Chapter 5 #2
And now a seventeen-year-old trafficking survivor is the only thing standing between him and continued invisibility.
"Traci, listen to me carefully. What you know makes you incredibly valuable.
Not just to them, but to law enforcement.
You're the only witness who can put a face to the Marshal.
" I reach out slowly, let her see my hand coming.
"That means they're going to keep hunting you until they eliminate the threat. Do you understand?"
She nods. Writes.
Am I going to die?
The question hits like a physical blow. Written in her careful handwriting, stark and terrifying in its simplicity. This is what trafficking does to children. Makes them ask questions like this with the same matter-of-fact tone someone else might ask about the weather.
"Not if we move you somewhere they can't find you. But it means leaving here. Leaving the cabin. Going somewhere secure until we can take down the network." I pause. "It's going to be hard. Scary. But your uncle will be with you. And I'll come too if that helps."
She looks at me. Really looks. Searching my face for the lie.
I hold her gaze and let her see the truth. I'm not going to patronize her with false promises or sugarcoat the danger. She's survived months of hell by being smart and observant. She deserves honesty.
"I won't let anything happen to you." My jaw tightens. "Not while I'm breathing."
She doesn't write anything. Just nods once.
I stand, give her shoulder a gentle squeeze—the first physical contact I've initiated beyond medical examination. "You're incredibly brave, Traci. What you just told me? That took courage. And it's going to help stop these people from hurting anyone else."
Her eyes shine with tears she won't let fall. She grips her notebook tighter but doesn't pull away from my hand.
"Wait here for a minute. I need to make a phone call and talk to your uncle."
Outside in the hallway, I dial Zeke's number with hands that want to shake.
He answers on the first ring. "Helena."
"She saw the Marshal. Multiple times. Can identify him." The words come fast, urgent. "That's why they're hunting her."
Silence on his end. Then: "You're certain?"
"She wrote it down. He came to inspect the house where they held her. She wasn't supposed to see him but she did. They moved her soon after."
"Christ." I hear him moving, but his voice drops lower. "Listen carefully. Briggs will want to move her to the Anchorage safe house. We're going to let him think that's the plan."
My stomach tightens. "What are you saying?"
"If the network has people inside federal agencies—and we know they do—then any safe house location gets compromised the moment it hits federal systems." His voice goes hard.
"We take her to Finn Ashworth's compound instead.
Remote, defensible, completely off-grid.
Finn's expanded it significantly since he and Cara got together.
The kind of place that doesn't exist in any database. "
"You're talking about lying to federal agents."
"I'm talking about keeping a seventeen-year-old girl alive.
" He pauses. "Briggs is a good man, but he has to report through channels.
Channels we can't trust. So we smile, nod, agree to their plan, then disappear before transport.
Finn's already helping with the investigation.
His compound is exactly the kind of terrain Eli will understand. "
My mouth goes dry. "That's a lot of trust you're putting in people you barely know."
"I know Finn and I trust Glacier Hollow to protect its own a hell of a lot more than I trust federal bureaucracy right now." His voice softens slightly. "You said she won't talk to anyone else. You willing to come?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "She needs consistency right now more than anything. I'm the closest thing she has to that besides Eli."
"Pack tonight. I'll coordinate with Finn. Tomorrow morning, we let Briggs think we're cooperating, then we move on our own timeline. Rhys will run counter-surveillance to make sure nobody follows us to Finn's place."
I end the call and return to the exam room. Eli's standing by the door, positioned where he can see both Traci and the hallway. He reads my expression before I say anything, and when he moves closer to hear what I have to say, I catch the scent of woodsmoke and cold air clinging to his jacket.
Too close. He's standing too close and my body registers it before my brain catches up.
"What happened?"
His voice is low, pitched just for me. The intimacy of it sends heat up the back of my neck.
"She saw the Marshal. The guy they know runs this thing." I tell him quietly. "Can identify him."
Something dangerous shifts behind his eyes—not fear, but something colder and sharper. My breath catches.
"She saw the guy running this thing?” I nod. “Then they won't stop until she's dead or they are."
"Zeke has a plan. The feds will want to move her to an Anchorage safe house.
We're going to let them think that's happening.
" I meet his gaze and immediately regret it.
Those eyes are too direct, too intense. Like he can see past every defense I've ever built.
"But we're actually taking her to Finn Ashworth's compound.
Off-grid. Completely outside federal systems. I'm coming with you. She needs consistency."
