15. Falcon
Falcon
The first sign something's wrong comes just after eleven that night, when Condor sends a message through the security channel asking me to get to the south fence without using the radio.
That alone is enough to sharpen every instinct I've got. Condor loves radios. Loves technology in general, anything that comes with unnecessary menus and passwords. If he's telling me not to use one, whatever he's seen has made him careful.
I'm halfway through the common room when Zip looks up from the sofa. "What happened?"
"Condor wants me south side. Quietly."
He's on his feet before I finish. "I'm coming."
"No argument from me."
We take the rear exit instead of the main path, cutting between the garage and the old storage building. Neither of us runs. Running gets noticed, and I don't know yet who might be watching.
The compound's quieter than usual without being asleep. Harrier's still in the garage with two prospects, tools clanging somewhere behind us. A light's on upstairs in the temporary rooms, near where Cara's staying. I know that because I checked earlier, and I'm not going to pretend I didn't.
Condor is crouched behind one of the newer camera posts when we reach him, his tablet braced against his knee. Rook is farther down the perimeter, where the fence turns toward the north access road.
“Thermal picked up two bodies about six minutes ago,” Condor says.
“Inside the perimeter?” I ask.
“No.”
I crouch beside him and look at the tablet. “Distance?”
“Forty yards past the fence,” he replies. “Maybe fifty.”
“Are they moving?”
“Slowly.”
I look toward the trees and can’t see anything, which is the problem with darkness. Once you know someone is hiding in it, every shadow starts looking human.
“No vehicle?” I ask.
Condor shakes his head. “No engine signature nearby.”
Rook joins us. "They're circling toward the north corner."
I picture the property in my head. The north corner's closer to the women's side of things, that’s not accidentally.
Zip and I exchange a look. "Same approach as before?" I ask him.
"Looks like they're checking response," Rook says.
I crouch by the fence, and nothing moves. Then a shape shifts between two tree trunks. Human. Not lost. Another shadow behind it, a second later.
Zip sees them too. "Two confirmed."
I reach for my phone instead of the radio, in case it can be traced the way Condor's worried the other one can.
Falcon:
Two bodies north approach. No breach. Holding.
Vulture's reply comes fast.
Vulture:
Hold position. Ice moving east side. Sterling on women's house. No chase.
I stare at those last two words for a second. A week ago, that would've felt like a challenge. Tonight it feels like a plan I already agree with.
"They're moving again," Rook whispers.
One figure gets closer, thirty yards, maybe less.
The fence between us is reinforced now, cameras covering the blind angle, brothers positioned around the whole compound, every woman inside with access to the same updates we've got.
This isn't the night somebody slips through a weak point, and whoever's out there knows it. So why do they keep coming?
They’re testing discipline. Trying to make us react. I know because it's exactly what I'd have done a week ago.
"Get the women's house updated," Zip says into his own radio before I can say anything, which is exactly how it should work now.
"Already sent," Condor answers.
The shape in the trees edges closer. Rook's hand moves toward his weapon.
"Not unless they breach," Zip says, low, and I feel the old instinct to be the one saying it instead of the one hearing it but I let it pass.
"They're close," he says.
"I know," I reply.
"I could end it now." Zip looks at me.
"No." I keep my voice low. "They want us outside the fence."
Understanding crosses his face. "Right."
We wait, and waiting's always the hardest part.
Every instinct says move closer, force the answer out of them, and I stay exactly where I am instead.
One of the men reaches the edge of the tree cover.
Moonlight catches enough of him to show dark clothing and something in his hand, maybe binoculars, maybe a camera.
He lifts it and I step into clearer view, not over the fence, just enough that he sees me.
He stops.
"You're standing on private property," I say, loud enough to carry.
He doesn't answer. The second man moves behind him. Rook tenses beside me, we are on the edge of that moment where things could turn violent.
"You want something, come to the gate in daylight," I say.
Nothing. Then the first man steps back, and the second one, and they both turn and run.
Rook's hand tightens on his weapon. "Go?"
"Or follow them into whatever trap's set up past the camera range." I know what they’re trying to do.
He watches the trees another second and lets the breath out. "Fuck."
"I know."
