Chapter 9 #3
But later, when the assault comes, when Graves brings his contractors back to finish what they started, the line between tactical and personal might not be as clear as I'd like.
Helena appears on the porch, watching me work. She doesn't say anything, just observes. Taking in the tension in my shoulders, the way I'm moving through preparations with more intensity than strictly necessary. The way operators move when they're gearing up for violence.
"Everything okay?" she asks finally.
"Yeah."
"Liar."
I look at her. No judgment in her expression.
No concern or worry or any of the things that would normally come from someone watching a man prepare for combat.
Just observation from someone who knows what operators look like when they're gearing up for a fight and understands that sometimes the preparation is necessary.
"Graves held Traci in that compound," I say. "Used her. Trafficked her. And now he's coming back to kill her because she can identify him."
"So you're going to kill him first."
Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with the same practical tone she'd use to discuss medical procedures.
"If it comes to that."
"When it comes to that," Helena corrects, and she steps closer. Near enough that I can feel the warmth of her body in the cold morning air. "Because men like Graves don't surrender. They fight until someone stops them permanently."
She's not wrong. I've known men who abuse authority and hide behind positions of power. I've seen what happens when criminal enterprises combine with federal resources. They don't go quietly. They don't accept arrest or prosecution. They burn everything down rather than face accountability.
"You worried I'll lose control?" I ask.
"No." She's near enough now that I could reach out and pull her against me. Near enough that I can see the pulse beating at her throat. "I'm worried you'll try too hard to maintain control and second-guess yourself when you need to act."
"That's the opposite of what David's problem was."
"David never second-guessed anything. That's why he destroyed himself.
" She holds my gaze, and there's something in her expression that goes beyond professional assessment.
Something that acknowledges what happened between us last night without making it complicated.
"You're not him. You think before you pull the trigger. That's a strength, not a weakness."
"Until thinking gets people killed."
"Until thinking keeps people alive." She touches my arm, and the contact sends awareness through the tactical gear.
"When Graves comes back, you'll do what needs doing.
You'll protect Traci, protect this compound, protect all of us.
And you'll do it without becoming the thing you're scared of becoming. "
"You sound very sure."
"I am sure. Because I've watched you fight that battle every day since Traci arrived. You're winning, Eli." Her hand slides away, leaving cold air where warmth was. "Don't lose sight of that when the shooting starts."
She heads back inside, leaving me with defensive preparations and the weight of her confidence.
The compound's as ready as we can make it without more resources. Sensors extended, defensive positions reinforced, ammunition distributed to firing positions. When Graves comes back, we'll be prepared.
But preparation only goes so far against overwhelming force.
I head back inside to check on Cara's progress. She's still in the communications room, surrounded by screens showing database searches and financial traces.
"Found anything?" I ask.
"Shell corporations layered deep. Offshore accounts in the Caymans and Switzerland.
Money moving through channels designed to be invisible.
" She doesn't look up from the screens. "But there's a pattern.
Graves is careful, but he's not perfect.
Money flows into these accounts from federal contracts, then flows out to properties and businesses connected to the trafficking network. "
"Can you prove the connection?"
"Give me time and I can. But time is something we don't have much of.
" She pulls up a map showing property locations.
"I've identified several compounds that match Traci's description.
Mountain locations, remote access, owned by shell corporations that trace back to financial networks Graves controls. "
"So we know where his operations are."
"We know where some of them might be. But hitting those locations requires federal warrants and coordination with other agencies. Which means involving more people who might warn Graves."
I study the map. Several compounds in Alaska, more in Montana and Idaho. Remote locations perfect for trafficking operations. Places where screams don't carry and authorities don't look too closely.
Places where victims disappear and never resurface.
"How many people has he trafficked?" I ask.
"Impossible to say without full access to his records. But based on the financial flows and property capacity, dozens at minimum over the years."
The scale of it sits heavy. Not just Traci. Dozens of victims, all disappeared into Graves's network while he wore a federal badge and collected commendations for public service.
"We stop him," I say.
"We will." Cara's certainty matches Helena's. "But first we survive his assault. Then we build the case that brings federal attention he can't deflect. Then we stop him permanently."
It's a plan. Not a great plan, but it's what we have.
I leave Cara to her research and head toward the infirmary. Traci's sitting up in bed, notebook in her lap, writing something. Helena's in the corner, giving her space while staying close enough to provide support if needed.
Traci looks up when I enter. She studies my face with the assessment that comes from surviving hell and learning to read threats in every interaction. Looking for signs of danger, signs of safety, signs of anything that might tell her whether the people around her can be trusted.
Then she writes something, holds it up.
Are we going to be okay?
An honest question. It deserves an honest answer.