His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps beneath the stubble he hasn't bothered shaving. For a moment neither of us moves, standing close enough that I can see the faint scar along his left cheekbone, the way his pulse beats in the hollow of his throat.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do. I'm her doctor. Where she goes, I go." I hold his stare even though everything in me wants to look away. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do anything stupid trying to protect her."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Almost. The suggestion of it makes my pulse stutter. "Too late for that."
We're still standing close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him. I should step back. Should put distance between us. Should stop noticing the way his shoulders fill out that jacket or how his presence seems to take up more space than his actual size.
I don't move. Neither does he.
The moment stretches, charged with awareness and everything we're not saying. Then Traci shifts in her chair and the spell breaks.
He moves to collect Traci, every step deliberate. "What time?"
"Zeke will call with logistics. Pack tonight. Be ready to move fast if the timeline changes."
"Understood." He pauses at the door. "The network contractor's been mapping the town for days. If they figure out we're moving her, they'll try to hit us during transport."
"You think they're watching now?"
"I'd be watching if I were them." His eyes scan the parking lot through the window. "Which means we assume they are."
Eli collects Traci and they head for his truck.
I watch from the window as he runs his usual counter-surveillance—checking mirrors, scanning rooflines, tracking every vehicle on the street.
But there's something different now. More focused.
He's not just protecting her anymore. He's hunting for threats.
He opens the passenger door for Traci, waits while she climbs in with her backpack clutched to her chest. Says something I can't hear through the glass.
Whatever it is makes Traci's shoulders drop slightly.
Not much, but enough to notice. He's reassuring her.
Keeping her calm despite what she just revealed.
The way he positions himself between the truck and potential sight lines while she settles into the seat is so automatic it's nearly invisible. But I see it. The protective instinct so bone-deep it doesn't require conscious thought.
The operative who spent years hiding in the wilderness remembers exactly how dangerous he used to be.
And God help me, watching him shift into that mode does things to me it absolutely shouldn't.
I turn away from the window before I can analyze that thought too closely.
Back at my desk, patient files blur in front of me. The next days won't be routine, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. And I just volunteered to spend hours in a vehicle with a man who makes my carefully ordered life feel suddenly insufficient.
One moment keeps replaying. The way our eyes met and held. The awareness that passed between us like current through water.
I'm Traci's doctor. He's her guardian. That's the relationship that matters right now.
But as I lock up the clinic and head home to pack, the awareness isn't going anywhere. I noticed the way he moved closer when he spoke to me. The way my pulse kicked up when he held my gaze. Pretending otherwise is pointless.
The drive through town doesn’t take long. Main Street is quiet as evening settles in. A few trucks parked outside Sadie's café. Someone walking a dog. Normal life continuing while everything around me shifts into something dangerous and unknown.
I turn onto the road leading to my cottage, trees pressing close on both sides.
This far from the center of town, the isolation feels different.
Heavier. Tomorrow I'll be leaving all of this—the familiar routes, the patients who've trusted me for years, the carefully constructed life I built after David died.
For a girl I've known for a very short time. And a man who makes me forget all the reasons I swore I'd never let anyone that close again.
I've called my cottage my home for the past decade. Simple. Quiet. Exactly what I needed after my husband died and the city felt too loud, too full of memories.
I pull a duffel from the closet and start packing. Practical clothing for travel. Medical supplies in case Traci needs anything. I check the Glock's magazine, verify the action, pack it in the side pocket where I can reach it quickly if needed.
The reality settles over me as I zip the bag.
Tomorrow morning I'm leaving everything familiar to protect a girl I met weeks ago.
Putting myself in a vehicle heading into potential danger.
Spending hours in close quarters in a compound with a man who makes me feel things I haven't felt since David died.
And we're about to deceive federal agents—lie directly to their faces about where we're taking the only witness who can identify the man they call the Marshal.
Because wanting anything in the middle of this situation is a distraction neither of us can afford. Wanting him specifically—a man barely holding himself together, carrying damage I can see every time he moves—is beyond foolish.
But tomorrow morning, we'll be in a small convoy heading for Finn's compound while federal agents think we're cooperating with their plan.
Hours of proximity. Hours of his presence filling whatever space we occupy.
Somewhere out there, Gary Kern is probably reporting back to the network that someone in Glacier Hollow isn't giving him the information he needs.
And I'm about to spend hours in close quarters with a man who makes me forget why distance matters.
I'm not sure which threat I'm less prepared for.