Chapter 6
ELI
Dawn breaks cold and sharp when I load the truck for Finn's compound.
My phone buzzes. Text from Zeke:
Early morning departure confirmed. Rhys running counter-surveillance from town. I'll monitor the northern route. Helena will follow a few minutes after you. Staggered timing.
I respond:
Understood.
Traci emerges from the cabin wearing layers—thermal base, fleece, the oversized sweatshirt that's become her armor. Backpack slung over one shoulder, notebook tucked inside where she can reach it. Ready to move because moving is what keeps you alive.
Helena's vehicle pulls into the drive right on schedule. Briggs thinks we're cooperating with federal transport to the Anchorage safe house. By the time he figures out we ghosted him, we'll be locked down at Finn's place with enough defensive position to hold against whatever the network sends.
Helena climbs out dressed in tactical pants, boots, and a fleece jacket that fits well enough to show her frame. In her medical career she must be used to uncertain situations where things need to be practical.
She's professional. Competent. And watching her scan the perimeter with the kind of awareness most civilians never develop sends heat up my spine I don't have time for.
"Morning," she says. Meets my eyes directly. "Ready?"
"Yeah." I gesture to my truck. "Traci rides with me. You follow. Rhys is running counter-surveillance from town, Zeke's monitoring the northern route. Anyone tails us, we'll know."
"Understood."
No questions. No hesitation. Just acceptance of tactical protocol like she's done these operations before.
Focus on the drive. Not on how her competence is as attractive as the rest of her.
Traci watches this exchange without pulling out her notebook. Taking in the coordination, the tactical language, the way Helena doesn't question the security measures. Learning that the adults around her operate with competence.
I open the passenger door. "Let's move."
Traci climbs in, settles with her backpack on her lap. Watching the trees like threats might materialize from the shadows.
We pull out onto the road heading north.
Helena's vehicle will follow after five minutes.
I wonder how she is taking this so easily and that wonder irritates me because it means I'm thinking about her instead of running threat scenarios.
I need to focus on the drive, not on the woman following behind.
The drive takes us deeper into wilderness.
Paved road gives way to gravel, then dirt track barely wide enough for one vehicle.
Mountains rise on both sides, forest pressing close, isolation thickening with every mile.
This is terrain I understand instinctively—limited access, defensible choke points, natural barriers that funnel threats into kill zones.
Finn chose well.
Deep into the drive, the compound appears through the trees.
Main structure built from logs and reinforced concrete, positioned on high ground with clear sight lines in every direction.
Two smaller buildings flank it—a cabin and what looks like workshop space.
Solar panels on the roofs, satellite dish for communications, perimeter sensors I can spot from the access road because I know what to look for.
Zeke mentioned Finn had expanded the place significantly since getting with Cara. He wasn't exaggerating. If this was just a cabin it isn’t any more. It's a hardened position.
I park near the main building. Helena pulls in beside me a few moments later. Traci doesn't move immediately, just stares at the compound through the windshield.
"Defensible," I tell her. "Good sight lines, limited access, reinforced structure. Safer than the cabin in town."
She nods once. Accepts the tactical assessment because it's something concrete she can process.
A man who must be Finn emerges from the main building.
He's lean and controlled. From what I know of his history he’s moving like someone who hasn't forgotten flight training even though nerve damage grounded him years back.
Behind him comes a woman—dark hair pulled back, alert eyes that catalog me and Helena in seconds.
Must be Cara. Zeke's briefing last night mentioned former FBI, framed by corrupt agents, now working with Finn against the same trafficking network hunting Traci.
She's another person caught in the Marshal's machinery.
"Eli Vance." Finn extends a hand. "Zeke's told me about you. Delta Force background."
"Finn Ashworth." We shake. It's brief, firm. First time meeting but Zeke vouched for him, which counts for something. "Appreciate you doing this."
"Zeke explained the situation. You've got a trafficking survivor who can identify the Marshal, and the network sent professionals to retrieve her." Finn's expression hardens. "We've dealt with their operations before. They don't get to win this time."
Cara's attention shifts to Traci, still sitting in the truck. "She doing okay?"
