Chapter 8 Rhett #2
Chase notices too, because of course he does, and he wiggles his eyebrows like he’s twelve.
I ignore them all. I am not giving Chase the satisfaction of a reaction he can weaponize.
Gavin clears his throat. “All right. Update.”
Everyone shifts. The room tightens into focus.
Wyatt throws up a map. “No confirmed location on Mark Renshaw. We’ve got possible movements through county-line rentals, but nothing we can hit clean without spooking him.”
Silas nods once. “Field office is still moving pieces. They want him alive. They want his pipeline.”
Chase mutters, “I want him face-first in a snowbank.”
Eli says calmly, “Same,” which is always alarming because Eli is the nicest man on the mountain.
Gavin continues, “We keep Emma on property. We keep the perimeter tight. We keep digging. We don’t give Renshaw room to breathe.”
My eyes flick back to Emma.
She’s listening, even while she pretends she’s just playing with Poppi. Her shoulders are set. Her gaze is too sharp for someone who’s “just a civilian.” She’s absorbing every word like she’s collecting ammo.
She meets my eyes across the room. A tiny smile tugs at her mouth, soft and private.
My blood heats instantly. I want to pull her into my lap, keep her there, let everyone see exactly who she belongs to. I don’t move. I keep my face blank.
But she knows.
She glances down, cheeks slightly pink, and returns to making Aidan laugh. Like she’s got me tucked in her pocket.
It’s not fair.
The meeting breaks into smaller conversations—Rafe and Gavin talking strategy, Wyatt and Thorne dissecting a data trail, Boyd doing perimeter checks without being asked.
I’m headed for the coffee when Silas steps into my path.
“Rhett,” he says, low.
I stop. “What.”
His gaze cuts toward Emma. “We need to talk.”
My spine tightens. “About what?”
Silas’s mouth flattens. “About how she found us.”
I keep my voice even. “We already went over that.”
“No,” he says. “We didn’t. We went over what she said.”
My jaw clenches. “Careful.”
Silas doesn’t flinch. He’s a sheriff and an operator—he’s stared down worse than my attitude. “You’re too close already.”
I laugh once, humorless. “I’m not ‘close.’ I’m responsible.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, unimpressed. “Rhett—this isn’t personal. It’s protocol. She walked onto Wedding Cake Mountain like she had a map in her head.”
I lean in slightly, voice dropping. “She had a note.”
“A note with two words,” Silas counters. “That doesn’t get you past gates and blind spots and patrol patterns. That doesn’t get you onto the ridge at the exact time our convoy moved.”
My stomach twists, but I shove it down. “Coincidence.”
Silas’s eyes harden. “There’s no such thing.”
My hands curl into fists. “You think she’s working for Renshaw?”
“I think it’s a question we have to ask,” he says, voice steady. “Because if she is, and we ignore it because you like her—”
“I don’t—” I start, then stop because lying to Silas is pointless.
Silas’s brows lift. “Because you care about her.”
My throat tightens.
I glance at Emma again. She’s laughing softly at something Harper says, her fingers brushing Poppi’s tiny hand. She looks so human. So real. Like there’s no universe where she’s some planted asset.
“No way,” I say, hard. “She’s not the enemy.”
Silas holds my gaze. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am.”
He studies me for a beat, then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small evidence bag. The kind that makes my skin go cold instantly. Inside is Emma’s phone.
My head snaps up. “What the hell is that?”
Silas keeps his voice low. “I had Wyatt take a look. Minimal scan. We didn’t dig deep—just enough to answer one question.”
“What question?”
Silas lifts the bag slightly. “How did she find Haven 7.”
My pulse starts ticking harder.
Silas’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Rhett… her phone has an encrypted messaging app installed. Not a normal one. Not iMessage, not Signal. Something built for burner operations.”
My jaw tightens. “So what? People download apps.”
Silas doesn’t let me off. “There’s more.” He pulls out a printed screenshot and slides it toward me.
A pinned map location.
Coordinates.
Not a generic “Timber Creek” pin. Not a trailhead.
A pin sitting almost dead-center on Haven 7’s property.
Dated weeks ago.
My blood goes ice-cold. “That’s… not possible,” I say, voice rough.
Silas’s expression is grim. “It’s on her phone. And Rhett—there’s a draft message. Unsent. But saved.”
He flips to another page. Just a few lines. Not enough to give me comfort. More than enough to light my world on fire. I don’t read it out loud because my throat locks.
Silas does it for me, quiet and brutal: “It says, ‘I’m close. I found the compound.’”
My ears ring.
I stare at the paper like it’s going to change if I glare hard enough.
Emma wouldn’t—
She couldn’t—
I think of last night. Her honesty. Her nerves. The way she admitted she’d never even kissed a man. That kind of vulnerability doesn’t feel fake. But I’ve been trained to know one thing: The best lies are wrapped in truth.
I swallow hard, forcing air into my lungs. “Maybe she saved a pin after she found the note.”
Silas shakes his head once. “Timestamp doesn’t match. The pin is older.”
My hands flex at my sides, fighting the urge to smash something. “So what are you saying? That she’s bait?”
Silas breathes in deep, letting it out slowly. “I’m saying we don’t know who she is yet.”
My chest tightens like a fist closes around my heart. “No,” I say, furious and terrified all at once. “You’re wrong.”
Silas doesn’t move. “Rhett—”
I step closer, voice dropping into something dangerous. “I will not treat her like a suspect.”
Silas’s eyes flash. “And I will not let you get all of us killed because you want to believe she’s innocent.”
I want to roar. I want to storm across the room and pull Emma into my arms and demand answers and prove—prove—prove she’s mine and good and real. But all I can do is stand here with a piece of paper in my hand that threatens to blow my entire world apart.
Silas’s voice softens, just a fraction. “I’m not saying she’s guilty. I’m saying we need to be smart. We need to verify. Quietly.”
I stare at the evidence again, then at Emma across the room—still laughing, still alive in the light, still looking at Haven 7 like it’s the first safe place she’s ever found.
My stomach churns. Because if she’s lying… If she’s playing us… Then I’ve already given her access to my cabin. My routines. My blind spots. My bed. My trust.
And I don’t know which thought is worse: That she might be the enemy. Or that she might be innocent—and someone else is using her like a weapon.
Silas lowers his voice to a final warning. “We handle this carefully, Rhett. But we handle it now.”
I nod once, jaw clenched so hard it aches.
“Fine,” I grind out. “Tell me everything you have.”
Silas leans in, eyes hard. “Then start by answering me this.”
He taps the pinned coordinates on the page.
“How does a civilian get a pin drop on Haven 7… weeks before she shows up?”
And I have no answer. Not one that doesn’t crack something inside me wide open.