34. Cade
CADE
Three days alone used to be nothing.
It used to be relief. I used to crave the breathing room and the peace, and even the space from Boone, who gets restless when a room stays quiet too long, and Rhett, who’s always three steps ahead and sometimes annoyed when the rest of the world hasn’t caught up.
Now, because of Wren, there’s a part of being alone that feels like an open wound.
But I’m alone for a purpose, and it’s critical. Novak needs eyes on the staging valley before warrants and tactical routes are finalized, and I’ll do anything I can to speed the process.
I confirm the three cache points and find two more tucked into deadfall off game trails. I observe Turner’s security rotations and note the way they watch the road more than the ridgeline.
I photograph license plates and mark down coordinates and approach angles. I locate the makeshift command post Turner uses when he’s here. I photograph the shipping containers they’ve painted dull green and brown to blend into the landscape from a distance.
On the third day, when I’m belly-down beneath a shelf of rock, I listen through Sentinel’s equipment while cold seeps through my jacket and into my bones.
Turner’s radio discipline is better than I expected, but not perfect. It takes hours of static, clipped movement checks, and coded references before I catch enough pieces to form a picture.
There’ll be a larger run the first week of July with cartel oversight. Representatives coming in person.
This is it. The reason for all of it. An end date, little more than a week away.
I stay in position until my muscles ache, then I withdraw, leaving nothing behind except bent grass and one scuffed patch of dirt I cover with a flat stone.
Dawn is breaking when I crest the last ridge above our land. The cabin sits below me in the clearing, solid and familiar, with smoke rising from the chimney in a thin column of gray.
The men Sentinel sent over to cover my absence are where they should be, one near the north treeline, the other positioned with a view of the access road.
I let them see me coming. One of them lifts two fingers, and I return the signal and keep walking.
Rhett opens the back door as I come up the steps, and Boone appears behind him a second later, both of them scanning past me, then zeroing in on me after I close the door.
“Look what the mountain dragged in,” Boone says.
“You whole?” Rhett asks.
I grunt because my throat is dry and my body aches.
Boone steps aside. “That’s Cade for yes.”
Wren appears wearing leggings, one of my old thermal shirts, and a look on her face that knocks all the air out of my chest.
Her hair is braided over one shoulder, with loose pieces escaping around her face. She looks tired, but so beautiful, it almost makes me angry because I don’t know what to do with the way she makes me feel.
“You’re back.” As she walks toward me, her eyes move over me the same way my brothers’ did, but it feels different when she does it.
Rhett moves over to the table, which is still covered with maps, radio gear, a laptop Sentinel brought, and a legal pad covered in Rhett’s blocky scrawl. “Tell us.”
So I tell them about the prefab command post and the containers.
I tell them how many vehicles I saw and the security schedule I observed.
I tell them how the ridgelines are a blind spot for Turner because he’s not prepared for an overland assault.
Rhett absorbs it all with an expression that tells me his mind is moving fast.
Then I tell them what I heard about the shipment next week.
“Novak’s window,” Rhett says, and I nod.
Boone exhales slowly. “Then this is almost over.”
It’s a relief, but it also means a fight is coming. It means Turner might be cornered enough to be dangerous. It also means that when this is over, Wren’s work may pull her back to the city.
My hand closes around nothing at my side, and Wren notices.
Boone starts gathering notes I’ve laid out, and Rhett reaches for the secure phone. “I’ll get Novak.”
Wren keeps looking at me.
I should go help. I should give Rhett every detail while it’s still fresh, and I should eat something, drink water, clean my rifle, and write a formal report that Novak can read.
Instead, I step toward her, and when I do, she tips her head back.
I touch her cheek, and brush my thumb near the corner of her mouth as the warmth of her seeps into my chilled flesh.
“It’s almost over,” I tell her.
Her eyes soften, and it’s worse than the fear. I can handle fear, but softness gets under my armor.
She turns her head and kisses my palm, and it wrecks me.
“I know,” she says.
Rhett’s voice is low behind us, already speaking to Novak, and Boone’s moving around the table, deliberately not looking our way. I drop my hand before I do something stupid in the middle of the room.
“I need to shower.”
I walk off to grab clean clothes, and Wren trails after me. When I reach the bathroom, she’s waiting at the door, and when I go inside, she comes, too.