It feels wrong letting them go, not tactically, but the old part of me that wants a face and a name doesn't get satisfied tonight. We already have Kells, and Merrick, and real leads worth chasing carefully instead of chasing blind through the dark because two men waved at us from the trees.
Condor checks his tablet. "Thermal's moving north. Running. No third body."
I send Vulture another update.
Falcon:
Two retreating north. No pursuit. Hold perimeter.
Vulture:
Good call. Lock stays until clear sweep.
Zip nudges my shoulder. "You're disappointed."
"Yeah." Of course I am.
"That's healthy," he says.
"Explain that."
"You wanted to chase and you didn't. So, you're disappointed because doing the right thing is boring."
"That might be the dumbest thing you've ever said."
"It’s still true," he says, and Rook laughs quietly.
We stay another fifteen minutes and they don't come back.
Ice Pick reports the east side is clear.
Sterling confirms the women's house is secure.
Vulture orders a full sweep inside the perimeter, and nobody argues.
I spend the next hour walking the inside fence with Zip and Rook, but there's no tire marks, no cut wire, and no second team, which bothers me more than finding something would have.
Either they only wanted to test us, or they were checking whether we'd abandon the compound again to chase.
This time we didn't.
By the time Vulture calls the all-clear it's after midnight.
I should head for the clubhouse. I'm halfway there when I see Cara standing outside the temporary rooms, a jacket pulled over her pajamas, and her hair loose.
She has the security phone in one hand when she sees me.
She walks toward me without running or showing any fear. She just comes.
I stop a few feet from her. “Everything clear?”
“Yes,” she says.
“You heard about the two men?”
“Yeah.” She looks toward the tree line. “Did they come onto the property?”
“No.”
Her gaze returns to me. “Did you see them?”
“Enough of them.”
“What happened?”
“We held the fence,” I explain. “They backed off.”
Her expression shifts, something warm and confused at the same time. “You didn’t follow them?”
“No,” I say.
“Why?” she asks.
I could tell her Vulture ordered it, and that's part of it, not the whole thing. "Because they wanted us to."
She waits for the rest.
"They were close enough to know we'd see them. They weren't trying to get through the fence. They were trying to make us leave it."
"And old Falcon," she says.
I know exactly what she means. "Would probably be halfway through the woods by now."
"Alone?"
Zip calls from a few feet off, close enough to have been listening the whole time. "Definitely."
I turn my head. "Go away."
"I'm leaving." He doesn't leave, just moves ten feet farther and checks his phone with exaggerated focus.
Cara smiles. "You stayed."
"Yeah."
"Was it hard?"
I could pretend it wasn't. "I hated every second."
Her smile grows, and that surprises me. "What?"
"Nothing," she says.
"Cara."
"It just makes it more believable." I wait, and she explains. "If you told me you suddenly didn't want to chase them, I wouldn't believe you. That's not who you are. You wanted to, and you still chose not to."
"Yes."
“I saw you from the window,” she says. “Not everything. Just you stepping toward the fence.”
My chest tightens. “What?”
“I thought you were going to climb over it.”
“So did I,” I admit.
Cara holds my gaze. “But you didn’t.”
“No.”
She folds her arms against the cold. “I was scared.”
“I know.”
Her eyes drop briefly before finding mine again. “I was scared you’d disappear again.”
The words are quiet, but I understand the weight under them. She didn't mean physically. She meant the other version of disappearing, the one where I stop listening the second danger shows up.
"I almost did," I admit. "I felt the pull."
"But you didn't go."
"Because I knew what it would cost."
"Your patch?"
"No." That answer comes easy. "Trust."
The word sits between us. Hers, my brothers', mine. I spent years believing trust meant everyone else trusted me to make the call alone. I'm starting to understand it runs both directions.
"I trusted Zip to hold the line beside me. Rook to cover the north. Ice Pick to cover the east. Condor to watch the cameras. Vulture to make the call if something changed." I look at her. "And I trusted you to know what was happening without me running over here trying to control it."
"That last part was probably the hardest," she says.
"By far."
She laughs, and I've missed that sound more than I let myself admit. "The women were scared tonight," she says.
"Figured."
