Chapter 13
ELI
Pre-dawn darkness. Temperature hovering just above freezing. Finn's compound showing clear on all sensors as we load into vehicles for the run to Anchorage.
Traci rides with us in the middle vehicle. Helena slides in beside me, close enough I catch her scent—soap and something underneath that's just her. Last night comes back in flashes. Her skin under my hands. The sounds she made. The way she met me in the violence and didn't flinch.
Not the time. Push it down.
Federal marshals in front and rear in armored SUVs. Zeke driving the lead with deputies from Rhys's department providing additional security. Cara coordinating communications from the trailing vehicle.
Multiple vehicles, staggered intervals, varied routes. Making Traci a hard target for anyone Graves has left.
She's wearing clean clothes Helena picked out. Hair pulled back. Backpack clutched on her lap. Posture rigid, hands gripping the straps too tight.
First time leaving the compound since we arrived. First time trusting systems that failed her before.
Helena's thigh presses against mine in the tight space. I'm hyperaware of every shift, every breath. Should be locked on the mission. Every other part of me remembers how she felt wrapped around me hours ago.
Mirrors show the area clear, federal vehicles maintaining interval. I scan tree lines for ambush positions. Running threat protocols while fighting the pull to look at Helena instead of the road.
Habits from the field. The ones that kept me breathing back when people like her and Traci didn't exist in my world.
The drive stretches through morning. Light breaks over the Chugach Range, turning snow-covered peaks orange and gold. Beautiful country when you're not running ops through it. When the woman beside you isn't pulling focus from tactical awareness.
Helena shifts. Her shoulder brushes mine. Small contact that shouldn't register but does. Everything about her registers now. The way she breathes. How she moves. Those hands that know exactly where to touch.
Traci stares out the window. Takes in the landscape. No compounds, no guards. Seems to be processing what freedom looks like now. Taking it slow because anything more would overwhelm.
"How are you holding up?" Helena's voice cuts through my thoughts.
Traci nods without looking away. Reaches for her notebook.
I didn't think I'd ever see this again. Just mountains and sky without someone watching.
Helena reads it, leans close to show me. Her hair brushes my jaw. Want slams through me, immediate and unwelcome. Wrong time, wrong place. Doesn't matter. My body doesn't care about tactical priorities when she's this close.
"You're seeing it now," Helena says. "And you'll keep seeing it. Mountains, sky, whatever you want. This is your life again."
Traci's hand trembles as she writes more.
What if the testimony doesn't work? What if he gets away with it?
"Won't happen." That comes out rougher than I intended. "Prosecutors wouldn't bring you to Anchorage without the case built. Your testimony seals it."
She studies my face. Looking for certainty.
I give her facts. Cold and direct. "Federal prosecutors don't move on decorated marshals without ironclad evidence. Financial trail, contractor confessions, surveillance data. Your testimony connects Graves to the compound. Multiple independent sources pointing at one target." Pause. "He's done."
Tension in her shoulders eases slightly. Enough to keep moving forward.
Helena's eyes are on me. I feel it without looking. That assessment she does, cataloging reactions, reading what's underneath. Seeing too much the way she did last night when I couldn't hide what I am.
What I became in the field and what I want to do to her again when this is over.
We reach Anchorage mid-morning. Federal building sits downtown, concrete and glass projecting authority. Security protocols activate before we park. Federal marshals exit first, establish perimeter, signal clear.
Standard witness protection procedures. The kind that should have worked the first time if Graves hadn't been running the system from inside.
Rebecca Macintosh waits at the secured entrance. The victim advocate who's been coordinating with Cara and the prosecutors. Professional, composed, someone who's already helped Traci navigate in the early stages and knows exactly what today will cost her.
"Traci." Rebecca's voice carries steady reassurance. "Ready for this?"
Traci nods. Grips her backpack tighter.
"Your uncle and Dr. Sage will be right outside the testimony room," Rebecca continues. "Federal marshals positioned in the hallway. Prosecutors are professional. They understand trauma testimony."
She's reducing unknowns, establishing control—what helps survivors feel less like victims being processed through a system.
We move inside. Federal building security runs us through scanners, verifies credentials. My sidearm stays locked in the vehicle per building protocols.