"Physically healing. Psychologically, she's barely holding together. Won't speak. Communicates through writing when she feels safe enough." I glance at Helena. "Dr. Sage has been managing her medical care."
Helena steps forward. "Finn, Cara—thank you for doing this. For the safe space."
"Of course," Cara says. She gestures toward the compound. "We've got a guest cabin with secure rooms set up for you and Traci as well as a small infirmary with medical supplies. You'll have space to work."
I move to the truck, and open Traci's door. "Come meet the people who'll be helping us."
She climbs out slowly and scans the compound with those careful eyes that miss nothing. Finn and Cara keep their distance, give her room to adjust.
"Traci," I say. "This is Finn and Cara. They're going to make sure nobody finds us here."
Traci looks at Finn. At Cara. At the compound's reinforced structure and defensive positioning. Her shoulders drop slightly. It's not trust, but recognition. These people understand threats.
"Let's get you settled," Cara says. Keeps her voice level, non-threatening. "The secure room has a window, good sight lines, and a lock on the inside. You control access. Nobody comes in unless you want them there."
Traci pulls out her notebook. Writes. Shows it to Cara.
Where's the nearest exit?
"Three routes." Cara points. "Main entrance through the building. Side door in the secure wing. Emergency exit through the workshop that connects to a trail into the forest. All marked. All tested."
Traci studies the layout. Nods. Satisfied that escape routes exist.
Helena collects her bags. "Show me the medical setup. I want to make sure Traci's routine stays consistent."
Cara leads them inside. I grab gear from the truck—rifle, ammunition, tactical bag with everything I'll need if this position gets tested. Finn waits while I unload.
"Zeke briefed me," he says. "Gary Kern's been canvassing Glacier Hollow. Former military contractor with direct ties to Haywood's network. Professional operative running reconnaissance in broad daylight."
"Which means they're confident enough to show their faces. Or desperate enough to take risks." I shoulder the rifle. "Either way, they're coming. Question is when and how hard."
"The compound can handle a direct assault. Reinforced walls, defensive positions, enough firepower to make them reconsider. But if they bring serious numbers, we'll need backup."
"Zeke's coordinating with Rhys. Federal task force is aware but we're not trusting official channels. Too much corruption." I scan the perimeter. Motion sensors positioned at intervals, overlapping coverage, no blind spots. "You've built a solid position here."
"Cara's idea. If things went sideways, we knew we'd need somewhere defensible if the network came hunting." Finn's expression darkens. "They've tried before. Sent contractors to my old place. Didn't end well for them."
"Good. Let them know what happens when they push."
We head inside the guest cabin. The main structure opens into a common area—kitchen, living space, tactical planning area with maps on one wall. Hallways branch off toward sleeping quarters and the secure wing where Traci will stay.
Helena's voice carries from down the hall. "This setup works. I can maintain her medical routine here without compromising security."
I follow the sound and find Helena and Cara in a room that's been converted into the infirmary.
Cabinets stocked with supplies, an examination table and equipment that looks professionally sourced.
Helena's unpacking her bag, organizing her own items with the precision of someone who adapts quickly to new situations.
Watching her work pulls my focus when I should be assessing defensive positions. The controlled movements. The competence. The way she owns the room without announcing it.
"Impressive," she says without looking up. "You've got better equipment here than some rural clinics."
"We've needed it before," Cara says. "Trafficking survivors coming through, people recovering from injuries who can't risk hospital documentation. Finn and I learned to maintain operational medical capability."
Helena finishes organizing. Straightens. Meets Cara's eyes with professional respect. "Thank you. Consistency matters for Traci right now more than anything. Being able to maintain her routine in a secure environment could be what keeps her from regressing."
"Happy to help." Cara gestures to the hall. "Traci's room is next. Private bathroom, good sight lines through the window, reinforced door with interior lock. She controls her space."
They head toward Traci's room. I stay in the infirmary, checking angles and access points out of habit. Single entrance, defensible position, close enough to the main living area for support but isolated enough for privacy.
Sunlight catches Helena's profile through the doorway as she continues to tour the cabin with Cara. Strong features, confident stride, presence that draws attention without demanding it.