Chapter 4
ELI
The next morning I'm up before dawn, running perimeter checks around the cabin while Traci sleeps. Zeke's meeting starts in a couple hours.
Inside, I start coffee and check my phone. Text from Zeke sent early:
Meeting moved up. Federal task force arriving early.
I respond:
Bringing Traci. Need secure room and Rebecca Macintosh.
His reply comes fast:
Back office ready. Rebecca's on her way.
Traci emerges from her room around seven wearing the same oversized sweatshirt she's claimed as armor. Moves to the window without looking at me, takes up her usual position watching the forest.
Routine's simple. I make breakfast. She eats some of it. We don't talk because she won't and I don't waste breath on words that won't land. She's still breathing. Still here. That's enough.
"We're going into town this morning," I tell her while scrambling eggs. "Meeting at the sheriff's office about security. Rebecca will be there. You'll stay with her in a back room while I handle the briefing."
Traci turns from the window. Looks at me. Pulls out her notebook.
Do I have to see people?
"No. Just Rebecca. The rest of us will be in a different room."
She nods once. Acceptance without panic.
The drive into Glacier Hollow takes longer than usual. I vary the route, check mirrors, watch for tails. Traci sits quietly in the passenger seat, backpack on her lap, watching the forest give way to scattered buildings.
Glacier Hollow's sheriff's office sits on Main Street between the post office and a building that used to be something else.
Small-town law enforcement with just enough space for Zeke's operation.
I park out back instead of front, scan for threats out of habit, find nothing but quiet morning routine.
Rebecca's waiting by the back entrance. She sees us pull in, gives Traci a small wave.
"Hey, Traci." Rebecca's got that calm presence that probably comes from years working with trauma survivors. "Brought some books if you want to read. We've got a quiet room set up."
Traci gets out of the truck without hesitation. Follows Rebecca inside without looking back at me. Progress.
Inside, Zeke's waiting in the hallway. "Back office is secure. Door locks from inside."
I watch Rebecca lead Traci down the hall to a small office. Door closes. Lock clicks.
"She okay with this?" Zeke asks.
"Better than leaving her alone at the cabin." I turn toward the conference room. "Let's get this done fast."
Zeke set up a conference room. Big table, coffee pot, whiteboards covered in maps and timelines. Rhys is already there, along with two people I don't recognize. Federal badges on their belts. FBI.
"Eli Vance." The older agent stands, extends his hand. "Special Agent Emmett Briggs, FBI. This is Special Agent Joanna Koss. We're part of the team handling the trafficking investigation. US Marshals briefed us on your niece's situation before we flew in."
Handshake's firm, and I measure them both.
Briggs has the look of someone who's worked organized crime for years—controlled posture, eyes that catalog everything, handshake firm without being performative.
Koss is younger but carries herself like she's seen enough to know better than to make assumptions.
Hiking boots under professional slacks. Practical choice for someone who might need to move fast.
At least they're not idiots. Doesn't mean I trust them.
"We need to coordinate protection protocols," Briggs says. "The Marshals indicated there may be active surveillance in the area."
Helena walks in as he's saying it. She's traded yesterday's exhaustion for professional composure, but the shadows under her eyes say she didn't sleep much.
There's something steady about her. Competent. The kind of person who doesn't fold under pressure. Rare quality.
She catches my look, holds it a beat longer than necessary. Something shifts in her expression—awareness, maybe. Recognition of the same calculation running through both our heads.
How long until the network makes their move.
I break eye contact first. Focus back on Briggs. No idea where that came from, and this isn't the time to figure it out.
Zeke closes the door. "Everyone's here. Let's get started."
Briggs pulls up a map on a laptop connected to a projector.
Routes marked in red across Alaska and down into Washington.
"The Seattle trafficking network operates on a hub-and-spoke model.
Main operations in Seattle, satellite locations throughout the Pacific Northwest and Alaska.
We've dismantled two cells in the past six months.
Every time we shut one down, they relocate and rebuild. "
"How many cells total?" I ask.
"Best estimate? Less than a dozen still operational.
