Chapter 3
That man had literally driven off and left her.
Sarah gritted her teeth as she trudged toward the ugly cabin. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful—it was the kind of quiet that made horror movie audiences yell at the screen.
She'd barely gotten a word out of the driver—Johnson, maybe?—during the entire ride from the airfield. Every attempt at conversation had been met with grunts or single-syllable responses. But she'd tried one more time before he left her here in the middle of nowhere.
"Where is everyone else?" She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. "This is supposed to be a training exercise. Where are the other participants?"
He squinted at his phone as if it personally offended him. "West Coast contingent. Flying in from Denver."
"Why aren’t they here?"
"Flight delayed." Another squint. "Airport construction."
Sarah's internal alarm bells went from gentle chiming to full air-raid siren. "When do they land?"
More phone consultation. The man had mastered the art of seeming simultaneously bored and annoyed. "Just touched down, actually. I'm heading back to get them now."
"So I'm going to be here alone?" Her voice climbed an octave. "In the dark? In the actual wilderness?"
Johnson shrugged, already rolling up the window. "Hour and a half, tops. Maybe two. Roads are tricky after dark."
"Then take me with you."
But the window was up, and he was already backing away, gravel crunching under the tires.
Through the glass, she saw him gesture vaguely toward the buildings.
The SUV navigated the rutted dirt road and disappeared around a bend.
The engine sound faded, leaving her with nothing but wind through pine trees and her own rapid breathing.
It was fine. Everything was fine. She was a federal agent, with a badge and everything.
The badge that was currently in her purse. Next to her very intimidating lip gloss and travel pack of tissues.
She looked around the property, trying to channel her inner field agent. A sagging building three times the size of the cabins had to be the main lodge. No lights in the windows. No sounds of activity. No signs of human life whatsoever.
"Hello?" Her voice echoed off the mountains. "Anyone here? Anyone at all?"
Nothing.
Sarah continued toward what Johnson had indicated was her cabin. The furthest one, naturally. Because why make things easy? Her designer boots—so cute at Nordstrom, so wrong for actual earth—slipped on the gravel with every step.
"'Try to have fun,' he said. 'Montana's beautiful,' he said." She switched hands on the suitcase, her shoulders already screaming. "I should have listened to Mom and gone to law school."
The cabin, when she finally reached it, made her apartment's sad minimalism look like the Ritz Carlton.
One room, dominated by a bed that had seen better decades and a wood stove she had no idea how to operate.
The bathroom—and she used that term loosely—featured a toilet that might work and a shower that definitely wouldn't.
"Lord," she muttered, setting down her luggage, "I'm trying to trust Your plan here, but this is really testing me."
First things first. Sarah felt along the wall for a light switch, fingers finding the familiar toggle. Please work, please work, please—
Light flooded the cabin, warm and welcoming.
Relief washed over her. "Thank you," she breathed.
At least the basics were functional. The overhead fixture cast everything in a reassuring yellow glow—the rustic furniture, the questionable quilts, even the wood stove looked more manageable under proper lighting.
She flipped on the bathroom light too. Also working. And the small lamp by the bed. Everything illuminated and normal, if not exactly welcoming. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
She pulled out her phone. No signal. Of course. Because why would there be cell towers in the middle of nowhere? She tried her laptop next, searching for any hint of WIFI. Nothing. Not even a weak signal with a cute mountain-themed name.
The math started doing itself in her head, the way it always did when she was anxious. The ride in had taken an hour and a half. So the driver would be gone three hours. Minimum.
She'd have hours on her own. In the dark outside, but at least the cabin was bright and warm.
She sank onto the questionable bed, springs groaning in protest. Everything about this felt wrong. The isolation. The timing—when she was close to cracking the Stillwater connection. The complete absence of other people.
"Think, Sarah. Think like Dad." Her father had been Army Intelligence before a heart attack took him too young. He'd taught her to see patterns, to trust her instincts. "What would Colonel Winters say?"
He'd say she'd walked into a trap. He'd say someone wanted her isolated and vulnerable. He'd say—
A sound outside made her freeze. Footsteps on gravel. Slow. Deliberate.
Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs as the footsteps grew closer. The cabin's warm light that had been so reassuring moments before now made her feel exposed, visible to anyone outside.
Please, Lord. I know I haven't been the best about reading my devotions lately, but if You could send a miracle right about now...
The door exploded inward with a crash that shook the entire cabin.
A massive figure in black tactical gear filled the doorway, face obscured by shadows.
The cabin's overhead light illuminated every threatening detail—the assault rifle, the tactical vest, the cold determination in the visible portion of his face.
Sarah didn't think. Didn't scream. Didn't freeze.
Her hands dove into her purse, frantically searching. Lip gloss, tissues, phone—where was it? There! Her fingers closed around the canister.
She raised the bear spray and squeezed the trigger with every ounce of strength she had.
"FBI! FREEZE! I MEAN IT!"
Orange spray filled the air in a chemical cloud. The figure stumbled backward, hands going to his face, a string of muffled curses that would have made her grandmother reach for the soap.
Sarah kept the spray raised, her hands shaking so hard she could barely maintain her grip. "I said freeze! I'm a federal agent, and I will empty this entire can in your face! I know karate!"
She didn't know karate. She knew Excel. But he didn't need to know that.
The man doubled over, coughing and choking. "Stop. Just—" Another coughing fit. "Stop. Danger. Here to help."
The canister slid from Sarah's fingers.
What?