Chapter 13 #2
I should feel triumph. Should feel vindication. Years of hunting this bastard, gathering evidence, and I finally have justice for Tom and the agents who died in Stormwatch.
Instead I feel empty. Hollowed out. Because Montrose is right that this doesn't end with him. Somewhere higher up the chain are the people who funded his operation, who built the trafficking network he protected, who won't forgive his failure or mine.
"Cara." Finn's voice is weak. Thready. "Need to sit down."
I'm at his side in seconds, supporting his weight as he sags against me.
The shoulder wound is bad. Bullet went clean through based on the exit wound soaking the back of his jacket.
High placement that might have nicked the subclavian artery.
If it did, he's got minutes before blood loss becomes critical.
"Stay with me." I ease him down to sitting position, already pulling off my outer layer to make a pressure bandage. "Help's coming. Zeke will be here any second."
"Montrose?"
"Dead."
"Good." Finn's eyes drift closed, then snap open with effort. "Files transmitted?"
"Yes. To everyone. The task force, oversight committees, media. It's done."
"Then we won." He manages something that might be a smile. "Told you I'm hard to kill."
The sound of engines carries through the forest. Multiple vehicles approaching fast. I keep pressure on Finn's wound with one hand while keeping my rifle ready with the other.
Could be Zeke's team. Could be more hostiles.
Could be legitimate federal agents who still think I'm a fugitive and Finn is harboring me.
Voices call out. "Cara! Finn! It's Zeke!"
Relief nearly buckles my knees. I lower the rifle as figures emerge from the forest. Zeke leading, rifle slung, hands visible. Behind him come Nate and Caleb from Glacier Hollow. And behind them, two people I don't recognize but who move with law enforcement bearing.
"Agent Brennan?" The woman has dark hair pulled back, wearing tactical gear under a winter jacket. "I'm Harlow Kane, head of the trafficking task force. This is Sheriff Rhys Blackwater from Whitewater Junction."
I stare at her. The head of the trafficking task force. Here, in person, with evidence that could clear my name or condemn me further. Behind her stands Rhys Blackwater, the sheriff who's been working these cases from the ground level in Whitewater Junction.
"The files," I manage. "Did you receive the transmission?"
"Yes. Our people have been reviewing them since they came in.
" Harlow's expression is carefully neutral.
"Preliminary analysis supports your version of events.
Julian Montrose appears to have orchestrated the botched Stormwatch op.
The financial records alone are enough to start building a prosecution case. "
"He's dead." I gesture toward Montrose's body. "Tried to eliminate witnesses after the files transmitted."
"We'll need full statements from both of you." Rhys moves toward Finn, medical kit already open. "But first we get Finn stabilized. Zeke, help me with this shoulder wound."
They work on Finn with professional efficiency while Harlow approaches me. "Agent Brennan, I need to ask. Are you armed with anything besides the rifle?"
I understand what she's doing. Establishing I'm not an immediate threat. Treating me like a cooperative witness instead of a fugitive. "Sidearm. Left hip."
"I'm going to need you to surrender your weapons pending the investigation. Standard protocol. You understand."
I do understand. Understand this is the moment where my fugitive status becomes real again, where the frame-up and the years of running catch up despite the evidence I've transmitted. Task force leaders don't let wanted suspects keep weapons just because they claim innocence.
But Harlow's tone suggests something different. Suggests maybe the files I sent changed the equation. Changed how the Bureau views me.
I hand over the rifle and sidearm without resistance. "Am I under arrest?"
"Not at this time. We have questions about Montrose's death, about the confrontation that occurred here, about your activities over the past three years.
But the transmitted files provide significant exculpatory evidence regarding the Stormwatch operation.
" Harlow secures my weapons. "For now, you're a material witness in an ongoing investigation.
That status may change pending review of all available evidence. "
"Cara." Finn's voice cuts through the bureaucratic discussion. "Need you."
I'm at his side before Harlow can object. Rhys has the shoulder wound packed and bandaged, pressure dressing holding against the bleeding. But Finn is still pale, shocky, in serious condition.
"Helicopter's inbound," Rhys says. "We'll get him to Anchorage Medical."
"I'm going with him."
"Agent Brennan—"
"I'm going with him." I meet Harlow's gaze directly. "You can question me at the hospital. You can post guards if you need to. But I'm not leaving him."
Something shifts in Harlow's expression. Understanding, maybe. Recognition that some things matter more than protocol. "Agreed. But you'll have an escort. Rhys will accompany you on the flight."
The helicopter arrives and the medical crew swarms Finn, getting him loaded and secured within minutes. I climb in beside him, Rhys taking position across from us, and we lift into cold morning air.
Below, the hunting cabin becomes small and distant. Montrose's body is a white shape stained with blood, that taints the white snow. The forest stretches endlessly in all directions, beautiful and deadly and indifferent to the violence that just played out in its shadow.
Finn's hand finds mine despite the medical equipment and personnel crowding the small space. His grip is weak but present. Alive.
"Stay awake," I tell him. "Keep talking to me."
"About what?"
"Tell me about flying. You love it. Tell me why."
"Freedom." He pauses, gathering strength. "Up there, nothing else matters. Just the sky and the controls and knowing exactly where you are in three-dimensional space. It's pure."
His eyes drift closed.
"Finn. Stay with me."
"M'here. Just tired."
The medical crew works around us, monitoring vitals, adjusting equipment, doing everything possible to keep him stable until we reach the hospital.
But I watch his face, watch the grey pallor that speaks to serious blood loss, watch crimson seeping through bandages despite their best efforts, and fear crawls up my throat.
The evidence is transmitted. Montrose is dead. My name will be cleared.
But watching Finn's blood seep through my fingers, all I can think is that I'm losing him. Losing everything that matters.
The helicopter banks toward Anchorage. Mountains give way to coastline. The city appears in the distance, sprawling along the water, civilization after days in the wilderness.
Below us, the world continues turning. The task force reviews evidence.
Media outlets prepare stories about corruption in federal law enforcement.
Congressional oversight committees call for hearings.
The machine of justice begins grinding forward, slow and inexorable and finally pointed at the right targets.
Tom Rearden's death will be avenged. The agents who died in Stormwatch will get justice. Julian Montrose's network will be dismantled piece by piece.
But right now, none of that matters as much as the man beside me fighting to stay conscious. None of that matters as much as making sure he survives to see what comes next.
Finn's grip on my hand weakens. The medical crew moves faster, voices sharp with urgency. We're still five minutes from the hospital.
"Don't you dare," I whisper. "Don't you dare leave me now. Not after everything."
His eyes open slightly. "Not going anywhere. Told you I'm hard to kill."
"Then prove it. Stay with me."
"Always."
The city rushes up to meet us. The helicopter descends toward the medical center's landing pad. Trauma team waits below, ready to receive the patient.
The helicopter touches down with a jolt. Trauma team swarms us before the rotors stop spinning. They pull Finn from the aircraft on a stretcher, medical personnel shouting vital statistics and treatment protocols I barely understand.
I try to follow but Rhys's hand on my arm stops me. "Let them work."
Through the chaos of personnel and equipment, I catch one last glimpse of Finn being wheeled toward the emergency entrance. His eyes find mine across the distance. Conscious. Fighting.
Then he's gone through automatic doors where I can't follow. Rhys materializes at my side, his expression professionally neutral but not unkind.
"We need your statement, Agent Brennan. Everything that happened at that cabin."
I look down at my hands. Finn's blood stains my fingers, dark under my nails, dried on my palms. Years I've been running. Years of staying one step ahead, trusting no one, fighting alone.
Not anymore.
"Where do you want to start?" I ask.