club on one side and the women on the other.
Us.
“I should go,” I say, turning toward the clubhouse.
“Falcon?” Cara calls after me.
I stop and look back.
She gives me a small smile. “You stayed.”
I know what she means. Not only tonight. Here, at the fence, with the club.
“Yeah,” I answer quietly. “I stayed.”
I walk back to the clubhouse without looking behind me. Not because I’m running, but because, for once, I trust that when I turn around tomorrow, she’ll still be there.