Chapter 14
Boone
The wind rattles the church windows.
Somewhere outside a car door slams.
Mara hears it too.
Her head tilts slightly toward the entrance.
“That’s not good,” she mutters.
I glance toward the whiteboard again.
My name still sits there in black marker.
Boone Grant.
Recruitment.
Or warning.
Hard to tell which.
“How many?” I ask.
She listens for a second longer.
Then answers quietly.
“At least six.”
“Friends of yours?”
“No.”
“Part of the network?”
“Not the part I work with.”
That answer doesn’t make me feel better.
Boots crunch on gravel outside.
Voices.
Low.
Controlled.
Professional.
Definitely not small-town volunteers.
I step closer to the sanctuary door.
Mara reaches out quickly and grabs my arm.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if they see you through the glass, this becomes a very short conversation.”
She moves toward the side aisle, gesturing for me to follow.
“Come on.”
I hesitate for half a second.
Then follow her between the rows of pews.
The church suddenly feels very different than it did earlier tonight.
Less like a building.
More like a trap.
She leads me to a small hallway near the side of the sanctuary.
A door sits half-hidden behind a wooden panel.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Secret church architecture?”
“Old storm shelter,” she says.
“Farm towns used to build them under public buildings.”
“Useful.”
“Very.”
She opens the door quietly.
A narrow stairwell drops into darkness below.
At the same moment—
The front church door bursts open.
Voices echo through the sanctuary.
“Clear the room.”
Boots pound across the wooden floor.
At least six men.
Maybe more.
Mara freezes on the stairs.
Listening.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Too late.”
I glance back toward the sanctuary.
Shadows move across the pews.
Flashlights sweep the room.
They’re searching.
“Looking for you?” I whisper.
“Possibly.”
“That’s comforting.”
She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a compact pistol.
Which tells me everything I need to know about Mara.
“You armed?” she asks.
I pull the handgun from the small of my back.
She nods once.
“Good.”
One of the men speaks in the sanctuary.
“Board’s here.”
Another voice answers.
“Name confirmed.”
My jaw tightens.
They’re looking at the recruitment board.
Looking at my name.
“They expected you,” Mara whispers.
“Apparently.”
The flashlight beams sweep closer to the hallway.
We don’t have much time.
Mara gestures down the stairwell.
“We go down.”
“And then?”
“Then we figure out who these guys are.”
I glance back toward the sanctuary again.
Six men.
Organized.
Disciplined.
Definitely not amateurs.
“Those aren’t church volunteers,” I say quietly.
“No.”
“Private contractors?”
“Maybe.”
“But they’re not part of the network leadership.”
“How do you know?”
She meets my eyes.
“Because if they were, they wouldn’t be trying to kill me.”
That’s useful information.
The flashlights move closer.
One beam sweeps across the hallway entrance.
We flatten against the wall.
A man steps into the corridor.
Tall.
Tactical gear.
Suppressed rifle.
Not local law enforcement.
He pauses.
Listening.
I glance at Mara.
She mouths silently.
Three.
Footsteps behind the first man.
Two more.
They’re clearing rooms.
Methodically.
Professionally.
And getting closer every second.
The lead man takes another step down the hallway.
Five feet from where we’re standing.
Mara raises her pistol slightly.
I shake my head.
Too loud.
Too messy.
She understands immediately.
The man turns his flashlight toward our door.
And in that exact moment—
The distant sound of engines roars outside.
Several vehicles.
Fast.
Coming up the street.
The man freezes.
The other two behind him stop moving.
“What the hell is that?” one of them mutters.
I smile slightly.
Because I know that sound.
Brave Team.
Mara glances at me.
“That your backup?”
“Something like that.”
Outside, tires screech.
Truck doors slam.
Voices.
Then a shout from the street.
“Federal agents! Drop your weapons!”
Adam.
The men in the hallway react instantly.
The lead one swears.
“Move!”
They spin back toward the sanctuary.
Running for the exit.
Mara exhales slowly.
“Well,” she says.
“That complicates things.”
I holster my weapon and step toward the sanctuary.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether those guys get away.”
Because if they do—
We just lost the only people who might know who sent them.
Outside the church—
Gunfire suddenly erupts into the Montana night.
And the war Mara warned me about might have just started.