“It was different, though,” Cara says. “Nobody panicked when the footsteps started. They knew who was on patrol, and they knew where you were. Lena stayed upstairs by choice. Emily joined by video call from the hospital and complained that she was missing all the excitement.”
I smile. “Sounds like her.”
“Maya asked if we could put the security feed on the television.”
“No,” I say immediately.
Cara’s mouth twitches. “I told her no.”
“She asked Condor directly, didn’t she?”
“Of course she did.”
“Terrifying woman,” I mutter.
“More terrifying than most of the club,” Cara agrees.
“Definitely.”
The wind moves through the yard, and she shivers.
“You should go inside,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows lift. “Is that an order?”
“No.”
“Good.” She stays exactly where she is. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
Cara’s expression turns serious. “When you went after those men before, when you left the compound, did you think about coming back?”
The question catches me off guard. “Yes.”
“Honestly,” she says.
I take a breath. "I thought about keeping everyone else safe first."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know." I don't hide behind it this time. "No. I didn't think about coming back enough."
Pain crosses her face, small but real. "That's exactly what scares me."
"I know."
"I understand," I correct, catching myself, and she smiles a little at that.
"That's better."
She steps closer, close enough that her hand lifts and stops, and I don't move. She touches the small cut near my temple, just with her fingertip, and my whole body reacts to it.
"You keep getting hurt," she says.
"Occupational hazard."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't really a joke."
Her thumb brushes once over the edge of the cut near my temple. “You scare me.”
“I don’t want to,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
Neither of us corrects that one this time.
She lowers her hand, and the absence of her touch feels colder than the wind.
“I’m not ready to pretend everything’s fixed,” she says.
“I don’t want you to.”
Her gaze holds mine. “I’m starting to trust you again.”
The admission lands somewhere deep. “Okay.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” she admits.
“Then okay is the safest thing I’ve got.”
She laughs softly.
“Can I touch you?” I ask before I lose my nerve.
Something shifts in her expression. It isn’t fear. It’s something deeper than that.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I move slow, my hands settling at her waist, not pulling her, just resting there. She exhales, and closes the last bit of distance herself, forehead against my chest, hands settling against my sides. There’s no desperation in it, no need to turn it into more than it is.
I hold her. That's all.
"I missed this," she says, quiet.
"So did I."
"You used to hold me too tight."
I loosen my arms right away.
She laughs against my shirt. "I wasn't complaining."
"Make up your mind."
"I'm complicated."
"Apparently."
She stays another minute, maybe more. Eventually she pulls back and I let her go without holding on.
"See?" she says.
"See what?"
"You can let go of people," she says.
I stare at her.
"That was terrible. Sorry."
"Very."
"It’s still true, though."
Zip's officially infecting her too. "Go inside before you freeze."
She starts backing toward the door. "You're very bossy."
"It’s a strong suggestion, not an order."
"That’s better." At the door she stops. "Falcon?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you stayed."
"Me too."
She disappears inside, and a minute later the security channel confirms the lock. I stand there longer than I need to.
Zip wanders over after Cara leaves. “You done?”
I look at him. “With what?”
“Having a deeply emotional moment in the middle of my patrol route.”
“You could’ve left.”
“I’m working,” he points out.
“Then work somewhere else.”
Zip grins. “You hugged.”
I start walking toward the clubhouse. “Zip.”
He falls into step beside me. “Was it nice?”
“Zip.”
“She touched your face,” he continues.
I stop and turn toward him. Zip throws both hands up, laughing.
“I’m done,” he promises. “I’m done.”
“You’d better be.”
We walk a few more steps before the humor leaves his voice.
“You did well tonight,” he says.
I look back toward the dark tree line. “They got away.”
“That wasn’t the job,” Zip reminds me.
It’s the same thing he told me before, and I understand it a little better every time somebody says it. "No," I say. "No, it wasn't."
We head for the clubhouse together. The men in the woods will come back. Merrick's still out there. Kells is one piece of something bigger, and there are enemies past the fence we haven't found yet. None of that changed tonight.
What changed is me. Danger showed up, and I didn't confuse chasing it with protecting the people I love. I held the line. Trusted my brothers. And stayed close enough to come home.
That feels like a better kind of strength than the one I used to have.