Chapter 9 #2
"Which is why we need more than Traci's testimony.
" Cara starts pulling up financial databases, corporate records.
"I've got access to the systems now, but that doesn't mean this is simple.
Shell corporations are layered deep. Offshore accounts in the Caymans and Switzerland.
Money moving through channels designed to be invisible.
" She pulls up financial traces. "And even with my credentials, pulling certain records on someone at his level triggers oversight reviews.
If I'm not careful, I tip him off that we're investigating. "
"So you're limited in what you can search," I say.
"I'm limited in what I can search without alerting him," Cara corrects.
"There's a difference. I can access the databases, but the moment I start pulling his financials, his case files, his communications—anything that would show the trafficking connection—it creates an audit trail.
And Graves has enough allies in the Marshals Service that someone will warn him. "
Helena's expression sharpens. "So we're racing the clock. The moment he knows you're building a case, he comes after Traci with everything he's got."
"Exactly." Cara's frustration shows through the professional facade.
"I need to build an ironclad case before he realizes what I'm doing.
Need financial records, communications intercepts, surveillance footage.
Need to connect him directly to the trafficking network in ways that can't be explained away or buried by his political allies. "
"What about Rhys?" I ask. "He's got resources, connections."
"Rhys is already helping coordinate the intelligence gathering," Cara says. "But he's in the same position I am—pull the wrong file, trigger the wrong audit, and we alert Graves before we're ready to move."
Finn appears behind Helena in the doorway, and she shifts slightly to let him through. A small movement that brings her closer to me. Near enough that I catch her scent—soap and something else, something that's just her. Near enough to remember how that skin tastes.
Not now.
"Speaking of Rhys," Finn says. "He just sent updated intel. Graves is mobilizing contractors from outside Alaska. Private security firms with plausible deniability and no official connection to the Marshals Service."
"When?" I ask.
"Best estimate, within days." Finn's expression is grim. "He's not coming back with a small team this time. He's coming back with an army."
The weight of it settles over the room. We're facing a federal marshal with decades of connections and resources, who's willing to deploy private military contractors to eliminate a witness and anyone protecting her.
And we're running out of time to stop him.
Helena breaks the silence. "Then we work faster. Cara, what do you need to build the case?"
"Time to dig through the financials without triggering alerts.
Communications intercepts that require warrants I can get but take days to process.
Surveillance footage from the compound—which we don't have because we don't know where it is.
" Cara's frustration is clear now. "I have access to the tools, but using them without tipping off Graves requires moving carefully. And careful takes time we don't have."
"What about physical evidence?" Helena asks. "If we knew where the compound was, could we get proof from there?"
"Maybe. But Traci was unconscious when they transported her.
All she knows is it's in the mountains, remote, possibly in Alaska but she's not certain.
" Cara pulls up a property search. "I've identified several properties owned by shell corporations that might be connected to Graves but raiding them requires federal warrants.
Which means involving more people. Which means more chances for someone to warn Graves. "
"So we're stuck," Finn says.
"We're racing against time," Cara corrects. "I can build the case, but it'll take weeks to do it properly. And if the contractors are coming back in days—"
"We don't have weeks," I finish.
Silence settles. The tactical problem is laid bare. Cara can build a case that brings down Graves, but it requires time we don't have. Meanwhile, threats are mobilizing against a position we can barely defend.
"How defensible is this compound?" Helena asks, watching me. Assessing. Reading body language the way I read terrain and threat vectors.
"Against a small team? Very." I keep my voice level, controlled. "Against a coordinated assault by experienced contractors with professional-grade equipment? Less so."
"Could we move Traci somewhere safer?"
"Nowhere is safer." I walk to the window, look out at the perimeter.
I put distance between myself and Helena because standing this near to her while discussing tactical problems is doing things to my concentration I can't afford.
"Graves has access to tracking systems, surveillance resources, federal databases. Anywhere we take her, he can find her."