But the leadership stays mobile. We've identified mid-level operators, but the guy running the network, the one they call The Marshall, remains insulated.
" Koss taps the keyboard, brings up photos of known associates.
"These are the people we've confirmed. None of them match the description of the man who came to Glacier Hollow. "
I study the faces on the screen. Muscle and mid-level management. Enforcers who follow orders but don't give them. The kind of people who disappear when things go sideways and new ones step up to replace them. Kill one, two more show up. Standard hydra bullshit.
Helena leans forward. "So he's new. Or high enough in the organization that he's not in your databases."
"Exactly." Briggs's expression is grim. "Which makes him more dangerous. Lower-level operatives follow protocols. Someone we haven't identified is either new to the network or senior enough to operate independently."
Rhys slides a file across the table. "We had FBI run rental car databases for the area. Three sedans matching the description over the past few days, all rented under corporate accounts that dead-end at shell companies."
"Yeah. And that level of sophistication suggests resources." Briggs closes the laptop. "Your niece was held at a secondary location, not a primary hub. But she was there for months. Long enough to potentially see or hear things that could identify leadership."
I lean back, studying the map still projected on the wall.
Routes converging on Glacier Hollow from three directions.
Anchorage to the north. Whitewater Junction to the east. Seattle to the south.
Calculate response times in my head—if they're staging from Anchorage, that's a couple hours minimum before any kind of coordinated extraction attempt.
From Whitewater, under an hour. From Seattle, they'd need air transport—driving means multiple days.
None of those timelines work in our favor if they hit hard and fast.
"What's your response time if they make a move?" I ask Briggs.
"Depends on staging. Agents in Anchorage, but if they hit fast, we're looking at an hour and a half minimum."
Too long. Window of vulnerability too wide.
"So we're on our own for at least an hour if not more," I say.
Koss meets my eyes. "Can you hold for an hour?"
"Depends on what they send." I tap the map where the cabin sits. "Defensible position. Limited approaches. Good sight lines. Two trained operatives could hold it. One with a civilian to protect?" Pause. "Gets complicated."
One operative alone means choosing between holding position and keeping Traci alive. And if they send enough bodies, eventually the math stops working. I've held worse positions with worse odds, but those missions didn't involve keeping a traumatized kid from catching a bullet meant for me.
Briggs's jaw tightens. He gets it. "Then we make sure you're not alone when it happens."
"She hasn't spoken since the raid," I tell him. "Communicates through writing when she's willing to communicate at all."
"Has she indicated she has information?"
"She's asked if we're safe. How long we can stay hidden. Acts like she knows they're looking for her specifically, not just any escaped victim."
Briggs and Koss exchange looks. Something passes between them. They're weighing whether pushing Traci for intel is worth potentially breaking what little stability she's got.
"We'd like to interview her when she's ready," Briggs says carefully. "No pressure, no timeline. But if she can identify anyone in the organization's leadership, it could be the break we need."
"She's not ready," Helena says flatly. "Psychologically, she's barely holding together. Pushing her before she's stable will cause more damage than any testimony is worth."
"We understand that," Koss says. "We're not suggesting immediate action. But when the time comes, we need to know what kind of information she might have."
"When the time comes, we'll discuss it," I say. "Right now the priority is keeping her alive long enough to heal."
And keeping her sane enough that when she does testify, she's credible. Broken witnesses don't hold up under cross-examination. The network knows that. That’s why they're probably planning to make sure she never makes it to a courtroom.
Zeke spreads a map of Glacier Hollow on the table.
"Here's what we're implementing. Rotating patrols past the Vance cabin regularly.
Surveillance on Main Street businesses to flag anyone matching the description.
Coordination with Rhys's department in Whitewater Junction for intel sharing.
And communication protocol—anything suspicious gets reported immediately to all parties. "
"What about the cabin's security?" Briggs asks.
"Defensible position, limited access, good sight lines. Vance has the tactical background to recognize threats." Zeke looks at me. "But if they're willing to show their faces asking questions, they might be willing to attempt direct action."