24. Wren
WREN
Despite best intentions, federal agencies often don’t run at the speed you might want them to.
When I finally hear back from my supervisor with an update, I’m alone in the cabin, but I’m not really alone.
The men are nearby, like they always are, and that’s been a strange adjustment.
I’m used to being capable on my own, and now I can’t even sit at a dining room table without being conscious of three men’s orbits around me.
After confirming I’m somewhere private, my supervisor tells me I’ll be hearing from a DEA field agent shortly. It turns out the agency’s been running an investigation into Harlan Turner for months, but it stalled due to lack of reliable intelligence.
They have financial pieces and suspected associates, but no one knew where the routes were.
“Your documentation is enough for them to move forward,” my supervisor says. “Everything is usable. More than usable.”
I listen, ask questions, and take notes, feeling proud of my contribution.
Shortly after that call ends, Agent Novak calls. In contrast to my supervisor’s excitement, Novak’s tone is blunt and tired.
He starts off by asking questions about my report to orient himself, tells me Turner is a priority target, but that they aren’t going to move right away.
“We want more than Turner. We want the shipment and all the men above him or beside him. We want to cut off enough of the pipeline that it can’t just grow a new head somewhere else in six months.”
I listen as he explains their next steps. Then he tells me what they want from me.
“We need you to continue your survey and feed ecological data through your supervisor on the secured channel I’m sending you.
Keep mapping displacement and contamination.
Map unusual human impact, but do not approach suspects.
Don’t interfere with any activity going on, and don’t attempt surveillance outside of your professional scope.
“We’re not asking you to conduct law enforcement activity,” Novak says firmly. “Is that clear?”
“It’s clear.”
He also tells me to avoid alerting the Moon Ridge sheriff’s office. Though they don’t suspect the department is compromised, Turner’s operation has survived just outside the small town for at least eighteen months, and Novak isn’t willing to risk a leak.
When the call ends, I stand by the sink, looking out at Boone, who’s chopping wood. As if he can feel my gaze, he turns and looks my way, then starts toward the cabin. When he comes in, Rhett and Cade are right behind him.
“What happened?” Rhett says, because apparently, he can read my face like a book.
“I talked to my supervisor … and an agent from the DEA.”
The three of them gather around me with intense expressions, and I already feel like I’m the subject of an interrogation, but I square my shoulders and go on.
“They’ve been looking into Harlan Turner for a couple of months already.”
Rhett’s frown turns fierce. “Then why the hell did they send you out in the middle of it?”
“My supervisor didn’t know anything about it until now. Communication between different agencies isn’t always the best. Also, they knew Turner was running something, but they didn’t know where. My data will help them move forward.”
Cade and Boone look like they’re pleased or maybe proud, but Rhett is still fired up.
“When are they moving?” he demands. He sounds like he’s agitated they’re not already in the mountains ready to shut the whole thing down, and I hate having to tell him what’s going on.
“They aren’t. Not immediately. The agent, Novak’s his name, said they need to wait for the next major delivery window. They don’t want to spook him and scatter the people involved.”
Boone drags a hand over his mouth and looks away as Rhett stares at me with a stillness that makes the hairs on my arms lift.
“They’re going to let him keep operating,” Rhett says, incredulous.
“For now.”
“What about you?” Boone asks. “Are they calling you back to the office, now that your work is done?”
He looks like he doesn’t want to know the answer. For selfish reasons, I’m glad my office isn’t calling me back, but I don’t think any of them are going to like the conditions that will keep me here with them for a while longer.
“They want me to continue the survey.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before Rhett says, “No,” like it’s final and absolute.
A hot spark goes through me, even though I appreciate his concern.
“You don’t get to answer for me.”
“I do when the question involves you walking into an active trafficking corridor.”
“I’ve been walking into it since I got here.”
Rhett’s eyes stay fixed on me. “That was before we confirmed Turner had military-grade security moving product through it.”
“They move at night,” I say. “I won’t be going out at night.”
“You won’t be going out at all,” Rhett says, only making me want to dig my heels in further.
After a deep breath, I say, “Novak was clear. I’m not doing law enforcement work, and I’m not conducting surveillance. I’m continuing my ecological survey because a wildlife biologist in the field is normal. Turner already knows I’m here.”