Wrong. Every instinct screams wrong. Unarmed in an unsecured building while Traci's vulnerable and Graves's network is still operational. A tactical nightmare dressed up as legal procedure.
Helena moves through security ahead of me. I track her collecting her belongings, the efficient movements, the silver threads in her dark hair catching light. Remembering how that hair felt wrapped around my fist. How she looked underneath me taking everything I gave her.
Focus on the mission.
The darkness under my skin doesn't care about priorities.
The testimony room is on an upper floor. A secure wing, limited access, cameras and recording equipment already set up. Several federal prosecutors wait inside. The prosecution team. All carrying files thick enough to represent months of investigation.
The lead prosecutor extends his hand. "Special Prosecutor James Whitmore. We appreciate Traci making the journey today."
They're professional. No grandstanding, no drama. Just lawyers who understand what they're asking this kid to do.
"How long?" I ask.
"A few hours for formal testimony. Then we'll need time to process the arrest warrant and coordinate with federal marshals for Graves's apprehension.
" Whitmore's expression stays neutral but I catch the edge underneath.
An awareness that they're about to arrest one of their own.
"We expect to have him in custody by end of day. "
"And if he runs?"
"He won't get far. We've already flagged his credentials, frozen his accounts, and coordinated with airport security. The moment we execute the warrant, every law enforcement agency in Alaska will be looking for him."
Helena steps forward. "What does Traci need to know before going in?"
"Just tell the truth," Whitmore says, addressing Traci directly. "Describe what you saw and heard. We'll ask questions to clarify details, but this isn't cross-examination. You're not on trial. We're building the case against Graves, and your observations are critical to that case."
Traci's hand moves to her notebook. Whitmore notices.
"You can use your notebook during testimony," he says. "Whatever helps you communicate clearly. We've reviewed the written statements Cara Brennan provided. Today we're documenting everything formally for court proceedings."
Rebecca touches Traci's shoulder. "Ready?"
Traci looks at Helena, then at me. Searching for something. Permission maybe, or a confirmation that this is the right call.
"You've got this," I tell her. Simple and direct. The truth.
She takes a breath, nods, follows Rebecca into the testimony room.
The door closes. Helena and I are left in the hallway with federal marshals positioned at intervals. Waiting. The part of protection details that feels like wasted time even when it's necessary.
Helena leans against the wall beside me. Close. Too close. I can smell her shampoo, feel the warmth radiating off her body. Every nerve ending lights up with awareness. Want coiled tight in my gut.
She's doing it on purpose. Has to be. The way she angles toward me, the slight part of her lips when she breathes. Testing boundaries in the middle of a federal building while Traci gives testimony down the hall.
Wrong time. Wrong place.
Doesn't stop the image of her underneath me from flashing through my head. Doesn't stop my hands from remembering exactly how she felt.
Minutes stretch. Neither of us speaks. Just existing in the quiet that hums with everything we're not saying. Everything we did last night that changed the parameters between us.
"You think it'll stick?" Her voice is pitched low enough the marshals can't hear.
"Yeah."
She shifts closer. Her arm brushes mine. Deliberate contact that sends heat straight through me. "You sound certain."
"I am." I keep my voice flat even though my pulse is hammering. "Graves built his network using federal authority. Same authority destroys him once it turns."
"Tactical reality."
"Only kind that matters."
She's quiet. Then her hand finds mine. Not the sweet reassurance from this morning. This is fingers threading through mine, thumb stroking across my palm in a rhythm that's anything but innocent. Pressure, release, pressure. A promise of what comes later.
My control fractures. Just slightly. Enough I have to work to keep my breathing even.
"Last night." Her voice drops lower now, intimate, for me only. "That was real."
"Yeah."
"Not asking what happens after." Her thumb keeps stroking. Each pass deliberate. "Just acknowledging it mattered."
I turn toward her. See want in her expression matching what's clawing through me. See the doctor who knows exactly what she's doing and isn't backing down.
See the woman who took everything I gave her and came back for more.
"Mattered to me too."
Her fingers tighten. Heat flares in her eyes. For half a second, I consider finding an empty office and finishing what that touch is starting. Consequences be damned.
Then the testimony room door opens.