"Then we make our stand here," Helena says, and there's steel in her voice.
A matter-of-fact acceptance of tactical reality without drama or hesitation.
Just pure practical assessment and adaptation.
"We fortify defenses, prepare for the assault, and hold the position until Cara can build a case strong enough to bring federal attention that even Graves can't deflect. "
"That could take weeks," Cara warns.
"Then we hold for weeks." Helena's tone allows no argument. "Traci's been through enough. She's not running anymore. She's not hiding. She's standing her ground with people who'll fight for her."
I turn from the window, look at her. The doctor who delivered babies and set fractures, who was married to an operative and watched him destroy himself with what he couldn't control.
Standing in Finn's compound, surrounded by tactical gear and weapons, calmly discussing how to defend a position we might not be able to hold against threats we can't confirm.
No fear in her expression. No hesitation. Just certainty that this is the right call, and strength that comes from surviving hell and coming out harder on the other side.
Someone who understands what this fight costs and chooses it anyway. Who looks at impossible odds and doesn't flinch.
Who stood in my bedroom last night and met me where I was without asking me to be anything other than what I am.
"We'll need more ammunition," I say, forcing my attention back to the tactical problem. "Better fields of fire on the northern approach. Additional sensors covering the dead zones where the contractors penetrated last night."
"I can handle the sensors," Finn offers. "Extend the perimeter, add overlapping coverage."
"I'll work with Traci on more details," Helena says. "Anything else she remembers about Graves, about the compound, about the network structure. All of it goes to Cara for the case."
Cara nods, already organizing the information into prosecutable formats. "I'll keep digging into Graves's background. Find the financial connections, the shell companies, the money trail. Even if I have to move carefully to avoid tipping him off, I can trace the patterns."
We're moving now. Not reacting to threats but actively building toward a solution. Defensive preparations combined with offensive intelligence gathering. Hold the ground, build the case, force Graves into a position where federal oversight becomes unavoidable.
It's a long shot. A federal marshal with decades of connections and unlimited resources versus a task force that has to move carefully, a grounded pilot, a reclusive operator, and a doctor protecting a traumatized teenager.
But long shots are all we've got.
Helena catches my eye as the group disperses to their assignments. She holds my gaze for just a moment. No words needed. Just acknowledgment that last night happened, that it changed things, and that we're both professional enough to set it aside and do what needs doing.
Then she's gone, heading back to Traci, and I'm left with the knowledge that Simon Graves is coming back with everything he's got.
And when he does, we'll be ready.
I head outside to assess defensive positions.
The morning air is cold, clean, carrying the scent of pine and snow from the higher elevations.
The Alaska mornings I used to love when I first came to Alaska.
Before having to leave my cabin and come to a compound that’s a fortress.
Before protecting Traci turned into preparing for war.
The perimeter sensors show clear. No movement, no threats. But that won't last.
Graves is out there. Planning, mobilizing, bringing in contractors who won't hesitate to kill everyone in this compound to eliminate the witness who can destroy his empire.
And somewhere in federal databases, in encrypted communications, in financial records buried under shell corporations, there's evidence that can bring him down. Proof that a decorated U.S. Marshal spent decades building a trafficking network under the protection of his badge.
We just have to survive long enough for Cara to find it.
I check weapons inventory, verify ammunition supplies, mentally map out defensive improvements. The work keeps my hands busy while my mind processes everything Cara uncovered.
Simon Graves. U.S. Marshal. The man who framed Cara, who protected the trafficking network, who's coming back to eliminate the one witness who can expose him.
The man who held my niece in a compound and used her like inventory.
A part of my brain catalogs that information, files it away as motivation. But underneath, the part of me that lived in the wilderness learning to control what I became in the field recognizes something dangerous stirring.
Graves isn't just a target. He's personal now.
I push the thought down, focus on defensive preparations. Personal gets people killed. Tactical thinking keeps them alive.