“That doesn’t make you safe,” Boone says.
“No, it makes me useful.”
All three of them hate that.
Rhett folds his arms across his chest. “You are not bait.”
“No one said I was. I’m not setting a trap. My survey is now federally-sanctioned cover, and my continued field presence is useful to their investigation. I was already here doing my work, and now the DEA is using it.”
“That’s a nice distinction,” Cade says, “but it won’t matter if Turner decides you’re a problem.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Boone eases in before Cade can say anything else. “There may be a workable middle ground.”
Rhett doesn’t look at him. “There isn’t.”
“There is,” Boone says in a calm voice. “Wren conducts the survey, but never without security near enough to intervene.”
“I’m not dragging armed escort through every transect,” I say.
Rhett shakes his head. “Then you don’t go.”
With effort, I soften my voice, because yelling at Rhett when he looks like this would be like kicking a locked door with my bare foot.
“My job is to keep doing my job, and by doing my job, I can build the evidence package they need for warrants.”
“Warrants.” Rhett repeats the word like he wants to spit it out.
“Yes.”
“And while they build their package, Turner keeps moving product.”
“And you keep walking into the middle of it,” Cade says.
“During daylight hours only and on authorized routes. Doing work Turner already knows I’m doing.”
Rhett’s nostrils flare, and I step closer. “You were soldiers. I’m sure you all followed orders you didn’t like because there was a larger objective.”
Boone lowers his eyes for a second, and Cade’s stare looks wounded, making my stomach twist.
“Careful,” Rhett says.
“I am being careful. That’s the whole point. But you wouldn’t have questioned a command just because the safest option was to walk away from a mission.”
“The difference is, you’re not expendable.”
Cade’s words hit like a blow, because it sounds like he knows exactly what being expendable feels like.
“I didn’t say I was.” My voice is lower, but still determined. “I’m not trying to make this sound risk-free. I know what I’m asking you to accept.”
“You’re not asking,” Rhett says.
“No,” I admit. “I’m not.”
A few different things flicker in his eyes. Definitely frustration, probably respect, and maybe even a furious kind of pride he doesn’t want to admit.
“I’m not going to sit in the cabin while bureaucratic gears slowly turn. If my work can help take him down sooner, I’m going to do my part.”
Boone says my name quietly, and I look at him.
“We’re not trying to take that from you,” he says.
“Aren’t you?”
Boone absorbs the hit without flinching, then shakes his head. “No. We’re trying not to picture what happens if you’re out there and we get to you too late.”
His words are raw, and I go quiet for a couple of minutes, studying my map without really seeing it.
Eventually, the conversation continues, and near the end, the three men exchange looks, seemingly having another entire conversation with each other with no words required.
Instead of feeling shut out, I think I have a good understanding of what they’re saying. They’re either deciding how to let me win, or figuring out how to survive losing.
Rhett turns back to me. “You continue the survey under conditions. You don’t go into the backcountry alone.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to conditions.”
His eyes hold mine. “If you want to treat this like an operation, then you get operational protocols.”
“It’s a comms plan,” Cade says. He looks hard again, like a man who could disappear into a ridgeline and decide the fate of anyone below it.
“It’s not us giving you permission,” Boone says. “It’s accountability.”
Rhett’s attention never leaves me. “You will not enter the backcountry alone. One of us shadows you close enough to reach you in minutes.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a lifted finger. It should infuriate me, and it does, but it also makes my pulse pound for different reasons.
Rhett proceeds to give me his “operational protocols,” which are a lot like the preparation before I went out at night with Cade secretly shadowing me, only now there are even more rules and double the warnings.
When Boone talks about the extra safety gear they’ll want me to take, and I protest carrying a heavier pack, his charm gives way to seriousness.
“Losing you isn’t negotiable for us,” he says.
I glance down at the map again, which is one of theirs, and notice how my markings share space with theirs.
Something about the way they’ve integrated my work with theirs reminds me that these three former Rangers aren’t arguing with me because they doubt my competence, but because they know competent people can get killed when they rely on luck.
They’re setting out the kind of protocols they would when someone matters to the mission and to the team. I’m no longer just their client or their responsibility.
I’m part of their unit.