"They’ll attack again," I tell her. "Probably within days. They’ll bring more people, better equipment, and more resources than last time. But we're ready for them. This compound is defensible, the people here know what they're doing, and we're not letting them take you."
She writes again.
What if they win?
"They won't."
How do you know?
I could give her tactical reassurances. I could explain defensive positions and fields of fire and how preparation creates advantage. I could talk about training and experience and the mathematics of defensive warfare.
But she doesn't need tactics. She needs certainty.
"Because you survived his compound," I say. "You survived when all the odds were against you. You made it to people who'll fight for you. And now he's the one on uncertain ground, fighting to protect an empire that's about to collapse."
She considers that. Then she writes:
He's scared of me.
"He's terrified of you. Because you can destroy everything he built. One testimony, one name, one witness account that connects him to the trafficking network, and his whole operation falls apart."
A small smile crosses her face. The first genuine smile I've seen from her since she arrived.
Good.
"Good," I echo. "Now rest. The next few days could get interesting."
She nods, settles back into the bed. Helena walks me to the door.
"She's stronger than she looks," Helena says quietly.
"Survivors usually are."
"You would know."
I glance at her. She's not talking about Traci anymore.
"Get some rest," I tell her. "When they come back, it's going to be a long fight."
"What about you?"
"I'll rest when the perimeter's secure."
She doesn't argue. Just nods and goes back to Traci, leaving me to continue preparations.
The compound settles into routine. Finn extends the sensor perimeter. Cara continues database searches. Helena keeps Traci company. I run another perimeter check, verify defensive positions, mentally rehearse response protocols for different assault scenarios.
Darkness falls. The compound lights dim to tactical minimum. Everyone settles into watch rotation except me. I'm too wired to sleep, too aware that somewhere out there, Simon Graves is mobilizing contractors for an assault designed to eliminate everyone who threatens his empire.
Helena finds me on the porch around midnight. Brings coffee without comment, stands beside me looking out at the dark perimeter. Our shoulders almost touch.
"You should sleep," she says.
"So should you."
"I did. Some." She takes a drink of coffee. "Enough to function tomorrow."
We stand in silence. A comfortable quiet that doesn't need filling with unnecessary words. The kind of silence that only works between people who understand each other without explanation.
"Last night," she says eventually, and her voice carries something that makes my pulse quicken despite the tactical situation.
"Was last night." I keep my eyes on the perimeter, tracking shadows that aren't there. "We're both adults. We knew what we were doing."
"I'm not asking for definitions or complications.
" She shifts closer, and now our shoulders touch.
A small contact, barely there, but it grounds something in me that's been wound too tight since I woke up alone.
"I'm saying it was good. And when this is over, when Graves is dealt with and Traci's safe, I wouldn't mind it happening again. "
Straightforward. No games, no manipulation, no expectations beyond honest physical connection between two people who understand what they're getting into. Who saw each other clearly last night—the darkness and the need and the control that barely holds—and didn't flinch.
"I wouldn't mind that either," I admit.
"Good." She finishes her coffee, and when she turns to look at me, there's want in her expression that has nothing to do with tactical preparations or defensive planning. "Now come inside and get some sleep. You're no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion when the shooting starts."
She's not wrong.
But when she turns to head inside, I catch her wrist. I pull her back. Near enough that there's barely any space between us. Near enough to feel her breath catch, see her pupils dilate in the dim light.
"Helena."
"Eli."
I could let her go. I could maintain professional distance until the threat's handled and we can afford distraction. I could keep my attention on defensive preparations instead of the way she's looking at me right now.
I could.
I don't.
I kiss her. Hard, demanding, making intentions clear without wasting time on words. And she meets me where I am, hands fisting in my tactical vest, body pressing against mine with the same direct honesty she brings to everything else.
When I pull back, we're both breathing harder.
"The next few days could get interesting," I say.
"So you said." Her voice is rough, edged with want. "Tonight we sleep."
"Sleep."
"Eventually." A small smile, and then she's pulling me toward the door. "You coming?"
A question that's not really a question.
I follow her inside, secure the perimeter one last time, and let myself have this. Time with Helena before Simon Graves brings everything he can throw at this compound.
Because when the assault comes—and it will come—I'll need to be sharp, focused, ready for violence without hesitation.
But tonight, I can have this. I can have her. I can set aside the tactical planning and the defensive preparations and just be with someone who sees what I am and wants it anyway.
Later, with Helena asleep against me and dawn still hours away, one thought stays clear:
Graves isn't taking Traci. He's not destroying the evidence Cara's building. And he's not continuing to enjoy the empire he built on the suffering of trafficking victims.
When Simon Graves comes back, he's facing people who've survived worse than him. People who know exactly what he is and what he's done.
And people who won't stop until he's finished.